The Wrestler Has Us Down for the Count
For the belt: Man vs. Himself.
Here's a little confession: Between 1999 and 2005, I regularly watched WWE (then called WWF) events and shows. In my defense, it was mostly due to the influence of my boyfriend at the time, and wanting to share some sort of sports obsession with him that drove me to it.
I was immersed in the fandom and culture of professional wrestling during this time, going to things like RAW, Smackdown, and Wrestlemania. A group of friends even staged a "wrestling party" during this time, complete with volunteer matches and a homemade steel cage. Two things changed my perception of this seemingly innocent entertainment.
The first was the documentary, Beyond the Mat. Seeing childhood idols, like Jake the Snake (whose life could be a carbon copy of this movie), and modern day faves, like Mick Foley, totally decimate themselves through wrestling took the shine off of the pyrotechnics of the big shows. Realizing that the lower down on the totem pole of professional wrestling these guys were, the more they put themselves through just for a cheap pop (applause) from the crowd.
The other was the realization that the gross display of sexism and racism that was played for laughs when the house lights were on were really just huge outlets for sections of the crowd that really did want an outlet for all that ugly, misplaced rage.
Both of these uncomfortable sore points are what make The Wrestler such a painfully effective movie. Mickey Rourke, in what can only be described as an Oscar-winning performance, plays dried up professional wrestler, Randy "The Ram" Robinson. Past his '80s heyday of personalized action figures and 8-bit Nintendo wrestling games depicting his major match with "The Ayatollah," everything about Randy's life seems painful and harsh. Between cobbled together weekend wrestling events at American Legion halls, high school auditoriums, and rec centers, Randy hustles for work at the local grocery story and visits his favorite stripper, Cassidy/Pam (Marissa Tomei).
Though Randy's life is an exercise in self-inflicted torture and poverty-stricken hardship, it's the fundamental lack of connection with the real world that seems to define his misery. Scenes with other wrestlers and the show promoters all reflect the illusion of a supportive environment, but ultimately reveal a pecking order of placement, pills, and rank that Randy sits firmly atop of. The long scenes of preparation for or aftermath of the matches is intercut with the actual events, with director Darren Aronofsky lingering over the reality of what these men go through for a few crumpled bucks and the chants of a few dozen people.
His relationships with women - daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood) and Cassidy/Pam (Tomei) - reveal his quiet desperation to not only connect, but atone for his disconnection. But, just as with everything else, it seems he can never quite live up to the sweeping promises he makes, or follow through on even the most basic of actions that might mean a real connection to the people in his life.
Ultimately, The Wrestler is both a love letter and harrowing critique on not only professional wrestling, but entertainers in general. The compulsive need to love and be loved by each of the characters screams out in the quiet performance by the charismatic Rourke, who seems uniquely qualified to play this burnt-out husk of a former celebrity. But it's also strongly represented by Tomei's Cassidy, who is struggling to walk the line between the life she needs and the one she has to inhabit to survive.
See The Wrestler for a moving study of very broken people who live in a world that it so real, but yet so far removed from the bright lights and glitter of lives they inhabit themselves. And most definitely follow it up by renting Beyond the Mat - because though wrestling may be "fake," the consequences of a lifetime of this type of entertainment are very real.
