Aronofsky's most mature and complete work yet; tragic and harrowing

Rating: 9/10 (11 January 2009)

It's about as stripped-down a you can get with movies: Unlike his previous three films, Aronofsky forfeits his unique visual abilities and tells his story with an extremely subtle, very realistic and naturalistic visual style, featuring hand-held cinematography, on-location photography, natural lighting, and beautiful hand-held tracking shots following his protagonist around, utilizing some brilliant jump-cut editing to keep the pace flowing along. Clint Mansell, who composed two of my all-time favourite film scores, for Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain, both of which were very distinctly dramatic, also takes it down a notch and delivers in The Wrestler a beautiful, subtle but haunting accompanying score.
The plot of the film is also a notch down from Aronofsky's previously much broader strokes. Unlike the ensemble experiences in Requiem for a Dream or the epic, time-bending undying love story of The Fountain, The Wrestler tells a very simple story about one central character. But in this case, we have a very prominent example of quality over quantity, and although the story focuses on just one character and not much really happens in it, it is still one of the most powerful, dramatic, resonant and deep and profound stories told in any film this year. I think (and hope) that The Wrestler will go down as one of the great cinematic character studies; the original screenplay by Robert D. Siegel is by far one of the best, most resonant and powerful screenplays of the year, in which he delivers to us an encompassing, comprehensive, in-depth portrayal of one of the most tragic cinematic figures ever to grace the screen.
The Wrestler shows us a character, Randy "The Ram" Robinson, who has burned every bridge in his life, and even though he eventually realizes that his life has been a long streak of mistakes, it's already too late to actually take control of things and make a profound change. Randy was a pro-wrestler in the 1980's, but after going past his prime and washing up, the inevitable result of his chosen profession, Robinson realizes that he actually has nothing else going for him in his life. It's sad to see this man, once at the top of his game, locked out of his trailer because he can't pay his rent, work at a deli counter at the supermarket; selling cheap memorabilia, old video cassettes of his fights and signatures in empty civic halls and high school gymnasiums, every once in a while signing an autograph or taking a Polaroid but most of the time sitting behind his fold-out table and looking around at the other wash-ups and has-beens; and participating in tiny, underground, independent wrestling competitions in front of crowds of no more than a few dozen people. Robinson tries to mend his broken relationship with his daughter and fails; he tries to create a meaningful relationship with his favourite stripper and fails; he tries to rehabilitate himself, retire from wrestling and take on a normal job, but eventually he comes to the realization that he has nothing left but his small legion of followers who, like him, can't let go of the past. It's a bleak, bleak story and it is sad and unavoidably tragic and depressing to watch Robinson's unstoppable downward spiral, but it is this very bar-none, no-restraint approach that makes the movie so incredibly good and worthwhile.
At the center of this Shakespearian tragedy is one central performance, the pillar of life in the film and its one aspect that has been garnering the most attention. Mickey Rourke has been receiving a seemingly endless slew of accolades and mentions for his performance in the film, and I must say that it is all justified. I find it hard to categorize this as Rourke's best performance, mainly because the man has never really had the most illustrious of film careers: sure, he was entertaining in various fun supporting roles in all sorts of movies over the years, but Rourke has never received and probably will never receive again a roll of such profundity and depth. Rourke's performance truly is phenomenal: like the method greats, he draws from his past experiences of being a washed-up professional boxer, and really pours every drop of visceral emotion into his performance: It's a stunning, amazing, impressive spectacle, and a performance for the ages.
With The Wrestler, Darren Aronofsky, easily one of the most interesting, talented and brilliant directors young directors working today, has delivered his most mature and complete work yet. A film with irresistible subtlety, in The Wrestler Aronofsky tones everything down, letting the profound, visceral drama speak for itself. It's a bleak, depressing tragedy, and this is certainly not a happy movie; a comprehensive character study of the largest scale, showing us a tragic, broken figure portrayed by Mickey Rourke in one of the most compelling acting achievements this year.