Film

The Wrestler begins with a move right out of the classical Hollywood playbook: The star reveal, in which we are teased with a few shots of a back, an arm, a hand before we get to see the star’s face. The face in this case is Rourke’s, and like the hulking mass of his body, it tells the story of years of hard living. Every move he makes suggests creaking joints coming up on their expiration date. Every breath he draws hints at an exhaustion as much spiritual as physical. And buried in the lumpy potato-mass of his face are Rourke’s eyes, which here suggest not exactly intelligence but spark, an inner flame subdued but not burned out. It’s a brilliant, raw performance that insists attention must be paid.

In this intense character study, Aronofsky practically insists that we make the connection between Rourke’s rough history and that of aging professional wrestler Randy “the Ram” Robinson. Randy’s still dragging himself into the ring (sometimes literally) long after he should have called it quits. When his doctor warns him that his much-abused heart can’t take any more (the film’s only aspect that feels in the least contrived), Randy tries to restart his life. He reaches out to his estranged 20-ish daughter (Wood) and tries to start a romance with a stripper (Tomei), both to heartbreaking results. Aronofsky’s camera follows Rourke as though trying to find a way into this man’s soul. By the end, Rourke lets us feel as if we’ve done it.