The professional wrestling circuit is not something that overly interests me. My younger brother went through an unfortunate WWF (or WWE as it now must be called) stage which I weathered, and I’ve watched Louis Theroux have a go on one of his Weird Weekends, but otherwise I’ve steered well clear. The Wrestler confirmed my suspicion that the ‘sport’ is full of sad and lonely men pumped full of steroids, playing to a crowd of men stuck in adolescence.
Of course, sad and lonely men pumped full of steroids are fascinating to watch. Shot in a grainy, shaky style, this film looks exactly like one of the brilliant Storyville documentaries on BBC2 and BBC4. You know, those high-quality and horribly depressing looks at an individual’s strange existence.
This high-quality and horribly depressing fictional film follows Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a wrestler who achieved a certain level of fame in the late 80s and has been plugging away ever since, appearing at smaller and smaller venues until he is living alone in a trailer in New Jersey and working at the grimiest supermarket this side of the Iron Curtain. Estranged from his daughter and with his ravaged body failing, he tries to find his place in the real world away from spandex.
Randy is played by Mickey Rourke, whose own loss of fame and boxing career mirrors that of his character. He too was broken, forgotten about and disfigured, messing up his life with his own bloody-mindedness. Randy’s comeback is Rourke’s comeback, and both give it all they have.
Rourke’s is certainly a success. His performance is the film, as there isn’t much else here in this simple tale. The worry is that he won’t be able to follow it up, because he can only play washed up wrestlers or thugs drawn by Frank Miller. It’s a narrow niche.
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