The world of professional wrestling is a closely guarded one. Gatekept and shrouded in misconceptions, the inner workings of the business remains quite niche despite emerging out of the archaic territory system and into the national mainstream in the mid 1980s. It is a world with a dictionary of its own lingo; heel, face, work, shoot, kayfabe, heat. A business of dreams and storytelling in one of the purest forms; a violent dance of human drama. In a not too distant time it was also a business steeped in ego, politics, drug habits, fractured marriages, estranged children, and broken bodies.
The fervor of wrestling fans holds few parallels, and with such a fandom comes defending the beloved craft to the bitter end. Being captured by pro wrestling in one my earliest yet vivid childhood memories, I can personally speak to this passion. There too is a distinct form of cynicism shared among enthusiasts. The "smart marks" scoff at the casuals— or those who just don't get it. Storylines are critiqued to no end and performers are held under intense scrutiny. There's layers to it.
Above all there is a want for accuracy when wrestling is depicted in media, and Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler is the purest answer to that call.
With past works like Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan, Aronofsky sets out to display with cutting realism both the depths of human misery and the obsession and sacrifice for art respectively. The auteur holds an education in social anthropology which perhaps explains his approach to the human themes that inspires him.
The opening credits of The Wrestler is against the backdrop of posters, match cards, and magazine covers coloring the past glory of Randy "The Ram" Robinson. Whether done consciously or not its an homage to the work of photojournalist Bill Apter and his contributions to the iconic Pro Wrestling Illustrated, setting the standard for the media aesthetic and earning the phrase "Apter Mags".
If you press pause and look closely, there's a tag team made up of two fictional combatants named Mr. White and Mr. Pink, a nice little reference to 'ol QT's Reservoir Dogs. (bottom right)
"a Proactive Documentary"
The Ram is not just inspired by one man, but a collage of many tragic stories that are familiar to pro wrestling. The years of his daughter's life passed him by as they were sacrificed to his craft, echoes of Jake "The Snake" Roberts in the cult-classic documentary Beyond the Mat. That whole arc of the 1999 doc, the depths one can fall from the golden age of the 80s wrestling boom, rings an awfully similar and somber tune with The Wrestler.
[insert obligatory praise for another of the finest docs on the grappling arts, Hitman Hart: Wrestling With Shadows. (1998)]
There is a beautiful yet bitter scene between Randy and his distant daughter as they dance together in an abandoned structure off the beaten path of the Jersey boardwalk. In the hallowed out halls of a destination once brimming with life and joy, the rusted bond between a father and daughter finally sees an embrace.
Aronofsky and cinematographer Maryse Alberti are very friendly with the tracking shot throughout the film. Its use in ordinary places like Randy's part-time job at the grocery store presents them as if you are following through the curtain and down the aisle into the ring. It highlights the attachment to a life of performing, something Randy can never let go, and the rough transition from that to normalcy. So too does a feeling of shame wash over these moments, his face hidden, often led to looking up at an authority figure like his grocery manger perched above him.
Pam (Marissa Tomei) is shot the same way as she enters her domain as Cassidy atop the stage. As a seasoned pole dancer who craves just a quiet life to raise her son, she represents a mirror opposite to Randy. Both similar in their trade and lifestyle, but on opposite ends in the transition from their brand of work to normalcy. Pam rejects her persona as Cassidy, but Robin shuns that which is his birth name and embraces Randy "The Ram". Almost a tired cliché, the pro wrestler and the stripper, but Randy and Cassidy's conflicted romance is poetically just.
In a behind the scenes mini-doc included within the DVD special features, Aronofsky refers to the filmmaking process of The Wrestler as a "proactive documentary", as a opposed to a "reactive documentary." Where instead of capturing life as it happens and reacting to it, they approached the fiction as if it were reality and captured it in the same rawness. With a working relationship between the movie production and independent promotions, many deep cuts are to be found with wrestling enthusiasts. "Hey I see Claudio Castagnoli; oh look its Ron Killings; very nice to see you, Necro Butcher."
Northeastern indie promotions like Ring of Honor, CZW, and WXW being filmed at during live shows with real fans and wrestlers alike gives the film an unmatched touch of authenticity. Mickey Rourke was even under the training of wrestlers Tommy Suede and Ernest "The Cat" Miller in order to perform a decent majority of his matches on film.
Intimate dedication is what exercised such a commanding performance from Mickey Rourke. For him, looking at Randy "The Ram" Robinson was a bit like gazing into the mirror. He could see himself within the faded glory and personal demons, along with the passion to chase what once was. The arc of the pro wrestler and the artist run parallel to each other.
"[...] a young Hollywood lion, an actor with the brooding intensity of the early Marlon Brando, the electricity of James Dean and the emotional charge of John Garfield." as Los Angeles Times writer Patrick Goldstein observed in a 1991 interview.
The end credits roll to the tune of One Trick Pony, written and performed by Bruce Springsteen who gave the song free of charge (similar generosity is shown by Axel Rose gifting Sweet Child O' Mine). Mickey Rourke and Springsteen shared a friendship dating back years, but one that drifted apart during Rourke's tortured absence from public life. A "very long and heartfelt" letter was penned to his old pal accompanied by a copy of the script. In it he asked of Bruce if he could write a song fit for his passion project that would later turn into a Rourke-renaissance, and rival Val Kilmer's Doc Holiday as one of history's most unjust Academy Award omission.
Have you ever seen a one-trick pony in the field, so happy and free?
Have you ever seen a one-trick pony, then you've seen me