The DVD Beat - April 21

DVD PICK OF THE WEEK:

The Wrestler
Everyone has been labeling Mickey Rourke’s performance in Darren Aronofsky’s “The Wrestler” as a comeback. I think of it more as a resurrection. Rourke has always been a terrific actor and a magnetic presence, but even he admits that he hadn’t appeared in a decent movie in a while. This film came along at just the right time: Randy “The Ram” Robinson not only fits Rourke’s gruff charm and weathered looks, but it also mirrors Rourke’s anguish so closely that at times we feel like we’re watching a personal confession. The actor and the role are inextricably linked, and we not only fall for Randy but for Mickey as well. “The Wrestler” works as an old-fashioned underdog story, it works as a portrait of life on the underside of celebrity, and it works as a showcase for Rourke’s astonishing performance. I named it the best picture of 2008, and my opinion hasn’t changed. See this movie—see it, see it, see it. [R; 111m.]

ALSO ON DVD:

Frost/Nixon
Ron Howard’s “Frost/Nixon” does what Oliver Stone’s “W” failed to do: It takes an easy political target and approaches it from an angle we aren’t expecting. Stone’s film was meant to be an empathetic portrait of our then-President, but it was really just a cartoonish polemic that told us nothing new or enlightening about its subject. Howard’s film, on the other hand, is not about Nixon the President but Nixon the man. It does not take sides—it simply observes. Based on Peter Morgan’s stage play, the film is a fictionalized re-creation of British reporter David Frost’s 1977 interviews with Nixon, which concerned such touchy subjects as Watergate, Vietnam and the President’s resignation. Michael Sheen is terrific as Frost, a fluff TV host who is determined to disprove his critics. And Frank Langella, Oscar-nominated for his work here, is pitch perfect as Nixon--intimidating, vulnerable, devious, pitiable. [R; 122m.]

Notorious
Christopher Wallace was only 24 when he was gunned down in L.A., an apparent victim of the escalating East Coast-West Coast rap battles. Wallace, better known as the Notorious B.I.G., is the subject of “Notorious,” a standard biopic that chronicles Wallace’s rise and eventual downfall. Wallace is played by newcomer Jamal Woolard, whose performance is the best thing in the film, as is the soundtrack, which features Biggie’s genre-defying music. The only problem is that “Notorious” is extremely conventional, existing almost as a shrine to its subject—he is loved by his contemporaries but his personal life is a mess, and he only realized his full potential right before he died. It probably doesn’t help that two of the film’s producers are Wallace’s mother, Voletta, and his producer, Sean Combs, both of whom are characters in the movie. It’s a moderately entertaining picture, and worth seeing if you’re a fan of Wallace’s oeuvre. [R; 123m.]

Up against the ropes

The Wrestler
Review by Nathan Weinbender

Sometimes a performance is so good that you can sense the actor throwing everything he has at the screen. You can see him putting his heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into every line of dialogue and every nuance, and you are held captive by the very fact that an actor can convey such emotion.

Such is the experience of watching Mickey Rourke in Darren Aronofsky’s “The Wrestler.” Yes, that Mickey Rourke—the go-to tough guy in the ‘80s, relegated to pointless supporting roles in the ‘90s, now completely resurrected as an actor of tremendous power. It is such an immersive, hypnotic performance, and you can sense that Rourke’s own personal anguish and professional hardships have been siphoned into the role.

He plays Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a professional wrestler who was on top of the world in 1985. Twenty years later, he’s a has-been, a joke, the answer to a trivia question. He makes special appearances at rec centers and fan conventions. He lives in a trailer park but has to sleep in his van because he can’t afford the rent. He is not as fulfilled as he once was, but the work he does have gives him fleeting moments of joy, and he hurls himself, both literally and figuratively, into his job.

A brief aside: Professional wrestling is an intrinsically fascinating enterprise, I think. It is patently fake, and the fans are aware of it, and the wrestlers in the ring are self-aware actors who know how to throw a punch and fall and land just so. (See the fascinating documentary “Beyond the Mat,” and you’ll learn that the WWF superstars are sweet and non-confrontational, and that they do what they do because they look imposing and have an engaging presence in the ring.)

The strange thing, though, is that the audiences at wrestling matches approach the event with the utmost earnestness, even though the wrestlers themselves are broadly sketched symbols of male machismo and products of blatant self-mockery. I have seen wrestling programs that are funny in their brazen, unabashed silliness—can you believe such a strange activity can draw audiences in the thousands? I have never seen the crowds at any of those events burst into laughter or knowing chuckles: They are immersed in a universe of good versus evil, where the outcome is always predetermined.

That has tragic undertones in itself: Randy’s victories can only be dictated by a series of scripted conflicts. He does not win because he is the better wrestler; he is not the harbinger of his own fate. Perhaps that is why his life is in such a shambles—he has always been a champion wrestler, but he never has to work for it. Sure, he bleaches his hair and works out and tans his body, but none of that matters when he steps into the ring: He will win no matter what.

Randy struggles to get by. He works part-time as a supermarket box boy, where he is relentlessly insulted by his pipsqueak boss. He has an estranged daughter, now grown up and played by Evan Rachel Wood, with whom he tries to reconcile but who does not want to see him back. He is a regular at the local strip joint and falls in love with one of the dancers, Pam (Marisa Tomei), who has clearly had a string of deadbeat men in her life and senses that Randy has a pure heart. But, she tells him, she can’t have relationships with customers.

The story is pretty familiar, but rarely have I seen a well-worn blueprint so invigorated by its performances: They have taken the old “Rocky” formula, which has been worked over time and time again, and have actually improved upon it. One of 2008’s other masterpieces, “Slumdog Millionaire,” also relied on plot developments that would normally be considered clichés, but it approached them in a new, fresh way. “The Wrestler” is another triumph of old-school storytelling, proof that what you say is not important, it’s how you say it.

Scene after scene in this picture is just right, acted in a way that people really act, written in a way that people really talk. In two of the movie’s best sequences, Randy convinces first Pam and then his daughter to go out with him. “We’ll just have one beer,” he tells Pam, and she accepts, yet when he makes his moves on her, watch how she handles it: I can imagine her response seeming phony as written, but Tomei handles it with such hard-bitten intensity that it works.

Later, when Randy and his daughter visit the old pier, they walk through the long-deserted carnival fairgrounds, and he opens up to her in a moment of heartbreaking sincerity. “I’m a broken-down piece of meat,” he says. “I deserve to be alone. I just don’t want you to hate me.” (I’m certain they’ll use this clip, which has a raw power, at the Oscars, where Rourke will no doubt be nominated.) Both Tomei and Wood are phenomenal here, playing women who love Randy, but find a hard time needing him. They are two of our best working actresses.

The last reel of the film, where the spell of the film could have easily come crashing down in sloppy sentiment, is surprisingly masterful. Randy has had a heart attack, and the doctors advise him to never wrestle again. When he is scheduled for a rematch with an anti-American wrestler named Ayatollah (we learn that their first fight twenty years ago was legendary), he accepts. Giving up is not an option.

Now, what follows is a series of events that could have been—no, should have been—cloying, trite, predictable and heavy-handed, yet everything miraculously falls into place. You know what will happen: Randy will make a moving speech to the crowd, he will struggle through the fight, his heart will start to give out, Pam will make an obligatory appearance, etc. Yet Rourke’s performance is so nakedly poignant that we buy everything, and the very last shot of the film is better than anything I could have expected (and the transition to Bruce Springsteen’s haunting closing credits song is really sensational).

Darren Aronofsky, who made “Pi” and “Requiem for a Dream,” is an edgy filmmaker, but here, working with Robert D. Siegel’s no-frills script, he puts all gimmickry aside and simply lets the story play out. It feels like real life, unimpeded by Acting or Writing or Directing, which, I think, takes more courage and artistry than it does to put obscure images and impenetrable symbolism up on the screen.

But Mickey Rourke is the heart of the movie, and he is so convincing at every moment that we believe this character really exists. We want so desperately for him to succeed, yet we don’t necessarily agree with his choices in life, nor with the consequences that his line of work entails. But we sit there in awe, not only of the resiliency of this man, not only of the control that Rourke demonstrates in his performance, but of the simple, honest power of this film. “The Wrestler” is a perfect movie, and I think it is the best picture of the year.

Grade: A+

Directed by Darren Aronofsky. Written by Robert D. Siegel. Starring Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood, Mark Margolis and Todd Barry. R; 109m.