The Wrestler is the latest in a body of four films for Aronofsky, each dramatically different from the last. Initially this difference stemmed from scale, with the early features Pi (1998) and Requiem for a Dream (2000) each dealing with the horrors of obsession and addiction but in the form of a minimal black and white independent feature and an elaborate, visually complex film respectively. With 2006's The Fountain Aronofsky again raised the stakes in creating a philosophical science fiction epic featuring major stars Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz.
A Lesson in Simplification
Now comes The Wrestler, a film that is unlike anything Aronofsky has ever made but somehow unsurprising given his refusal to remain on a subject or within a given stylistic construct for more than one film. (Next up for the director: a remake of the 1987 cyborg classic RoboCop, which promises to invalidate any conclusions drawn about Aronofsky today.)
In all the obvious ways The Wrestler is a foray into a simpler kind of filmmaking. It's focus on a single character, conspicuous lack of visual embellishment, and simply told, real-world narrative could be rightfully expected from an independent, even European, sensibility instead of the man who gave us breathtaking images of Jackman floating through outer space in a translucent bio-sphere just two years ago. The plot of The Wrestler loses nothing from a one sentence distillation: has-been pro wrestler Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Mickey Rourke) struggles through late-middle age in a world that has outgrown him. It is in how Randy faces these struggles and plots his course through this world that Aronofsky plants his film's meaning.
On Wrestling
The Wrestler is aptly titled, both because of its relentless focus on the titular character (Rourke is in every scene) and the quick identification of conflict as the sole source of dramatic action. A few weeks in the life of The Ram reveal every major paradigm of conflict, pitting man against man, society, nature (in the form of an aging body that steroids cannot fully revitalize), even technology (Randy nostalgically plays as his own likeness on a vintage Nintendo, until the local kids grow weary and run home to plug in their next-generation game consoles).
Through all the failures, including heartfelt attempts to reach out to an estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) and wounded stripper (Marisa Tomei), Randy keeps on fighting, the strain on his body from fighting in the ring equaled only by the strain on his heart from fighting everywhere else. Here The Wrestler verges on an enigmatic hopefulness, suggesting that surrender is not inevitable in the face of chronic misfortune and that fantastic acts of desperation are not the only viable course of action, even in the movies.
Rourke's performance has been rightly applauded as an unexpected triumph from a forgotten actor, but Aronofsky's capable direction should come as no surprise. His restraint as a storyteller allows him to flirt with clichés, present a minimal narrative, and reveal a new facet of his perceptiveness in a film that is perhaps simple, but in no way minor.
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