The Wrestler vs Leaving Las Vegas

I loved The Wrestler. It’s such a simple story, full of heart and truth, and it doesn’t bend over backward to present its main characters as angels or heroes just because they’re struggling. They’re just people, and if one of them is a badass underdog and the other is played by Marisa Tomei, who is perfect, well then even better.  First things first: that badass underdog. Man, if you can somehow gain my sympathies with a hard-luck story, and then impress me by face-punching? Well played. The Wrestler does this right out the gate with Randy “the Ram” Robinson, played by Mickey Rourke. A lot of press has been built around the idea that The Ram is a washed up star from the ‘80s, trying to keep his career alive after much abuse and humiliation in the ‘90s, and that he’s played by Mickey Rourke, who, let’s say probably found a lot to identify with in the script. That’s unfair to Rourke, though, because it implies that he just showed up and mined his own troubles in service of the character. The reality is that Rourke worked his ass off, sculpting his body into an almost-steroidy (okay, probably-steroidy) professional wrestler, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and giving a funny, human performance. The Ram is on hard times. His only wrestling matches are exhibitions in school gyms, and his only celebrity appearances are at VFW halls for merchandise signings (the other “celebrities” there are even sadder than the Ram, and no fans show up anyway). The Ram wears a hearing aid, little reading glasses, and has a fake tan. He sleeps in his truck because he’s locked out of his trailer. His daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) hates him. His only friend is a kid from the trailer park, and he works part-time in a grocery store for a guy who thinks he’s a joke. And yet, The Wrester isn’t a satire, or even a dark comedy (though parts of it are quite funny); the Ram isn’t the butt of a joke or some kind of cautionary tale. He’s just a sad guy who doesn’t want to lose his job.

The Ram probably sounds a little like Rocky Balboa, or maybe Maggie from Million Dollar Baby. He’s got exactly one skill, and exactly one love, and doesn’t know how to function happily in a world that’s grown tired of him. The Ram is different in one fundamental way: professional wrestling, like modeling and pop music, is dependent on appearances. No one roots for a wrestler who no longer casts an opposing figure (or wears a hearing aid). And so the Ram shaves and tans and dyes and juices and exercises until he’s as close as possible to what he thinks the fans want. He gets in any ring that will have him, including, in one of the film’s most harrowing scenes, a torture match that involves staples, barbed wire, glass and lots of blood. I’m not sure how the matches were filmed, and I’m not particularly interested, but it looks to me like Rourke is doing the Ram’s fighting.

In between matches, the Ram makes time with Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), a local stripper. Cassidy, like Ram, is in a profession that is moving on without her, and for lack of other skills, she keeps plugging along. Cassidy is a little more self-aware than Ram (they both use fake names for performing, but turns out the Ram uses a fake name in life too), but she gets him, and is flattered by his attention (but not to the point you might expect. Ram and Cassidy don’t follow a typical movie couple arc. Her careful insistence that she doesn’t date men she meets at work is obviously a necessity of her life, and one that she apparently takes seriously). Marisa Tomei gives one of the best performances of her career, and one of my favorites of 2008, in The Wrestler. Since In the Bedroom, Tomei has become the rarest of Hollywood creatures: the hot character actor. I’m not sure which other actress could have played this part. Not only are there few existing who can believably play working-class, but Tomei is also in a dwindling number who hasn’t gone and done anything crazy to her face. There’s no histrionics or shrillness, although a lesser actor would certainly have found them in the script, and Tomei doesn’t go to great lengths to sex up Cassidy in any over the top way. Tomei and Rourke are great together in the scenes involving a shopping date. They bond over metal music and share a kiss, and instead of getting what usually happens in a movie, we get what usually happens, period. I love that Cassidy isn’t portrayed as some kind of savior to Ram, and that she’s not overly wise or prophetic, like we’ve seen in similar characters in dozens of movies. They’re just two lonely people, one grasping onto a stage name, the other longing to let it go.

The Wrestler was directed by Darren Aronofsky. His previous films were well-made, to be sure, and interesting, but not exactly what I’d call enjoyable. As much as I admire Requiem for a Dream, for example, I have zero desire to ever see it again. But The Wrestler is so warm, that despite the darkness of the script, I’d see it again in a heartbeat. Take the scenes of Ram working in the grocery store. It’s fascinating to watch Ram hide behind his crowd-playing skills when he needs to, especially when it ends up humbling him irretrievably. The Wrestler is a special movie, one of the best of the year.

The Wrestler is an ideal companion to pretty much any boxing or sports movie, although I’ve reviewed so many of those on here already. Instead, I was so drawn to the melancholy of the leads, and their clinging to each other and self-destruction, that I’m ready to watch Leaving Las Vegas once more. Back when it was first released, Leaving Las Vegas was among a handful of small, dark movies, like To Die For and Shallow Grave, that helped me form my current taste in movies: small casts, realistic acting, dark plots. So if I told you to see, say, House of Sand and Fog, and you got pissed at me because it’s such a downer? You may have Leaving Las Vegas to blame.

Nicolas Cage plays Ben, an alcoholic screenwriter who’s lost his wife and kids. We’re not sure to what extent, but it’s obviously permanent, and he’s to blame. So he goes to Las Vegas to drink himself to death. Not the quickest way to die, perhaps, but Ben’s determined. While there, he meets Sera, an angelic prostitute played by Elisabeth Shue. Ben and Sera strike up a tentative friendship, and somehow reach the agreement that Sera will accompany Ben, let him destroy himself physically and mentally, and offer no judgment. Since Sera is basically after the same thing from Ben (minus the binge), things work, at first. That’s the thing about self-destruction though: when things are first working, everything seems great. And then things really start to work, and you’re in trouble. Leaving Las Vegas is not for the faint of heart, not because it’s gruesome or explicit (although it is), but because it’s tragic from the first frame to the last. That might sound a little bleak to some of you, and, well, yeah. Unlike The Wrestler, Leaving Las Vegas is pretty much devoid of humor or excitement. It’s basically just sad. It’s director, Mike Figgis, is quite talented, but I’m guessing not much of a partier. If, like me, you appreciate great acting above other qualities a move might possess, then Leaving Las Vegas has plenty to offer. Cage and Shue are well-paired, and give quietly stunning performances. For Shue, this might have been a once-in-a-career thing (I’m crossing my fingers for a Marisa Tomei-style character fox rebirth, but I might be waiting a while). For Cage, though, this used to be par for the course. The past decade or so, he’s been more interested in blockbusters and hairpieces than great scripts. Apparently, he was offered The Wrester. I’m not sure how that might have played, but here’s hoping when he gets to National Treasure 3, he turns it down in favor of something a little more Wrestler-ish. Leaving Las Vegas is proof he knows a good script when he reads one.

The Wrestler: A

Leaving Las Vegas: A