In certain respects I was reminded of Ron Howard's
Cinderella Man as I watched this.
The Wrestler is a far better film but I appreciated the fact in both cases that the melodramatic tropes were fully embraced. In the case of
Cinderella Man, there is that one breath taking moment when Jim Braddock, beaten down in the ring to virtual submission, flashes briefly on an image of someone tacking an eviction notice on the door to his home; in this he finds the necessary inspiration. I loved that because whether intended or not (and I tend to think that Howard simply lucked into this as for once the material actually benefited from his shallow sensibility) such a moment is absolutely unabashed in its sentimental intent and effect. Actually, the effect may not have worked as well as it could have because many don't approve of the intent and many others (myself included) would have preferred some substance to go along with the boldly deployed devices.
Anyway, as to the subject at hand,
The Wrestler evidences a similar unapologetic stance as far as its incorporation of melodramatically derived sentiment is concerned but it has the advantage of being good as well. Certainly it's all thought through to a remarkable degree and the elements beautifully synthesized and harmonized. The generic nature of the title itself indicates Aronofsky's willingness to refrain from unnecessary surface complications to supposedly complexify his film. At the same time, standard situations are enlivened from within by devotion of performance and wisdom of perception.
Much is said, appropriately, about the performances and accuracy to the milieu but Aronofsky is not given enough credit. Unlike, say, recent David Gordon Green, he demonstrates an understanding of the style he chooses to apply as well as the tropes he chooses to employ. This enriches the whole experience. Also, unlike with Kelly Reichardt, the characters and the tropes are not just self-justifying props for a thematic agenda, though Aronofsky's own thematic agenda goes far deeper than Reichardt's wan political invocations.
What I like best here, what I
love, is Aronofsky's insight into how and why Randy and Cassidy are defined by the roles they play on their very public stages. This has, of course, been remarked on ad nauseam, but I'd like to add an observation or two. First, I want to refer to Karina Longworth's
comments, particularly this:
The Wrestler is about two people whose professions are in some way dependent on 80s-dated, surface oriented ideas of gender and entertainment and escape, who were left behind in a way when pop culture took a turn away from fantasy, towards something supposedly more authentic, more real. But fantasy is a tool that most of us use to deal with reality.
This is true but, like so much similar superficial criticism of Mendes'
Revolutionary Road, simply does not go far enough. Because fantasy isn't just some ephemeral projection or appendage. It can be that, of course, but it can also point to deeper conceptual recognitions and available routes for personal transformation through their idealization. Compare the above comments with
these from the blog Unemployed Negativity:
One of the film’s most interesting scenes follows Randy and another wrestler through one of the many ubiquitous “99 Cent Stores” that can be found throughout this country. The wrestlers scour the cornucopia of commodities searching for cheap aluminum cookie sheets and other things that they can more or less harmlessly beat each other with, drawing a connection between the devalued commodities and their own flesh.
This connection so thoroughly permeates the movie that it could be seen as a corrective to theorists who fail to see the very real and embodied nature of immaterial labor, of the service and entertainment industry. Randy and Candice/Pam, the stripper played by Marisa Tomei, have given their bodies and minds to the production of affects. (Although Randy is definitely worse for wear, but there is something oddly affecting in the scenes where he is shown getting his roots died and going to the tanning salon. The particular aesthetic of pro-wrestling, the odd combination of buff and pretty, makes Randy’s desperate attempt to hold onto his looks fundamentally ambiguous and universal. He could be seen as just an affect of a particular subculture, but there is the way in which he is the subject of a consumer society that valorizes only youth and beauty.)The conflict between these two characters, their difficult relation as stripper and client and friends, raises interesting issues about the nature of alienation in service work. Candice/Pam does not identify with her stage presence, with Candice, keeping it at a distance, preferring instead to see herself as Pam, a mother struggling to raise a boy alone. Randy cannot do this, or at least does not want to, refusing to be called anything but Randy, even at his day job. Randy has no life other than that which the ring provides, his attempts to find another job, to connect with family, all fail. Randy is Lukacs’ picture of the virtuoso, someone who in selling his or her body and soul has nothing left with which to resist. When the applause of the audience dies, when the money ceases to come in, he dies as well.
This is one of the best, most attentive readings I've seen yet. While I don't want to go all WSWS on us (unsurprisingly their painfully
inattentive critic responded with indifference to the film), I will say that the idea of capitalism as a dictating contextual principle looms huge here and is the source of the film's great strength and power. Aronofsky (of all people!) does right by it as well, never over emphasizing the context as subject. Downplaying that element respects us and the characters because we shouldn't need it spelled out and the characters (specifically Randy of course) live as though it didn't matter or was not ultimately relevant. Randy exists forcefully within his realm and does not question any other surrounding assumptions. This move is far different from condescending to the characters. Aronofsky sympathizes with Randy but most emphatically does not pity him.
It's in Aronofsky's shockingly careful control of all his big moments and big feelings that something else comes clear. It's true that Randy is a product of an environment that idealized fantasy as fantasy, as only escapism, and thus degraded its value and potentiality. It's also true that he may have unwisely fused himself, all of himself, comprehensively to this projection and thus became a victim as an object of commerce. But what this misses is the fact that our grasp of these facts allows for a determination on their ultimate value and legitimacy. It allows us to consider alternate social contexts in which Randy's fusion of vulnerable human personality to idealized ego would not be understood as automatically and obviously self-destructive. And this would be because such an integration of vision would be naturalized and not merely the province of the deluded and not merely subject to the marketplace. In other words, Aronofsky is calling upon us to consider the ramifications of predominant attitudes and assumptions in our own time and culture.
Cassidy doesn't have the same kind of integration of personality and it is perhaps to the benefit of her own mental health that she does not and yet as a performance personality she is still subject to the same whims of the marketplace as Randy. And, ultimately, Aronofsky is smart enough to show us the framework his participants don't recognize for one reason or another and savvy enough to encourage us to question its seeming absolute and unyielding validity.
Needless to say, Mickey is great here, iconic even. Is it his best perf ever? Who can say? As a devoted fan I wouldn't want to have to.
