No, I am not a 40-something, passed-his-prime professional wrestler with beach-blonde hair struggling with a return trip from the purlieus of fame and success. But rarely, if ever, have I connected in the way that I did with Mickey Rourke's affecting protagonist in Darren Aranofsky's superb The Wrestler.
I'm not going to write a movie review; there's already been enough (well-deserved) critical acclaim heaped on the film since it debuted last year. And to say that it was my favorite film in at least the last few years is a massive understatement (and I watch a fair share of movies). But I did feel compelled to write something about this film, because it's just that good.
The heart of the movie is arguably the flawless wrestling scenes, which capture both the in-ring and behind-the-curtain realities of the sport, in a way reminiscent of 1999's excellent Beyond the Mat.
But the real soul of the movie, no doubt, were three scenes with The Ram and his estranged daughter, Stephanie (played convincingly by the fetching Evan Rachel Wood).
[*** SPOILER ALERT ***]
In the first scene, after suffering a mild heart attack following a brutal hardcore match, The Ram - realizing perhaps for the first time that he fears being alone - visits Stephanie at her New Jersey home in an attempt to mend their tattered relationship. Predictably, Stephanie wants nothing to do with Randy, whom she presumably hasn't seen or heard from in years. She "rips him a new one" (in The Ram's own words) and storms off.
In the second scene, The Ram tries to reach out again, this time armed with a thoughtful peace-making gift: a vintage peacoat (with the assist going to The Ram's romantic interest in the film, an aging stripper named Pam - portrayed by Marisa Tomei). Sensing that Stephanie is beginning to warm up to him, Randy suggests that they go to their "old favorite spot," the Boardwalk, and spend some time together. What follows is a heart-wrenching scene that stayed with me for days:
I can't quite put my finger on it, but this scene really resonated with me. I suppose I have "Stephanies" in my life, too. People that I've hurt, disappointed, or alienated because of my own frailties and all-too-human shortcomings. I wish I could say to them: I'm sorry. You never did anything wrong. I deserve to be alone, but I just don't want you to hate me.
Sadly, or perhaps fittingly, The Ram manages to screw up this fragile reconciliation with yet another broken promise. In another harrowing scene, The Ram is rendered helpless as a fed-up Stephanie, built up only to be broken down again, banishes him from her life forever. I empathized with the Ram because I've been there, too: struggling to find the right combination of words to say when you've disappointed someone. Feeling utter helplessness, but just praying the other person understands.
Oddly, in the deleted scenes on the DVD, there is a scene where The Ram calls Stephanie one last time to reach out to her and let her know how sorry he is for all the years of neglect, broken promises, and not being there for her. I'm not sure why Aranofsky left it out in the final cut of the movie. But it makes sense.
Sometimes, it's just easier to say nothing and move on.
I am Randy "The Ram" Robinson.
And "Stephanie," I'm sorry. You never did anything wrong. I deserve to be alone, but I just don't want you to hate me.
