The Wrestler: A Review

As the credits rolled on The Wrestler, Darren Aronofsky’s newest film starring Mickey Rourke, Bruce Springsteen sings the line that captures Rourke’s capture: “If you’ve ever seen a one-trick pony, you’ve seen me.” That sums him up better than just about any other line, but what makes the film such a fascinating experience is just how interesting it is to watch this one-trick pony live his life.

Rourke stars as Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a wrestler (you know, the “fake” kind) who had a heyday back in the ’80’s, when he was the biggest star in his business. That career culminated in 1989 when he wrestled his nemesis in Madison Square Garden. 20 years later, we see The Ram in a very different light. He’s still wrestling, though now in the minor circuits for small change. Even so, we get two different views of him. Within the wrestling world, he is respected, still with a following that remembers his glory years, and especially among the other wrestlers, who clearly look to him as a mentor of sorts. Within that world, he’s charming, engaging, still with some talent.

In his other world, the real world, Randy can’t quite seem to make it work. He can’t afford the rent on his trailer, can’t quite get enough hours at the grocery store to pay the bills. He has a daughter that he abandoned years ago that he can’t reconcile with. As we see him with his hearing aid, we recognize that time is taking its toll, and that the body that serviced him for a career isn’t going to hold up.

This finally comes to fruition after a particularly brutal match (a scene that can easily alter one’s view of pro wrestling), Randy has a heart attack, and wakes up after having bypass surgery. The doctor says he can’t wrestle again.

As he starts to adjust to his new life, he decides to pursue the closest thing to a relationship that he knows, that of a stripper at the club he frequents. The choice of pairing a wrestler and a stripper is fantastic. It would be hard to come up with two jobs that are more about creating a fantasy world. In both cases, we peer into lives of people that are used to being looked upon as objects. Within both lives, we see the wounds that are tearing each of them down, as they cling to dreams that are slowly fading away.

Whether it’s a hope for love, for reconciling with his daughter, for making a living after wrestling, Randy sure does give it a try. But the demons in his life that have haunted him along the way still are there, and there’s not much that he can do right. There’s only one thing that Randy knows how to do, and that’s wrestle.

In a way, The Wrestler goes where the original Rocky could have gone. As it does, I found myself left with a profound sadness at the end of the movie. Sad at Randy’s inability to bring all of that charm and diligence from his wrestling life and put it to use in the other. Sad because Randy ultimately believed a lie, embracing a path that he didn’t need to embrace. Sad because there was a hope for him that he simply walked away from.

Still, Aronofsky has an ability (think Requiem for a Dream) to give us glimpses of the raw aspects of life without apology. And so he does here. There are indeed many who can’t push through their demons, can’t seem to make sense of things, never figure out the hope that is before them. They have a story too, and The Wrestler captures it as well as anyone. It made me think of an old country song:

Here’s to all the soliders who have ever died in vain,
The insane locked up in themselves, the homeless down on main,
For those who stand on empty shores, and spit against the wind.
And those who wait forever, for ships that don’t come in.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button: A Review

David Wilcox has a song “Start With the Ending” that muses on the possibility of strengthening relationships by living the relationship backwards. In a live version, he has a little monologue about living life backwards, beginning life with all sorts of wisdom and experience and ending it as a helpless infant. The song is more amusing than profound, but even in the whimsy, it offers some interesting thoughts about how we might conceive of our lives differently if we lived it a different direction.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button gives us a glimpse at a lengthier reflection on the same idea. For reasons that the film wisely does not explain, Benjamin Button is born with the (small) body of an old man, and lives his life growing younger. The third partnering between director David Fincher and Brad Pitt, it is probably the weakest of the three, but that’s not saying much given that the other two were Se7en and Fight Club. It’s getting a lot of attention during the award season, and it is attention that’s well-earned.

As a child, Button lives his life in a home for the elderly. This is key to his survival, as nobody in this home would ask hard questions about his oddities. It also means, though, that he grows up surrounded by death. He makes friends, and his friends die. From his earliest years, you see Ben cultivating a certain distance from life, accepting things about life and death that most of us wrestle with throughout our lives.

And then there’s love. Early on, he meets one of his housemates’ granddaughters, Daisy. They forge a friendship during their visit, a rare chance for him to interact with someone who matches his emotional maturity rather than his physical appearance. They meet through the years, and as she grows, so does his interest in her. Much of the romantic arc of the movie is driving them to meet in the middle, where they can find each other at similar stations and forge the love of both of their lives. Daisy becomes a dancer, and as she experiences the highs of living life to the full and the lows of life’s disappointments, Ben’s desire for her only grows.

The film is criticized by some for its length, and while the pacing is labored, I felt it helpful to the story. As Ben slowly figures out the body he has, slowly reaches the point where he can take on life’s adventures, slowly figures out the limits of those adventures and the boundaries that his situation imposes on him, the film needs the time to assemble it. Any other pacing would seem to sell the story short.

At its best, Button shows a person coming to terms with the limitations of life, and becoming the best person he can be within those limitations. He embraces the friendships that he has, even as he is always acutely aware of their temporal nature. When he falls in love, he loves fully, even while he is aware that hard choices will have to come. Ben Button must always be aware of the strangeness of his lot, yet finds a way to live the life before him in the midst of these limitations.

At its weakest, the film winds up creating a certain emotional distance from the audience. Pitt’s performance, while strong, at times slips into a kind of quiet smirk reminiscent of his Joe Black character from Meet Joe Black. It’s a distance that drives home the odd beat the film is trying to strike. How does one live life with a deep awareness of its limitations without practicing a kind of resigned fatalism about it? There is a temptation that the film, in trying to offer some kind of answer, might find its answer in a way that is devoid of real passion.

As I find myself in the midst of a season of change, whether it’s changing jobs, exploring a move, or even just watching my daughter grow so fast, the story of Ben Button seems particularly poignant. Can we learn to embrace and engage the joys of the present days, accepting their limitations? Do we find ourselves derailed by nostalgia or regret, or frozen by fear of the future? As we accept the transient nature of these days, can we still find a way to engage them with real passion? Though Button’s limits were indeed “curious,” they were no less real than the limitations that any of us have. Might there be a richness in the humility we might cultivate if we learn to thrive within those bonds? Might there be strength in the peace that that kind of self-awareness might foster?

I find myself resonating with much that Button offers, while recognizing that the film’s limitations are in part a failure of philosophy. We need to live with an aware of life’s limits, even while the Christian hope points to a source of limitless possibility. It is that hope that becomes for us a source of joy and passion that should shape and inform these fleeting days.