The Wrestler
In the middle of watching, I started thinking of it as a short story. There was much talk about this at the bar, with Andy C. and Johnny E. having seen it and having the same thoughts. Classic American short story. This movie really upset me. I felt physically ill not just at what happened to this character's body, but at the contract between him and the audience. They wanted to gather and watch him do this to himself. And he gets to then have this identity. What was the deal with those boys with whom I went to grade school and high school, who were super emotionally invested in this? And even adults? What is it? (Boxing's no diff.) Mickey Rourke is, obviously, amazing. God, the bun his hair his in. Being reduced to a spray tan. All of it. I want Marisa Tomei's story now. It would be called The Dancer. As much as there are these feelings inside most of us while we watch The Wrestler that are calling for her to consent to his delusions about the two of them, watching The Dancer would make it clear that this would be a terrible choice for her.
Ugh. So much more. I want to call in to work to write about my weekend's movies.
Ugh. So much more. I want to call in to work to write about my weekend's movies.