The Wrestler
Man, I’m having a hard time rustling up the necessary enthusiasm to get out to see a reasonable sampling of this year’s Oscar pics. Last time, with No Country For Old Men and There Will Be Blood, we had a couple of truly daring movies to root for. Amazingly, one of them even won! This season, by contrast, seems to be one when even the interesting directors are retrenching and playing it safe.
Although it doesn’t belong in the groundbreaking category, I did dig The Wrestler. Mickey Rourke’s performance is every bit the career-reviving powerhouse it’s been made out to be. Marisa Tomei also deserves her chunk of the acclaim for a turn that in its own way is every bit as raw and physical as Rourke’s. Stylistically it goes a raw verité feel we haven’t seen much in American film lately. For a few crucial shots Aronofsky borrows the signature shot of the Dardenne brothers
: the tight close-up on the back of the protagonist’s head as he travels, dogged by a steadicam. This is particularly prevalent in The Son
, which shows that you can combine verite style with unnervingly energetic cutting.
The Wrestler’s blown-out cinematography and use of real, dilapidated locations contribute hugely to the authenticity of the performances. The three very different fight sequences bring to mind Raging Bull, and the way it uses the confrontations in the ring as brutal punctuation to the human drama. I might be surprised as I catch up with the late December releases but so far this looks like the highlight of a generally lackluster season.