The Wrestler is a poignant tale about what it takes to really live. Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei gave truly masterful performances. To Mr. Aronofsky (the director), I’d like to say thank you for not ruining another film with weird camera tricks or strange POV shots. Yes, the hand-held got a bit nauseating at points, but you got out of the way of the story and that’s a huge leap forward for you (seriously, thanks).
The beauty of The Wrestler shines through its screenplay which uses wrestling in a ring as a springboard for telling a deeply moving story about what it means to wrestle in one’s own heart. I know what it means to wrestle there and found, with great familiarity and disappointment, that Rourke’s character made the same choice I always make . . . to pull away from relationship. I desperately needed him to make the other choice.
Of course, I can’t blame him for his choice because that would be too much like pointing the finger at myself. Yet, I do long for my art to get right what I don’t have the courage to get right in my own life thereby giving hope that should I storm the gates of complacency I may not just break through, but live. Still, I can’t fault the creators of The Wrestler for telling a story that accurately reflects reality, I just desired an alternate ending.
