There is now. Darren Aronofsky's new film The Wrestler has just about everything else you want in professional wrestling: action, headbanging music and hair extensions. But zero loving updates of What The Protagonist's Willy Is Up To Now.
How strange, we think. UnAmerican. It's like having a picnic and forgetting the fried chicken.
In a better film, we wouldn't have missed it, but in The Wrestler there's a giant hole waiting to be filled. It could be a great film, though it's not exactly a new concept. Cut to commercial:
GIRL: I want to see the veteran wrestler deal with his body's collapse!
GUY: I can't wait to see Marisa Tomei, similarly aging in a youth-obsessed occupation, strip while she's depressed!
We get restless waiting for one of our cliches to do something interesting. We wait in vain. Mostly, they just age, and follow the teachings of Screenwriting 101.
We're treated to a near-naked Marisa Tomei, struggling to act. We're truly impressed by Mickey Rourke's full-throttle portrayal, though we occasionally wonder if a real down-and-out athlete would look like a bulked-up Joel Grey.
But we want more, and we don't get it. The meat is missing from our sandwich. We've got two main characters who barely connect, and a half-hearted attempt to go for something deeper, with Jesus tattoos and quotes from The Passion of the Christ. Seriously, dude? A guy strips almost naked and wrestles with other dudes, and you see religion in it? That's preposterous.
Priests don't go back to their corners when you count to three.
1 comment:
The horrendous plastic surgery wasn't enough, so now he's added steroids! Hey, he probably doesn't HAVE any wobbly bits left to entertain you with.
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