Thursday, February 19, 2009

One Trick Pony

It took me a while to get around to seeing The Wrestler, despite ridiculously positive reviews from Mr. Fiebach and Mr. Schaffer, but two days ago I succumbed. I went in with high expectations, but I loved it. It was long, everlasting love.

My reason for not viewing holding out to see this film was simple: I hate wrestling. During the course of my lifetime, I've watched perhaps four minutes of the WWF on television. I still think about all the idiots at Oceanside Middle School who waltzed around with "Stone Cold Steve Austin - 316" t-shirts. Call me an elitist, but even then, I thought those kids were all losers. The closest I've ever come to professional wrestling was asking my mother to buy me a Ric Flair Wrestling Buddy doll, when, as a five-year-old, I sought to release my anger on something other than my baby sister.

*Upon reading Flair's Wikipedia page, I am saddened to learn that he still wrestles at age 60...sounds like The Wrestler wasn't all fiction.

Maybe I'm giving The Wrestler too much credit, but I saw many parallels between this film and Sunset Boulevard. I can picture Mickey Rourke saying, "I am big. It's the WWF that got small!"

Now, having seen this movie, I am appalled that it wasn't nominated for Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay. Mickey Rourke better win for Best Actor, otherwise those old farts at The Academy should lace up their boots and fight me in the ring.

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