Mat champ calls film the real deal

The wrestling business has been the source of more than one critically acclaimed film documentary - I was one of the subjects of Barry Blaustein's "Beyond the Mat" - but I worried that my vocation was not respected enough to merit a thoughtful fictional screen representation. The chances of seeing a great pro-wrestling movie seemed right up there with the likelihood of a Mickey Rourke career renaissance.

You can see why I was pessimistic about Darren Aronofsky's wrestling project. I received an inquiry early on about serving as a consultant but cited the need to "spend time with my family" as a reason to refrain. If I felt like having my name attached to a failure, I figured, I'd write another novel. Casting Rourke in the lead seemed like a mistake. Sure, he had been in some good films a few election cycles ago, and I'll admit to stealing his popcorn-box trick from "Diner" back in '82. But he seemed unlikely to deliver the portrait of a wrestler that I wanted.

And so I attended a New York screening of "The Wrestler" with a dab of cynicism. Sure, I'd heard that the film had been a hit at the Venice Film Festival, that there were shades of "Beyond the Mat," that Rourke gave a great performance. I even heard that I was one of his influences in preparing for the role. But what did Hollywood know about my business, anyway? Who had they ever beaten? (As we say in the biz.)

I was hooked within a minute. Within five, I had completely forgotten I was looking at Rourke. That guy on the screen simply was Randy "the Ram" Robinson, an '80s mat icon on a two-decades-long losing streak in the game of life, searching for a way, any way, to fan the dying embers of his career. Rourke somehow makes the pathetic seem heroic and imbues in this sad, broken man a sense of quiet dignity and deep-down decency that makes the prospect of not rooting for him - in both his life and the ring - impossible.

I found great authenticity in so many aspects of Randy's battered psyche. His constant need for acceptance - from his estranged daughter; from his possible love interest, a stripper played by Marisa Tomei (who is wonderful, if a bit shocking for any guy who ever had a crush on her in "My Cousin Vinny"); from a random collection of customers at the deli counter where he works; from his dwindling number of nostalgic wrestling fans - is a theme that many a wrestler will grudgingly admit to connecting with. The scene depicting a poorly attended "Legends Convention" where Randy, a man so proud of his past, is forced not only to accept his present but to take a glimpse at the future, will strike an uncomfortable yet legitimate chord with every wrestling star whose personal appearances have ever been met with a symphony of silence.

I also loved the wrestling scenes. Rourke deserves great credit not only for whipping himself into incredible shape - packing 30 pounds of muscle on for the role - but for doing his wrestling homework. Learning the trade at age 52 could not have been easy, but Rourke's in-ring work is good enough to pass this wrestler's sniff test. No one will ever confuse Randy's clothesline with Stan Hansen's, and the scenes surely benefited from careful editing, but much of what Randy did - his flying "Ram Jam," a Japanese enzugiri kick - actually looks pretty good. Importantly, it doesn't look any better than it should. His first in-ring scene, with a starry-eyed rookie thrilled just to be in the same arena with a former mat legend, looks realistically rudimentary. I could have done without the self-induced bloodletting, especially because it seemed so slow and deliberate, like a magician performing a card trick in slow motion. While such acts are a small but accepted part of the business, you wouldn't often see them at a sparsely attended event like this.

Aronofsky also achieves an authentic atmosphere in the variety of wrestling venues he showcases. His decision to cast working independent wrestlers and to film at real independent wrestling shows was wise and gives the film a gritty documentary feel. "The Wrestler" also does a wonderful job depicting the backstage camaraderie among Randy's fellow wrestlers, the eclectic blend of muscle heads, dreamers, athletes and artists who serve as an unlikely support system for Rourke's character.

I have been thinking a lot about "The Wrestler" since that New York screening. Feeling a little guilty. You see, I'm not sure if I should feel so good about a movie that doesn't seem to show my world in a flattering light. The wrestling business as a whole has always reminded me of Dorothy Gale's postgame analysis of her time in Oz: "Some of it was horrible, but most of it was beautiful." We don't get to see much of that beautiful stuff in Aronofsky's film (although we do see shades of it in the opening montage of "the Ram" 's glory days). Still, I didn't find "The Wrestler" to be a downer at all. Sobering at times, but not at all depressing. Despite all the suffering - both physical and emotional- that Rourke's character endures, the movie is sprinkled with moments of genuine warmth and great humor. Indeed, I dare any hardened, grizzled moviegoer not to laugh out loud at Rourke's delicious deli-counter dialogue.

Now for the nitpicking. The steroid transaction seemed either a little too convenient, or like an anabolic homage to Travis Bickel's purchase of enough weaponry to quell a Third World uprising in Scorsese's "Taxi Driver." And I wish there had been some visible difference in Randy's physique after he underwent heart surgery and gave up 'roids.

One other minor note of disappointment for me: I never did detect any of myself in the movie. Hey, if you are going to be an influence on a movie, it might as well be a great one like "The Wrestler." *

Mick Foley is a three-time WWE champion who has written two New York Times No. 1 best-sellers. He currently appears every Thursday on Spike TV's "TNA Impact." This article originally appeared on slate.com.