Lyrics Afisha.ru - Рестлер
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Восьмидесятник про борца
«Рестлер» — это, если вкратце, 115 минут про очень хорошего человека, который хочет собрать воедино свою развалившуюся жизнь, и поэтому идет с больным сердцем на ринг, если не погибать, то совершать подвиги.
Из всех работ Аронофски самая, пожалуй, ровная, идеально круглая, лишенная какой бы то ни было сверхзадачи — тем сильнее чувство разочарования. У него же все фильмы на один мотив — про мучения и гибель героев. Судите сами: осаждаемый головными болями сумасшедший математик в дебютном «Пи»; три бруклинских наркомана, плотно сидящих на героине, и медленно погружающаяся в телевизионное безумие амфетаминовая женщина из «Реквиема по мечте»; наконец, в «Фонтане» — доктор-онколог, сгубивший свою больную жену за поиском эликсира бессмертия. Причем Аронофски весьма гениально применял дающийся только ему режиссерский метод, когда безумие героев вырывается на пленку и зритель проходит путь деградации вместе с ними. Что в «Пи» с его монохромным контрастным миром, снятым на безумных скоростях в неправильных градусах, что в «Реквиеме», где две тысячи монтажных кусочков вместо стандартных шестисот, что в «Фонтане» с его ядовитой позолотой, обнимающей огромный летящий сквозь муранский дождь стеклянный пузырь, — решительно нечем дышать.
Четвертый в карьере режиссера «Рестлер» — фильм короткий (гуманный хронометраж 1 час 40 минут), удручающе старомодный, предельно аккуратный в своей и без того безупречной и лаконичной форме. История, положенная в основу, всё о том же - о человеке, самоотверженно идущем до конца, но впервые эту мысль нам дают понять столь явственно. Когда на третьей минуте в кадре появляется обнаженное по пояс, грязное и ненужное тело Микки Рурка, покрытое целиком изувеченными мышцами и умопомрачительными шрамами, как-то очень быстро становится понятно, про что кино, как оно будет развиваться и чем, собственно, закончится. Наверное, это все-таки снобизм: называть хороший, безупречно снятый деликатной камерой фильм плохим, потому что в нем нет ни капельки амбиций, а термин «аккуратист» ставить не в похвалу, а в упрек режиссеру. По мне — так оно и есть, но только не в данном конкретном случае. Дэррен Аронофски — как и многие другие недооцененные режиссеры современности — в какой-то момент просто-напросто перестал быть бунтарем и революционером, он превратился в среднестатистического ронаховарда, такого школяра, создающего кино внутри определенной системы сугубо ремесленных рамок. И понять причины таких изменений поможет критика. Вспомним: «Реквием по мечте» был буквально изничтожен прессой в Каннах — авторитетнейшее издание Варьете, к примеру, написало, что режиссеру следует пойти лечиться вместо того, чтобы снимать кино. Экзистенциальный «Фонтан» страшно освистали в Венеции, а «Пи» рецензенты посоветовали отправить в мусорную корзину и сжечь. В то время как сделанного с огромной любовью к американским восьмидесятникам «Рестлера», который для критиков и образец сценарной внятности, и почти эталон линейной интриги, встретили с кокетливым благодушием: сперва вручили главный приз 65-й Мостры, затем актерский Золотой Глобус, теперь двигают картину на Оскар.
Наверное, такова оборотная сторона мировой гармонии. Лет двадцать назад Микки Рурк считался любимцем всех женщин, он был красавчиком, кушал фрукты с оголенного тела Ким Бесингэр, и ни одна живая душа ему не аплодировала; стоило ему после боксерской карьеры превратиться в развалившегося растрескавшегося монстра с натянутой кожей — вдруг зааплодировали. Аронофски раньше снимал живые, пульсирующие, агрессивные и беспощадные картины; а теперь вот пример фильма, который абсолютно просчитан, полностью рационален, типичен от начала до конца. Объективно в этом нет ничего грустного. Но самое интересное произойдет, если у Дэррена именно сейчас начнется голливудская карьера, а ремейк верхувенского «Робокопа» заработает в
Eightecostal pro fighter
“The Wrestler” is, in short, 115 minutes about a very good person who wants to put together his collapsed life, and therefore goes to the ring with a sick heart, if not die, then perform feats.
Of all the works of Aronofsky, perhaps the most even, ideally round, devoid of any super task - the stronger the feeling of disappointment. He has all films on one theme - about the torment and death of heroes. Judge for yourself: the maddened mathematician in the debut Pi, besieged by headaches; three Brooklyn heroin addicts and the amphetamine woman from Requiem for a Dream slowly sinking into television frenzy; and finally, in "Fontana" - an oncologist, who killed his sick wife in search of the elixir of immortality. Moreover, Aronofsky very brilliantly applied the director's method, given only to him, when the madness of the heroes breaks out on film and the viewer goes through the path of degradation with them. What is in "Pi" with its monochrome contrasting world, filmed at insane speeds in the wrong degrees, what is in "Requiem", where two thousand editing pieces instead of the standard six hundred, what is in "Fountain" with its poisonous gilding, hugging a huge flying through the Murano rain glass bubble - there is absolutely nothing to breathe.
The fourth in the director's career, "The Wrestler" is a short film (humane timing 1 hour 40 minutes), depressingly old-fashioned, extremely neat in its already impeccable and laconic form. The story, which is the basis, is all about the same - about a person who selflessly goes to the end, but for the first time this idea is given to us so clearly. When, in the third minute, Mickey Rourke's body, naked to the waist, dirty and unnecessary, appears in the frame, covered entirely with mutilated muscles and mind-blowing scars, it somehow very quickly becomes clear what the movie is about, how it will develop and how it will actually end. Probably, this is still snobbery: to call a good film, flawlessly shot with a delicate camera, bad, because there is not a bit of ambition in it, and the term “neat” is to be used not as a praise, but as a reproach to the director. For me - it is so, but not in this particular case. Darren Aronofsky - like many other underappreciated directors of our time - at some point simply ceased to be a rebel and a revolutionary, he turned into an average ronakhovard, a scholar who creates cinema within a certain system of purely craft frameworks. And criticism will help to understand the reasons for such changes. Let us remember: "Requiem for a Dream" was literally destroyed by the press in Cannes - the most authoritative edition of the Variety, for example, wrote that the director should go for treatment instead of making a movie. The existential "Fountain" was booed terribly in Venice, and the reviewers advised to send "Pi" to the trash can and burn it. While made with great love for the American eighties "Wrestler", which for critics is both a model of script intelligibility, and almost a standard of linear intrigue, was greeted with flirtatious complacency: first the main prize of the 65th Mostra was awarded, then the actor's Golden Globe, now picture for Oscar.
This is probably the other side of world harmony. Twenty years ago, Mickey Rourke was considered the favorite of all women, he was handsome, he ate fruits from the naked body of Kim Besingar, and not a single living soul applauded him; it cost him after his boxing career to turn into a collapsed cracked monster with taut skin - they suddenly applauded. Aronofsky used to shoot live, throbbing, aggressive and merciless pictures; and now here is an example of a film that is absolutely calculated, completely rational, typical from start to finish. Objectively, there is nothing sad about it. But the most interesting thing will happen if Darren starts his Hollywood career right now, and a remake of Verhoeven's "Robocop" starts working in
“The Wrestler” is, in short, 115 minutes about a very good person who wants to put together his collapsed life, and therefore goes to the ring with a sick heart, if not die, then perform feats.
Of all the works of Aronofsky, perhaps the most even, ideally round, devoid of any super task - the stronger the feeling of disappointment. He has all films on one theme - about the torment and death of heroes. Judge for yourself: the maddened mathematician in the debut Pi, besieged by headaches; three Brooklyn heroin addicts and the amphetamine woman from Requiem for a Dream slowly sinking into television frenzy; and finally, in "Fontana" - an oncologist, who killed his sick wife in search of the elixir of immortality. Moreover, Aronofsky very brilliantly applied the director's method, given only to him, when the madness of the heroes breaks out on film and the viewer goes through the path of degradation with them. What is in "Pi" with its monochrome contrasting world, filmed at insane speeds in the wrong degrees, what is in "Requiem", where two thousand editing pieces instead of the standard six hundred, what is in "Fountain" with its poisonous gilding, hugging a huge flying through the Murano rain glass bubble - there is absolutely nothing to breathe.
The fourth in the director's career, "The Wrestler" is a short film (humane timing 1 hour 40 minutes), depressingly old-fashioned, extremely neat in its already impeccable and laconic form. The story, which is the basis, is all about the same - about a person who selflessly goes to the end, but for the first time this idea is given to us so clearly. When, in the third minute, Mickey Rourke's body, naked to the waist, dirty and unnecessary, appears in the frame, covered entirely with mutilated muscles and mind-blowing scars, it somehow very quickly becomes clear what the movie is about, how it will develop and how it will actually end. Probably, this is still snobbery: to call a good film, flawlessly shot with a delicate camera, bad, because there is not a bit of ambition in it, and the term “neat” is to be used not as a praise, but as a reproach to the director. For me - it is so, but not in this particular case. Darren Aronofsky - like many other underappreciated directors of our time - at some point simply ceased to be a rebel and a revolutionary, he turned into an average ronakhovard, a scholar who creates cinema within a certain system of purely craft frameworks. And criticism will help to understand the reasons for such changes. Let us remember: "Requiem for a Dream" was literally destroyed by the press in Cannes - the most authoritative edition of the Variety, for example, wrote that the director should go for treatment instead of making a movie. The existential "Fountain" was booed terribly in Venice, and the reviewers advised to send "Pi" to the trash can and burn it. While made with great love for the American eighties "Wrestler", which for critics is both a model of script intelligibility, and almost a standard of linear intrigue, was greeted with flirtatious complacency: first the main prize of the 65th Mostra was awarded, then the actor's Golden Globe, now picture for Oscar.
This is probably the other side of world harmony. Twenty years ago, Mickey Rourke was considered the favorite of all women, he was handsome, he ate fruits from the naked body of Kim Besingar, and not a single living soul applauded him; it cost him after his boxing career to turn into a collapsed cracked monster with taut skin - they suddenly applauded. Aronofsky used to shoot live, throbbing, aggressive and merciless pictures; and now here is an example of a film that is absolutely calculated, completely rational, typical from start to finish. Objectively, there is nothing sad about it. But the most interesting thing will happen if Darren starts his Hollywood career right now, and a remake of Verhoeven's "Robocop" starts working in