I tend to sigh a lot; in my brain tunnels, I sift through ways to be creative in my myriad iterations of how to "sigh." Sometimes, I'm too self-conscious to write them out. I leave my exasperation/frustation to one's imagination, resigning with: "sigh." But ... there are plenty of ways to write phonetically my Sigh.
I don't think there are as many iterations I could ever conjure up than there are in "The Wrestler."
"Whiiiish," "Phooosh," "Sheeeeeeeeesh," "Shiiiiiish," "Whooofff," "Oif." "Blerrrg," "Bleh," "Meh," "Herrrrm."
None of these speak to the quality (amazing, layered) of the movie itself, only to the very real way that Mickey Rourke, Evan Rachel Wood and Marisa Tomei (holy sh!tballs ... the lady has remained so beautiful!) alleviate their minor and major frustrations with Suh-igh.
It's not as though the movie hasn't gotten major play in the headlines -- it has. But, I didn't know what I was getting into.
Back when I saw JCVD, I was quite enamored with the self-awareness and meta-assessment of Jean-Claude's sense of his own life; this movie makes that look trite. Perhaps I wouldn't go that far, but it's close ... Rourke's portrayal of a washed up WWF(ish) star by far outweighs JC's portrayal of an outbeaten Steven Seagal competitor. It's just more real -- something little Grice loves.
Brutal, bloody, honest -- brilliant!
I watched 5 movies today before moseying to Sunshine Cinema ... that's after dealing with holiday season being over, taking with it my friend whose presence won't be expected for three more long weeks.
(Movies watched today: "Made," "Wall Street," "Reversal of Fortune," "The Hours," "All the President's Men," "The Wrestler" ... maybe going to wander across the street and use what little disposable income I have to tide me over on another.)
I received several unexpected gifts this past week -- with them came unexpected movie memories, which will be unwarrantedly blogged about ... tomorrow.