“The only place I get hurt is out there. The world don’t give a shit about me.”

There are so few perfectly cast movies – Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church in Sideways, Tobey Maguire in Spider-Man, Humphrey Bogart in just about every movie he was ever in. The list goes on, just not for very long.

And then there is Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler.

The right actor. The right film. Kismet.

Now I am an unabashed professional wrestling fan, I need to get that right out there in the open. There are certain biases at play here. But as anyone who has ever seen a Hulk Hogan film knows, biases can only take you so far.

But in the words of S.E. Hinton, that was then, this is now.

Nowadays, the biggest movie star in the world – Dwayne Johnson – is a former professional wrestler. John Cena and Dave Batista are steadily climbing the ladder behind him. When I was younger, we had Rowdy Roddy Piper in the glorious John Carpenter flick, They Live, to do us proud. Now John Cena is starring in blockbusters and Dave Batista is playing a replicant in Blade Runner 2049. It’s a different world.

The Wrestler draws a great deal of influence from the Hulk Hogan / Iron Sheik rivalry of the early eighties, but flips the real life outcomes of the two former wrestlers. In the film Randy the Ram (Hulk Hogan) is destitute and broke, where The Ayatollah (Iron Sheik) parlayed his money earned in wrestling to become a successful car dealer after his ring career was over. The reality is somewhat different, Hulk Hogan stayed rich, and became even richer after scoring an impressive legal win over Gawker for that slaughter of a thousand inner children abomination of a sex tape, while the Iron Sheik continued to entertain the masses with his bizarre tweets before shuffling off this mortal coil, winner of a life well-lived.

What this movie really does is put the world of professional wrestling into context. When I was watching as a kid, I thought every wrestler was a millionaire. They were on TV after all, how could they not be? It was only later in life that I realized for every Hulk Hogan or The Rock, there was a Marty Jannetty, a Shane Douglas or Junkyard Dog. I’m not shaming these people. They entertained the hell out of me back in the day. But there are far more wrestlers who have fell on hard times over the years than there are success stories. The blue collar appeal goes far deeper than just the audience.

The care and attention Darren Aronofsky and Mickey Rourke put into The Wrestler is nothing short of astounding. From the little things like Randy’s struggle with simple locomotion; just getting up in the morning is a process for these athletes. Their bodies are broken down from years of taking falls and smashes in the ring. Impact. And when their time in the spotlight fades, the world passes them by. Just like your favorite bands you had when you were young, just like your favorite memories.

It doesn’t help that Randy the Ram is a fuckup. He screwed up his relationship with his daughter – choosing the spotlight and road over family – and when she finally accepts him back in his life, he screws it up again. It’s heartbreaking to watch. It’s real. It’s relatable.

And then there is one Marissa Tomei. Mona Lisa “F’n” Vito herself. Aunt Mae! She plays Cassidy, an aging stripper and love interest of Randy the Ram. I’m of the age now where the people I had crushes on are playing Spider-Man’s aunt and too old for the industry strippers. And before you ask, yes, my idea of a screwdriver is Metamucil and Costco vodka and I go to bed at six.

I read somewhere that the actual wrestling content of this movie covers less than twelve minutes of the film’s 109 minute runtime. That’s because the movie isn’t really about wrestling. It’s about broken dreams, living past your prime and the unpleasant, slow understanding that the good old days are gone for good, and there’s more road in the rearview than up ahead. Things that happen to all of us regardless of if you enjoy a suplex or two.

The Wrestler ends ambiguously, with all signs pointing to the last ride of Randy the Ram; going out like Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid, not in a hail of gunfire, but to the sounds of an adoring and cheering crowd. I don’t mean to channel Adam Savage here, but I reject your ending and substitute my own. I’ll shout if from the rooftops: Randy the Ram lives.

Seriously though, the ending makes me cry every time. Finally wrestling fans have their own Rocky.