In the world of pro wrestling there are two spaces in which to spin dramatic concepts. The first space contains what's immediately recognizable about the sport -- the juvenile soap operatics -- and is easily filled by the Hulk Hogans and Dwayne Johnsons; comic-book profiles, muscular and flashy, the business as a springboard into bad B-movies.
The second space is an older one that predates the Vince McMahon empire, and is centered on the notion of athleticism in the service of storytelling, in which each match is a story unto itself. The competitors' choreography communicates a complex of beats and turning points making up an abstract narrative. After all, what are these faux-gladiatorial displays but a kind of ballet? There is most definitely an art lurking underneath the cheap theatrics.
Hart came from this latter background. He understood the concept and exploited it with more acumen than anyone else. Between the time of pro wrestling's explosive popularity in the '80s and the period covered in this film, he championed this method of wrestling amidst all those silly plot lines that now dominate McMahon's machine. Given the status of rasslin' in popular culture, it is little wonder that outsiders are more familiar with the dim celebrities of Hogan and The Rock than they are with the more technical Hart. Where they have headlined cinematic dreck, he could have given us a finely directed film or a great screenplay.
You see, Hart's original goal was to be a filmmaker. Not an actor. A filmmaker. You wouldn't know that just from seeing this. Family tradition led him into wrestling. So what we have here is a story commissioned using one of his filmmaker buddies, about the downfall of a born storyteller who misappropriated his own life and tried to make up for it, by experimenting with those concepts within his chosen profession that could extend beyond, into the realm of his curtailed ambition. There's a reference to "Shawshank Redemption," another story about a man who utilizes skills from outside his imprisonment to see him through to the end. In this documented segment of the Hit-man's journey we see him getting crushed by the carnival house atmosphere (creatively) that was always germane to the wrestling business, as well as by the ruthless business model that McMahon introduced to that corner of the sports world.
As as far as topicality, this item is little more than a relic. Because wrestling has shifted so much in the decade since its release and this director relies so heavily on contemporaneous elements for his context, the feeling of immediacy that made this effective at the time is now gone. Oh well, at least the music is apt, and the long final sequence in Montreal is noteworthy in the way it reflexively twines its three visions -- the grandiose wrestling performance itself, the devolving backstage drama, and the idea of the film itself as framework and as a show about the show.
In the big scheme of things, the tragedy of this man's life -- apart from all his trials and tribulations after the events contained here -- is us knowing we may have lost a considerably talented filmmaker to that four-cornered circus. The upshot is that it appears to have not completely destroyed him. He's escaped that world , and now maybe one of these days he'll finally make the full transition into film and reinvent himself, to his benefit and ours. Go for it, Bret.
Blake's rating: 2 (out of 4)