Last Sunday saw Mickey Rourke denied the crowning moment of his comeback following his performance in THE WRESTLER as Sean Penn swooped for the Best Actor Oscar for MILK. It was a cruel denial, not least because I have the feeling that although Penn will go on to garner more awards, this will almost certainly be Rourke's best shot.
It wasn't a huge surprise, many of the Academy members might have felt they were playing it safe with Penn; he has always placed himself firmly within the self-constructed Hollywood elite. Rourke is an outsider, and his recent public appearances confirm he still has a bad streak a mile wide, indulging in drink, award ceremony profanity and boasting about casual sex.
And this was an insider's award. The ceremony's new format of having five previous winners come out in a semi-circle, address and congratulate the nominees to their faces, and then for the winner to take the stage, to be encircled and absorbed by them, was redolent of a cult.
Another much-heralded comeback seems to have been foiled at a much earlier stage. JCVD stars karate expert/actor Jean-Claude Van Damme playing a version of himself. Battling for the custody of his daughter, and losing the plum Hollywood roles to Steven Seagal, he returns to Belgium where his attempt to cash a cheque in a post office goes horribly wrong when he is taken hostage.
The film has been applauded as the first where the Muscles From Brussels actually emotes. It's an arty affair, director Mabrouk El Mechri captures it in light-soaked, sepia hues, and there's even a point midway through when Van Damme literally levitates above the action and breaks the fourth wall with a seemingly improvised piece to camera about the failings of his career and history of addiction.
All in all it's a curious beast, but promised to be Van Damme's first theatrical release in years, which hasn't been helped by the seeming failure of the distributor to get any cinemas (apart from cult film lovers' favourite the Prince Charles) to actually show it. So sadly, again, Van Damme seems to have gone Straight To Video. The addition of a making-of documentary on the DVD adds another layer to all of this, showing a deeply insecure Van Damme afforded a dizzying amount of respect and affection from his director, headbutting a locker in frustration when he repeatedly fluffs his lines, and - of course - working out.
So whether you want to see a meta-film that plays with the nature of fame, responsibility, fatherhood and reality, or you just want to see Jean-Claude Van Damme cry, I'd heartily recommend it. It's certainly better than STREET FIGHTER.
