Mickey Rourke

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What is your chat-up line that always works?
Depends on the hour and the place. But something honest and straight-up is more interesting than beating around the bush. There’s nothing wrong with saying “I want to **** you all night long.”

Do you have children?

No.

Do you want children?
Never given it any thought. My childhood was a ****ing mess. I promised one thing to myself: I knew what it was like growing up without a father and meeting him 25 years later. I would never do that to a human being because of what I went through. If I bring somebody into this world, I’m going to be there. Until I can guarantee that, I don’t deserve to have a child. My childhood was so bad that if somebody said, “Would you rather go through your childhood again or never be born?” I’d say I’d rather never been born. I used to sit around and say, Why can’t I live in his house down the street.? Why am I stuck in ****in’ purgatory here, in this **** hole?” You know, that’s OK, because it gives you character. But who wants to get character that way?

Are you spiritual?

To a degree.

Have you become more so?

It’s an interesting question. My little brother Joe died a year and a half ago. I always prayed and went to church once a week, and I haven’t been there or prayed with the same conviction since. He died a very slow, painful death of cancer. In my arms. He was really a good guy, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. You see somebody die like that, who’s your blood, at a young age and you think, “What the **** is going on?” It’s been hard for me. I was raised very Catholic. Joe’s death took a lot out of me, but it also gave me strength. When we visited each other when he was dying, we hadn’t seen each other for a while, but he looked at me and said, “You’ve changed, Bro. I never thought you would.” Here’s a guy dying who’s glad to see the change in me. So now, if some days I can’t do it for myself, I think about him and how much it meant for him to see me not the way I was.

Alan Parker, the director of Angel Heart, described you as a “nightmare, very dangerous, because you never know what he’s going to do on set.” Is that an accurate assessment?

I never do the same take twice. Same way I’m not going to sit in this chair the same way I sat her 20 minutes ago, and people aren’t used to that, especially if they come from the theatre. So I think he’s talking about something like that net of unpredictability.

Has that changed?

No.

Do you still really enjoy acting?

You know what, ever since I got a second chance, I love it more then ever. Because, you know, if you’re talented and you put the work in, you’re going to make it the first time around. It might take you 10 years, like it did me. But when your career is over, once you’re a has-been and you’re finished, to come back after 13 years and you’re not 28 years old anymore...well, not many people can do that.

If you hadn’t come back, what would you have done?

There’s nothing worse than an out-of-work actor. I don’t know. I was at the point when I was going to go back to Miami and do God know what.

Who’s the person you had the biggest falling out with?

God. But I think it’s one-sided. I think he’s still with me. Faith is a changing thing. Some days you have it, some days you don’t.You question whether you can be heard.


Do you eve look back on something you’ve done and cringed?
**** yeah. From girls I’ve been with, to movies I’ve made, to things I though I wanted to do. I can watch a movie and remember the life beyond it. “Oh, I was going through this at the time or I was going out with that one at the time.” You go, “Wow, that was a terrible ****ing time.”

How do you feel about the word “comeback”?

I’m afraid of it, in a way. Because people always go, “Glad you’re back,” and when you’ve been out of work 13 -14 years, you never feel like a come back. I thought after four, five years it might happen, and when several years went by, I thought the dance was over. So when people say, “You’re back,” I think, “Ooh, dunno.” Because I’ve still got it in me to really **** up. I can’t pat myself on the back and say “You’re back,” because of where I was. When you lose your career, your wife, your house, your money - all at the same time - it’s humiliating. It’s humiliating to hear, “Oh, what happened to you?” Or, “How come you don’t work anymore?” You know, you to buy a pack of cigarettes and you hear, “Oh, you used to be in the movies,” it goes through you like a bolt of lightening.

What stops you from ****ing up again?

Just no reacting right off the bat, just going, “OK, there’s consequences to this. “The other day, there’s some drunk guy giving me **** in a restaurant. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt and I said to the waitress, who’s next to me, “I want you to watch this. If he touches me, I’m going to knock him right the **** out.” And they got rid of him. Where in the old days I would have just punched him in the mouth. He was really being rude and obnoxious, but I’m now able to evaluate and see what the consequences are.



Do you think about your legacy?

No, not at all. There’s a guy running around that wants to do my memoirs. I say, “Not now, I’ve got stuff to do.”

same source
 
The Second Coming Of Mickey Rourke back to Articles page
By Sam Slovick
Giant Magazine
March 06'

He held his own with Robert De Niro, romped with Kim Basinger, stole the show in and was almost banished by Hollywood forever. A resurrected Mickey Rourke talks us through his turbulent career and unlikely comeback.

A parade of people filter into the Viceroy Hotel in Santa Monica. "Hey, you look like the guy," a gravelly voice says from behind me. Mickey Rourke is wearing a Gold's Gym tank top, jeans and visor. Except for the fact he smokes, he looks like the picture of health. His body makes him look like he's been training for a spot on the ill-fated show The Contender . This new and improved Rourke even has some old-school swagger.

Throughout the 1980's Mickey Rourke was the king of cool. In films like Rumble Fish, Angel Heart and 91/2 Weeks, he provided some of the best film moments in a decade known for mullets and Tom Cruise vehicles. But after gaining a reputation for being hard to work with, including fighting with producers and trouble with the law, Rourke slipped into a string of self-parodying roles (Wild Orchid, Another 91/2 Weeks), a face-altering stint as a boxer and time at the shrink's office. It's taken him years to shake his rep, yet with a gritty performance in Sin City and a turn as a bounty hunter in Domino, Rourke's proving big-time directors that he's back to his best. He's been tapped to star in the upcoming thriller Killshot (co-starring Diane Lane and Johnny Knoxville) and will reprise his role in Sin City 2. Rourke is now decidedly more evolved, introspective and producer-savvy, with all the right directors still in his corner. "Directors are always the ones who have come to my rescue," he says, "They always want to hire me. It's never the producers." He then reflects, "My best performance? I haven't done it yet. I haven't even come close, I just feel grateful that people are willing to hire me. The Weinsteins have offered me two movies. Those brothers have been really respectful to me and I'm gonna be respectful of them. I'm not gonna be a ****in' jerk-off....again."

This being the new, respectful Mickey, he not only turned up on time, but also candidly walked us through some of our favorite Rourke performances.

Body Heat 1981
Rourke made a splash in Hollywood as the hyperkinetic arsonist Teddy Lewis in this steamy thriller of betrayal, lust and money starring William Hurt and Kathleen Turner. Although Rourke only has a small scene, his energy and charisma steal the end of the movie.


Mickey: " I had just come out to California after studying for six or seven years at the Actors Studio in New York. I was bouncing at some transvestite nightclub on Hollywood Boulevard and going on audition and nothing was happening. I went in to read for Body Heat and totally smoked it. They offered me $500 a day, but I said to my agent I wanted a $1000 a day. He said "Are you ****ing kidding me? Every young actor in Hollywood wants this part!" And I said **** it ! 'cause I know what kind of actor I am. We finally worked it out. I only worked two days and I don't have any memories other than really turning it on. The director Lawrence Kasdan, then wanted to hire me for a movie that he did about a whole bunch of yuppies ( Big Chill ), but it wasn't my cup of tea so I passed."

Rumble Fish 1983
Francis Ford Coppola's screen adaptation of S.E. Hinton's novel about a street hoodlum gave Rourke the perfect vehicle to introduce his signature whisper delivery as the enigmatic Motorcycle Boy.


Mickey: " Francis Ford Coppola was directing us from the trailer, which was trippy, with Police drummer Steward Copeland by his side banging on the drums to get the beat going. Francis would write and we'd improvise on the spot. He'd talk to us through a microphone; he was having his issues and experimenting with not being on the set. Frances would use these sophisticated metaphors and most of the time I didn't know what the **** he was talking about. But no one ever spoke that way to me before, so it was cool. I respected him."
" One day he goes " OK, you're gonna steal this motorcycle and that's the one you'll ride." I go, "Francis, that's not a Harley Davidson. The guys back home aren't gonna talk to me if you make me get on the Jap piece of ****." Francis says "Mickey the Motorcycle Boy is beyond riding a Harley Davidson. He steals whatever it is. The thing is taking it and the ride."

91/2 Weeks 1986
Rourke's sadomasochistic John and Kim Basinger's Elizabeth embark on a psychosexual romp that exploded with erotic chemistry. Director Adrian Lyne created the seminal of the 1980s and sent couples scrambling to the cupboard for the honey.


Mickey: " I had my issues with the movie. I wanted it to transcend Last Tango in Paris but the producers didn't and that caused problems. When I first read the script it was a lot rawer that the film version we did. Adrian had made an incredible amount of money with Flashdance and there was that pressure to repeat it. I also think he was under strict orders to clean it up and make it more mainstream. I still think it was a very interesting film. I didn't know if at the time it was a direction Kim was able to go to in, but she delivered. It was hard getting her out of her trailer to go to work. Kim's a very private person. I think her representatives wanted her to make this film more than she wanted to make it. But there was nobody else around that looked like her, so they had do have her. I don't know if its was the easiest film for her to make a that point in her life."

Angel Heart 1987
Going mano a mano with Robert De Niro, Rourke's portrayal of the beleaguered P.I. Harold Angel displayed some of his most emotionally raw and charged work. Voodoo, murder, Satan and balmy New Orleans only accentuated Rourke's torturous portrayal of a man descending into hell.


Mickey: " At the time I got Angel Heart my reputation was terrible. One of the first things director Alan Parker said to me was, "You're not gonna misbehave on my set!" I really wanted the job because I was broke, so I tried to be good, but he caught me at the time in my career when I had really lost respect for acting. I started seeing all the politics involved in the movie business and I short-circuited. The studio had changed regimes and let The Pope of Greenwich Village fall in the toilet so I started to get angry. And I had so many issues about getting help that by the time I was doing Angel Heart I was a mess. I knew my lines, though, and I was prepared overtime because I was facing De Niro. His level of attention and concentration can be very intimidating. There was a lot going on there between us personally, but I really don't want to get into it because I have so much respect for him. Listen, when you work with somebody like De Niro you're either going to get smoked or you're going to step up to the plate. I stepped up to the plate."

Barfly 1987
A biopic based on the life of writer and alcoholic Charles Bukowski, Rourke played the lead role with such boozy scurffiness that it's hard to believe the only drinks he imbibed on set were protein shakes. Rourke and Faye Dunaway frolic from bar to bar with a Bonnie and Clyde lovability, giving the dark film some much-needed buoyancy.


Mickey: " I didn't want to make the movie. All the men in my family died in their 30s and 40s from drinking and I didn't even know who the **** Charles Burkowski was. But the director chased me around England to do it, and then they sent me some books. I remember Faye was on the phone with her shrink for an hour before we started work everyday. I didn't know about shrinks back then, otherwise I would have been on the phone with a shrink, too. Barbet Schroeder, the director, even though he was a prick and a baby, knew exactly what he wanted. I remember thinking the day we began shooting. "What am I gonna do with this ****in' piece?" Then as they were doing my makeup I was listening to Bukowski talk to my brother. I'm hearing his sing-songy, almost condescending voice. "Hey baby, how ya doing?" So I thought, I'm just gonna do that. The set was anarchy. I'd walk into the trailer at 7A.M. and Bukowski and my brother would be drinking beers. I'd go over to my ginseng, vitamins and protein shake and Bukowski would growl, "Hey have a beer." And I'd go "I don't want a ****in' beer. Look at you two idiots drinking beer at 7A.M." The director would go, "Ugh, Joe ( my brother)'s a man, not you. I liked Bukowski. He was cool. He'd go, "Hey , we're making a movie, big ****in' deal. Let's go get a beer."

Buffalo 66 1998
Having trouble getting hired because of his bad-boy reputation, Rourke's career was revived by director Vincent Gallo with a small role in the off-beat drama about the Buffalo Bills, kidnapping, jail and bookies. Rourke was part of a quirky ensemble that included Ben Gazzara, Angelica Huston, Christina Ricci and, Jan Michael Vincent.


Mickey: " I was flat broke because nobody would hire me. Vinnie called me up and said " Hey, I got this thing but you gotta learn it." Then he said, "Are you having trouble with the government?" I told him, "Yeah, I owe them a lot of money." He said, "What if I give you $100,000 in a paper bag and you come up for like four hours?" When my scene was over, Vinnie gave me a paper bag full of money and I got on a plane that afternoon. Vinnie's his own man. And the girls love him. Somebody said to me once "Look at ****in' Vinnie. He doesn't drink. He comes to clubs at 1:30 A.M., right before its closing time and gets all the girls. He has it down to a science." Vinnie can talk a lot of crap but he's real smart. I told him he has to quit talking **** about people or he's going to end up on the bench with me one day."

Animal Factory 2000
In perhaps the most bizarre twist in his career, Rourke played Jan the actress, a perky transvestite in the Steve Buscemi-directed prison tale.

Mickey: " Steve Buscemi asked me if I wanted to play a transvestite and I thought he was kidding me. It was only one day's work and I was broke again so I was like, "What the ****?" I lost 18 pounds and took my bridge out ? I did it with my front teeth out. Back in the day when I worked in a club I noticed all transvestites were toothless, cause they ended up getting punched out all the time. I went and got a French manicure and got my eyes done and everything. I even flew on the plane like that. At the airport there was a little kid in and he looked up at me and started crying. When I got to the set I went over to Steve and said, "Hello Steve." He looks up at me confused. And I say "Steve it's Mickey!" And he went, "Holy ****.!""

Sin City 2005
In the film adaptation of Frank Miller's graphic novel Sin City, Rourke steals the show as Marv, an indestructible human tank looking for vengeance.

Mickey: " We worked against a green screen most of the time and Robert Rodriquez, the director, is there instead of the actors. **** the green screen, but just go with the flow. The set looked like NASA with all the computers and ****.
Robert would walk around the set strumming a Fender guitar, with his cowboy hat and his boots and he would come over and say "Could you do it a little like this?" He's a million miles away and he tells you exactly what he needs to tell you and he's playing some tune that he's trying to put together for the movie. He would go off and write and after lunch he'd come back, 40 minutes later, and have this ****ing dialogue that other writers I've know couldn't come up with after going off for two weeks. I mean, how can you not love a guy who wears a Stetson and plays guitar? He has everything but the ****ing horse and the gun belt. We shot Sin City in Austin, Texas. I'm moving there as soon as my lease is up. Rodriquez is the king of Austin, Maybe I'll be the queen.

same source
 
Mickey Rourke films on Broadway
Local stores get their piece in new film
By Al Sullivan
Reporter senior staff writer
The Hudson Reporter
February 7th, 08'

Mickey Rourke, star of "Man on Fire" and "Sin City" paid a day trip to Bayonne last week, filming portions of a new movie "The Wrestler" at several locations along Broadway.

Co-staring with actress Marisa Tomei, Rourke plays a character named Randy "The Ram" Robinson, an wrestler seeking to make a come back against his former rival.

Although the film seems to echo a little of the boxing classic "Rocky," film crew claim "The Wrestler" is being done in a documentary format. It is being directed by Dareen Aronofsky, who also directed "Pi" and "Requiem for a Dream."

Filming took place at three locations along Broadway, uptown at Color & Cuts Salon early in the day, then later at Tropical Tanning, and the Dolphin Gym in midtown.

Falisha Hefnawy, owner of Color & Cuts said scouts for the movie had come in earlier to look over the place, seeking a unique look that apparently her place had.

Hefnawy, who has been at the location for almost 12 years specializing in color and highlights, says her customers include professional actors, including some of cable TV.

Her daughter, Sarah - who has aspirations of becoming an actress - was given a role as a client.

"She has been in commercials prior to this," Hefnawy said.

"I'll be a customer in this film," Sarah said

Prior work commercial work for Sarah included a role for Phillip Morris.

"Everyone is friendly," Hefnawy said, standing outside the door as film crews scrambled to prepare for the shoot.

Hefnawy said film crews came early and prepared the set for several hours prior to Rourke's arrival at about 9 a.m.

The buffed up Rourke had long blonde hair and sun glasses was also accompanied by a look-alike stand in who filled in for repetitious set up shots for camera adjustments.

The name of the Color & Cuts will likely appear in the movie since the staff did not make any changes to the signs.

Cindy Delesky, owner of Tropical Tanning at the downtown shook, almost got a role as the woman at the front desk when the actress scheduled for the shoot did not show up on time. "I was supposed to be in the scene when he came in," she said. "But the actress came."

As with Color & Cuts, the name of Tropical Tanning will appear in the movie since the set constructing crew moved the name to a more prominent locations, Delesky said.

Tropical Tanning shoot was supposed to be relatively short but turned out to last almost six hours with the Rourke's stand in earning his money as a short distance sprinter as he repeatedly went in and out of the store to get the entry shot set up right.

Rourke not only shot his segment of the film here, but also came back later for a tan, pausing to talk with Delesky.

"He said he liked Bayonne and used to be Dr. [Jack] Smith's patient," Delesky said. "He said he really loved the doctor."

The crew apparently made a very good impression on both Hefnawy and Delseky, who described them as helpful.

"They gave me a mural," Delesky said.

same source
 
The Resurrection Of Mickey Rourke
By: Steve Garbarino
Photos by Sante D; Orazio
Maxim Magazine
December 2008

For a decade he was as good as dead. But his performance in, “The Wrestler”, the hair-trigger actor has risen again. Will he triumph, or go down in flames.

On a muggy Sunday afternoon in late September, deep in-side the frankincense-heavy rectory of 42nd Street’s Holy Cross Church, Father Peter Colapietro is touring me through the skeletal wreckage of his kitchen, burnt recently in an electrical fire by “some idiot.” Father Pete suggests we go out to a nearby restaurant, “throw down a belt” of Rebel Yell, and “blow some smoke.” His church is poor by Manhattan standards despite its1852 vintage. It’s a ragged, grand red-brick slice of sanctuary for the down and out between soup-line Hell’s Kitchen and the triple-X remnant of Times Square. The priest is concerned about how to pay for the reconstruction of his church, which he calls the “crossroads of the world.” But he’s seen worse damaged goods. Like Mickey Rourke, his friend and parishioner, who after a sudden return to the spotlight spurred by a critically lauded comeback role in Darren Aronofsky’s epic new anti-Rocky drama, The Wrestler, now finds himself at a crossroads of his own: one of staying committed to rebuilding his life and career or letting it fall to pieces again. “Comeback?” says the actor. “When people come up to me and say, ‘You’re back,’ I say, ‘Brother, you don’t know where I’ve been.’” Ten years ago the straggly Method performer—who throughout the 1980s scene-robbed and owned such indelible films as Diner, Rumble Fish, Barfly, and The Pope of Greenwich Village, but whose acting career was outweighed and beaten to a pulp by an on-again, off-again professional boxing career, a mutually abusive marriage (to sultry supermodel Carré Otis, from 1992 to 1998), snot flings with gossip columnists, Miami Beach goon-squadding, exploding cheekbones, movie-set walk-offs, and basic don’t-you-know-who-I-am Assholery 101—had entered the church like a man without a home, requesting the presence of a man of the cloth.Father Pete knew who he was, despite “it taking me 15 times to watch Angel Heart [Rourke’s 1987 film about devil pacts, costarring Robert De Niro as Lucifer] and still not understand what the **** was going on.” “It was Mickey Rourke, and Mickey Rourke was in trouble,” says the priest, a robust, expletive-spouting Bronx native. “He needed someone to talk to. He needed an anchor. I told him that we are all our own worst enemies. But Mickey was fighting the Axis powers in his head: Germany, Japan, and Italy. I can’t go deeper than that. ”Rourke, however, can. Recalling one of his lowest moments, he says, “I was about to commit two mortal sins.” His career in a stranglehold, his billfold empty, his wife walking, his gold-plated Rolls-Royce, motorcycles, and other toys sold off to pay bills, he was living in rentals and hotel rooms, looking for lost love and a good day’s work. Having come off such lamentable oil spillage as 1997’s Dennis Rodman–costarring lark Double Team, as well as the 1991 big-budget bomb Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man and the camp-p*rno follow-up to 9½ Weeks, Wild Orchid (costarring his future wife, Otis), he was seriously contemplating suicide. That was the first mortal sin. The second: He was planning to murder, as he puts it, “a guy who raped Carré when she was on heroin and beat her up.”

“He needed someone to talk to, someone nonjudgmental,” recalls Father Pete. “That’s what confession is about. He admitted he had ****ed up his relationship with his wife. He had something written down, a letter he’d written to Carré—a note of a reconciliatory nature. I told him, ‘Let’s fold it up and put it behind the statue of Saint Jude.’ He went straight to the statue. That was a good sign.” Saint Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes. “He’s the guy to talk to when things seem totally hopeless and you need an intercession by God,” says Father Pete. Rourke lit a candle for a prayer, then tucked his note behind the wooden sculpture of the saint, within the dimly lit sanctuary. Father Pete told him, “This isn’t magic. But God loves you, and in the end, no matter how long it takes, He will give you the strength you need.” Then the priest and the actor went back to the rectory to drink red wine and smoke cigarettes. Fast-forward back to this rainy September day and inside the church: Father Pete and I search for Rourke’s note to Otis from so long ago. We find several other hopeless-cause notes, but Rourke’s is long gone, just like Otis herself. Rourke, however, is still around, still in contact with the priest. Father Pete heard from him a day before our meeting at Holy Cross, and he says of the actor, “He sounds better than he has in years!” But he still sounds concerned. “Still, he’s worrying about falling apart.“ I’ll pray for him,” says the priest, “I really will.”

Mickey Rourke truly had it all: fancy cars, hot supermodel wife, Hollywood Hills compound, entourage of adulators, and one of the most promising careers since Nicholson and Brando. Rising out of the ghetto in South Florida, moving to New York, then La-La, he landed his first notable short role in 1981’s neo-noir Body Heat while working at a drag queen bar in Hollywood. As a charismatic arsonist, he easily overshadowed the stars, William Hurt and Kathleen Turner - catapulting his career forward on the A-list train. That was the ’80s, his golden years. With his Irish good looks, mischievous smile, and world-weary eyes - always spelling trouble - his talent lay in making character roles leads. But he fought with directors, made scenes at nightclubs, got arrested for stupid things. In 1991, after one flop too many, he made the unprecedented and ill-conceived move of leaving Hollywood to become a professional boxer. He wasn’t bad. He won some big matches over a five-year career, but destroyed his Hollywood looks. Reconstructive surgery contributed to his somewhat waxen appearance today. “I don’t watch my films. I hate watching myself,” he says. “I haven’t seen The Wrestler, and I don’t plan to, either.” Rourke’s downfall occurred simultaneously with his marriage to Otis. It was tumultuous tabloid fodder up until its final, ugly flame-out in 1998. The money, the friends, the love life, the looks, the career, all gone. But now the gods appear to be favoring him again. Ever since the Venice International Film Festival awarded its highest honor to The Wrestler—the New Jersey–set drama about a washed-up 1980s ring champion named Randy “the Ram” Robinson, attempting a second round in his career and troubled life—the accolades for Rourke’s starring performance have made him a likely candidate for the Best Actor Oscar. His ravaged, self-effacing role in the film (costarring Marisa Tomei as an aging stripper with a heart of gold and Evan Rachel Wood as Rourke’s estranged lesbian daughter) has brought him the best reviews of his life. Variety offered up a sample rave: “Rourke creates a galvanizing, humorous, deeply moving portrait that instantly takes its place among the great, iconic screen performances.” Harvey Weinstein, whose production company gave Rourke his first career jump-start with 2005’s graphic-novel adaptation of Sin City, says of the new film, “It’s one of those epic pictures that really move you. This is a winner for Mickey—maybe the winner. He’s really pulling out the stops. ”And in his real life Rourke seems to be making the right moves as well. He left the place that ostracized him, Hollywood, for the place that first embraced him, New York City, “where it all began.” And so with the comeback film of a bone-crushing lifetime, the magnificent disaster that is—or was—Mickey Rourke is witness to his own resurrection. But is the pugilist finally at rest? Can he overcome his own worst enemy—himself? Rise up, and stay there? Or **** up, and go nowhere? The stakes are bigger than just a career.

same source
 
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The sacred and the profane mix like holy water and Red Bull at the West Village home of Mickey Rourke. His first-floor walk-up is in a turn-of-the-century brownstone located on a block where no-name neighbors walk their dogs but celebrities come and go from two venerable hot spots a bottle’s throw away, including the Waverly Inn, where Rourke holds court at his own table a couple of nights a week. Rourke’s choice of neighborhood seems premeditated: close enough to harm’s way, easy enough to bring the party home or leave it behind. And in choosing the digs, he’s created a sort of sequel to The Pope of Greenwich Village. Neighbors shout out to him but don’t take pictures. He stops to talk, patting their dogs, calling them “handsome” or a “real looker.” He purrs, “Ooh-la-laah!” when a pretty girl walks by. “We know everyone from six brownstones down from the left to the right,” he says in his deep, tough-guy voice. “We know everybody by their first name, and everyone’s got a dog.” And there is history: “The West Village is the first place that I landed 20-something years ago, a few streets down. It’s like I’m back in my nabe. I never knew my neighbors for 15 years in L.A.—not one of them. hate that ****ing city! I hated it the first day I got there, and I hated it the last day I was there.” His Manhattan stoop, in our interviews, becomes the in-plain-sight confessional, the portal for inward-thinking, self-analysis, self-doubts, where the tape recorder runs freely. Inside the brownstone, the taping often stops, a bawdy dude-party atmosphere dominates, and what his therapist of more than a decade, Dr. Steve, might call “arrested development” prevails. Rourke has always been a guy’s guy, and a loner when not. The body-building, the biker fixation, the bar brawls; he’s a living Fonzie, lots of bravado laced with nostalgia, defending honor, and being a man. The “bad men” he used to hang with notoriously in L.A. and Miami - outlaw motorcycle gang members, pilot-fish henchmen milking him of his money, hipster hairstylists, losers of all walks - are out of the picture. “I don’t travel with a bodyguard anymore,” he says. “I jump in a ****ing cab when I go out.” His new-old posse are people he’s known for years who have stuck by him through the lean ones. “What it’s all about in the end,” he says, “is giving and sharing and being supportive, even when you’re down, you know?” One pal, a shaved-head bodybuilder named Scott Siegel, drops by one night carrying a black tank of whey protein the size of a mini-keg for Mickey’s use. He’s a shy guy, a gentle giant, but makes a standout cameo in The Wrestler as a drug dealer, grocery-listing the intricate names of his black-market steroids and painkillers to the Ram. Says Rourke in his oft-kilter but fond way: “He’s the biggest Jew on the planet! He may not be as big as Harvey Weinstein” - another pal - “but he’s big!” Rourke’s friend of 20 years J.P. Parlavecchio lives with him in his downstairs apartment, “taking care of my ****,” says Rourke. He handles his daily schedule, making sure he makes meetings, preparing gourmet meals for Rourke’s many diminutive pets. Wearing his signature fedora, J.P. looks like a guy you’d see placing bets at a Tampa greyhound track. “Mickey and I are old-school people,” says Parlavecchio, who once owned bars and restaurants in New York and Miami. All are gone now. “We believe in trust and friendship. You treat your friends the same, whether they’re on top or on the bottom. I always tell Mickey the truth, whether he likes it or doesn’t.” Says Rourke: “I like J.P. because he’s a Chihuahua lover.” Then later he adds, “J.P. knew me when I was crazier than a ****ing loon! I went through a period where I lost my house, my wife, my credibility, my career, my entourage, and what have you. And when you are sinking, the rats jump off the boat, you know? But even through all the crazy times, J.P. was always there for me. When I didn’t want to be bothered, I could go sit and eat in his restaurants.” He often chose a table in their kitchens. “And if I didn’t want to leave my room, he’d send over the kid with some lasagna.”

Most of his celebrity friends aren’t actors, but iconic musicians—outsiders like himself, from Bob Dylan and Axl Rose (who Rourke says provided, free of charge, Guns n’ Roses’ hit song “Sweet Child o’ Mine” for his film) to Bruce Springsteen, who wrote the evocative title song to The Wrestler for a nominal fee. “If I could have another brother,” Rourke says of Springsteen, “I’d pick him.”

************

Contrary to his big-spender days, Rourke often eats at home now, surrounded by six dogs of varying sizes, all small. They clearly rule the roost, along with a few guy friends. He permits himself a blowout one night a week, typically Thursdays. Sundays are “Mexican night” at the Rourke household. On one such September evening, he invites me over to join in the revelry of takeout burritos and tacos, downed with Coronas regularly knocked off the coffee table or over on the parquet floors by his excitable pets. One might expect Rourke to live in a glass box of a place, like his apartment of ’80s excess in 9½ Weeks. Or perhaps the ultimate bachelor pad, with black silk sheets, mirrored ceilings, and a built-in wet bar. But the two-story apartment is done up like a fancy boudoir right out of New Orleans’ well-heeled Garden District, and it suits Rourke, who lived in the city while filming Angel Heart. Everywhere are framed photographs of his heroes: his brother, Hells Angels captains, the boozing, brilliant actor Richard Harris. There’s a sexy nude of his ex-wife, Otis, that he shot in Tahiti. Ornate chandeliers cast shadows upon Rourke’s visage and share space with a built-in punching bag and a bench press. A gilt-edged portrait of his prized dog, Loki, hangs where a family portrait might preside in another home, high above a marble fireplace. But there are also touches an interior designer might not quite approve of, such as the anatomically correct rubber dildo that is suction-cupped to a parlor wall. On Mexican night, an attractive blonde-haired female friend sitting on a black leather sofa next to Rourke nibbles on nachos, feigning obliviousness to the prop jutting from the wall, inches from her face. “That’s Little Mickey,” emphasizes Rourke. On a shelf in the bedroom, an arsenal of sex toys that would give Robin Byrd pause awaits somebody or other. Rourke, dressed comfortably casual in a flannel shirt and jeans, points to the stripper pole ensconced in the main room. It was incorporated there as a centerpiece when he moved in several months ago. But so far no bites from female visitors. Like the sex toys, it’s more theater than action. He pauses. “I’m waiting for the right girl to come in and say, ‘You wanna see something?’” *****************

Rourke isn’t seeing anyone seriously now. Going out at night, he often orders iced teas instead of liquor. Not that he’s happy about it, but he says he has to stay “focused.” “I’ve never had a drug or alcohol problem. But that’s an easy hook to lay on somebody,” he says. “For a period, I was married to someone who was a drug addict, so it’s easier for me to be labeled that. ”I mention AA, and he shouts, “**** AA! I don’t believe in it. But I think it’s real easy to label somebody. It’s like labeling a chick with blonde hair and big t*ts a bimbo.” Rourke says he only indulges in alcohol after midnight. One of his many text messages reads, “Discipline. Discipline.” Later he confides, “My problem has always been my anger. ”Rourke seems resigned to bachelorhood, being with his pals, a noncommittal date. While his career seems to be moving forward, fast, he lives in the past, and welcomes it. Like a good Catholic boy, he believes that suffering brings redemption of sorts. Dominating the living room is a candlelit shrine, complete with snapshots, surrounding a statue of the Virgin Mary. It is a requiem to his beloved younger brother, Joe - a good-looking, bearded biker who, Rourke says, “is the inspiration for everything I do.” He died on October 6, 2004 from cancer. When he passed, Rourke held him in his arms, on his deathbed, assured him it was OK for him to go. Rourke later tossed his ashes into the sea, where he says he heard Joe’s voice and saw a flash of blue light. “I just stood at the foot of the ocean and screamed. Then I went back to my hotel room and drank a bottle of whiskey. ”Now when he sees a blue light anywhere, he believes that Joey is with him, cueing him in. It happened when Axl Rose sang “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” at a concert and gave Joe a shout-out. Rourke bawled with tears. “I couldn’t stop shaking. ”He tours me through the denlike basement room where J.P. lives and points to a framed black-and-white photo of four-year-old Joe Rourke being pushed in a wheelbarrow by five-year-old Mickey—always the protector. The photo was taken at the Schenectady, New York house of his grandmother. “Those were the happy times,” says Rourke. “But they only lasted five years.” J.P. says, “Well, you’re smiling now.” As Rourke points at his Memory Lane wall, you see the word "JOE" spelled out in oxidized ink block letters on a finger. The tattoo can be seen in The Wrestler, not by accident.The loss of Carré from his life was his first heartbreak; Joe, his second. The two inform all he does and doesn’t do. “Being alone has now become like a way of life,” he says on his steps one night, smoking a Marlboro Red. “I can’t foresee myself living in the same house with somebody.” That is, a girlfriend or wife or child. “I have my dogs, and you know what? You couldn’t give me $10 million a piece for them. “I had a relationship in which I loved the woman from here and beyond,” he continues. “But it was a destructive one. We were both damaged goods at the time.”On the subject of having children, Rourke says, “People say to me, ‘You don’t have kids?’ And I go, No. A guy like me? I could never have a kid, because, you know, it’s like, maybe I’d want one, but I would never¼” He trails off. “The worst thing I could do as a human being would be to have a kid, be living with some woman, get a divorce, and have my son or daughter live with some other man. After what happened to me, I couldn’t do that.”

same source
 
What happened to Mickey Rourke was that he was born into a broken, abusive family in Schenectady, along with his younger brother and sister. Rourke says he recalls seeing his father only twice:at age six & 20 years later, at 26. “He was a carpenter. He was a bodybuilder, back when it was freaky to be one.” He left the family when they were very young.“My father drank himself to death at 47,” says Rourke, who nonetheless is proud enough of his pop to dig up a black-and-white of the handsome, muscular man, shirtless and holding Rourke at age two. His father once held the title of Mister New York, USA.His mother remarried,reportedly a cop, and when Rourke was still a child, the family moved to Liberty City, in Miami,a town known for its high crime rate.The years there would become his own personal hell.“He was the guy that did all the **** to me when I was little¼certain physical **** that happened when I was too small to defend myself. “The atrocities that happened in that house I lived in were so nightmarish,I later surrounded myself with bad people, really bad people. Jails are filled with people that can’t function because of what happened to them.But, you know, I’ve never wanted to be a victim.”Rourke wanted to be a baseball player, and he was very good at it, as he was with all sports, including football and boxing. But, he says,“You can’t concentrate on hitting a curveball when you’ve got Halloween III going on at home.I had no discipline because of all the chaos at home. I had no support. No concentration. “I came from a very disorganized—I’m not going to say dysfunctional, because it was beyond dysfunctional¼I can’t even put a word to it. I just never had any encouragement from anybody. ”In the past Rourke has said that he got into acting after auditioning for and landing a role in a Jean Genet play at the University of Miami.His performance was well-received, and it certainly provided the impetus to an acting career. But, he says, the reality was that he had to get out of Dodge to stay alive. “I didn’t run to New York City because I couldn’t wait to be an actor. I ran there because I was with a group of boys down in Liberty City, and we found ourselves on the short end of a gunfight, OK? I’m only 18, and it was just some monkey business gone wrong. ”More specifically, he says, “It was a drug deal that turned into a ripoff.And bullets were flying. And, let’s put it this way, our guns were smaller than theirs, OK? I realized I wasn’t going to live long in this line of work. I didn’t feel right doing it. It’s nice playing those kinds of people in movies, but in real life it sucks.Because when you’re shooting at somebody, your hand is shaking.”Cut to New York City,where Rourke decided to go for broke, ending up at the Actors Studio, still carrying his suitcase and bags. “A guy there said, ‘Well,I think you should get a room first.’I said, Oh, yeah OK.”There he began studying the Method, alongside such colleagues as Christopher Walken, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro&Harvey Keitel.“Looking around in that little tiny building and seeing these guys?I shook in my ****ing dirty blue jeans.I mean, those were the gods.They were the role models,and they still are.I decided to give acting a year.” Now he’s one of them,suddenly being recalled by many who had dismissed him as a goner.
Rourke’s dogs are like him:goners given up on by others.The deal is this:Do not mess with them, do not ask him,“What’s with the Chihuahuas, dude?”If you do you will find yourself on all fours, barking an apology, eating from a straw.But should you run into the actor on the street and wonder about their pedigree, here’s a brief history of the contestants:
1. Loki, Number 1.:Travels the world with Mickey, and is the daughter of Beau Jack the Great (R.I.P.). Mickey’s best friend on the planet, Loki is the last surviving member of a litter of seven. Loki is 15 years old and is a Chihuahua terrier.
2. Jaws the Enforcer, Guapo: Rescued from an East L.A. street gang. Listed as “unadoptable” in a pound holding 79 dogs. When he held the snarling dog, it bit his lip, giving him two stitches. An hour later Mickey took Jaws home. Real name (God’s honest): Little Mickey. Jaws is six years old and is a white terrier, albeit a plump one.
3. Ruby, a.k.a. Ruby Baby: four times adopted and returned by unhappy owners—diagnosed with something unpronounceable, Ruby destroyed $4,000 worth of Mickey’s shoes and 36 pairs of designer sunglasses in her first month living with him. Now the sweetest and most gentle of the “kids,” Ruby is five years old and is a white Alaskan mini-Pomeranian.
4. La Negra, a.k.a. Fat Bastard:Rescued from a divorced couple, her brother eaten by coyotes, La Negra has insomnia (like her owner). She is four years old and is a black pug. She likes to watch late-night TV.
5. Bella, a.k.a. Bella Loca:Rescued in Texas on a movie set, she was found with glass stuck in her head and imbedded in her stomach and a nail in her neck. She has bad legs. She is 13 years old and is a Chihuahua terrier.
6. Peppino,Taco Bell:With an apple head and oversize ears, Peppino was a Christmas gift from Mickey to J.P. two years ago. She is two years old and is a chocolate-brown Chihuahua. “They fill a gap,” explains Rourke of his pound of portly miniatures, oft the objects of puzzlement.“My bed’s never empty. I look forward to coming home and seeing the kids. When I travel to Europe or wherever, Loki’s always with me. She’s like a giant Xanax, you know? I’m not going to get religious on your ***, but I truly believe God created dogs for a cause. They are the greatest companions a man could ever have. For 20 years it’s been Chihuahua City for me. ”Rourke’s litter eat well, often better than he does. To that effect J.P., an experienced chef, keeps them on an unrestricted diet, providing nightly specials:
Monday: Boiled chicken breast with rice and veggies.
Tuesday: Ground sirloin with brown rice and carrots.
Wednesday: Boiled Sabrett hot dogs with shredded cheddar cheese.
Thursday: Grilled pork chops with mixed vegetables and rice.
Friday: Grilled chicken breast with brown rice and potatoes.
Saturday: McDonald’s cheeseburgers, no buns, no pickles.
Sunday: Tuna fish with mixed veggies.
Note: Snacks include beef jerky, pizza, peanut butter, Chinese spare ribs, ice cream; Loki drinks Smartwater (“for its extra electrolytes”).
Rourke, good things do not happen to those who wait, and nothing is handed to you. It’s an Irish Catholic thing. To some, there was a brush fire, which started this decade, steadily growing under his anemic career, beginning with his eerily moving role as a transvestite inmate in Steve Buscemi’s 2000 prison drama Animal Factory. The next year his role as a grieving father, opposite Jack Nicholson in Sean Penn’s bleak The Pledge, caught critics’ eyes. And the flames rose higher with his performance as a prosthetics-enhanced vigilante named Marv in Robert Rodriguez and Frank Miller’s Sin City. And still he is often his own worst enemy. He nearly passed on Darren Aronofsky’s offer for him to play Randy the Ram. “He was tentative,” says Aronofsky. “Boxers have a resistance to wrestling. They see it as fake, suspect. But when he started to meet with some of the old guys, he saw there was real art to it, and was impressed with their universe. ”To hear Rourke tell it, he feared the wrestling part would kill him and, more so, that it would call for him to dig “too far into my dark places.” Aronofsky, a longtime fan of Rourke’s, always had him in mind for the role. “I wanted an actor that had been through the mill a bit,” says the director, who then laid down rules Rourke had to follow or the deal was off: Stay out of the nightclubs, give 100 percent, nothing less. And two major caveats: Rourke couldn’t get paid, initially, and he had to do all his own stunts, abiding to the naturalism Aronofsky was striving for. “Mickey’s a shy guy down deep, embarrassed of his gifts, and he spends a lot of time running from them,” he says. Rourke, who has countless injuries from boxing and high school football, was thrown into two months of daily training. While not working out and being slammed to the mat by actual professional wrestlers, he was staying in seedy New Jersey hotels around Asbury Park, one of the settings of the low-budget film. There were zero frills. His physical trainer, an ex-Israeli army commando, was paid even before Rourke. Some thought it would be easy for him, having been an athlete all his life. He had to put on nearly 40 pounds of muscle, shooting from 190 to 228 pounds. It was grueling. “When we wrapped, I had a mini physical breakdown for four days,” he says. But there were no complaints. “I heard Darren had a real large brain. I heard he did not compromise. I heard he was his own man. He told me how I had ruined my career for the past 15 years by my behavior. He said, ‘You can’t disrespect me. You have to listen to everything I tell you.’ And I go, OK. This guy has a lot of balls. This is the kind of guy I want to work for. He said, ‘If you do all those things, we’ll go to the show.’” The “show” is the Oscars. The result: “He just completely surrendered. He was completely present. I can’t think of any other actor where it comes so naturally.” The director says he couldn’t have asked for more, but with Rourke, getting the approval of other wrestlers, and even their fans, was just as important. For one scene Rourke wrestled an opponent in front of a rabid group of 1,500 real wrestling fans. “At best we thought we could get this actor to imitate a pro wrestler,” says Douglas Crosby, the stunt coordinator. “Instead, he became one in every possible way of the imagination. He left the real audience dumbfounded. He was performing sophisticated maneuvers that only the highest echelon of wrestlers consider attempting.” Says Afa Anoa’i, a.k.a. the Wild Samoan, Rourke’s head wrestling trainer, “He’s the type of guy that wants to go, go, go! He has that look and that craziness. He walked into the locker room and just dropped his pants, like one of the boys. And he learned to respect our sport. He went beyond, pulled some challenging moves. And he’s got a very bad knee. But he said to me, ‘I’m going to do this one for you, Pops,’ and he sure did.” Rourke’s coach on the set, Tommy Farra, says, “I never dealt with any actors. I thought he’d be a pain or a pansy. Maybe a little bit of both. Actors have that reputation. But I was pleasantly surprised. He took to wrestling with relative ease, and was an incredibly nice guy. I’m being honest. I know a lot of wrestlers who couldn’t pull off what he did.”
To be sure, a good deal of Hollywood is behind Mickey Rourke right now, despite that he’s not always behind them. He refers to one well-known actor as having “the charisma of a soft-boiled egg with legs.” One female acting prodigy, he can’t even comprehend how she gets roles. “Old Mickey” would have named the names, but he asks me to leave them out. And he hasn’t even learned yet that you have to be a liberal to make it in Hollywood—or at least pretend to be. A Bush supporter, he says, “I think that W. has taken a lot of heat. But after 9/11 there wasn’t much of a solution. I’m glad that we went over and kicked some *** just to pay them back. He’s in a ****ty place. They blame him for the ****ing hurricane in New Orleans!” “They” would include such outspoken liberal actors as Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon. His Wrestler costar Evan Rachel Wood, though, only witnessed his gentle side. “He was the main thing that drew me to the film, actually,” she says. “I loved watching him work. I have never seen anyone so focused. He was in the role, and without it being forced Method-acting pretentiousness. Most actors do that because they’re insecure, because they have to live and breathe it to be real, and it ends up being fake. He’s Mickey, one of the craziest guys I know, but with a heart of gold.” Rourke gave Wood a birthday cake for her 21st. He included handcuffs in its box. “He knows me so well,” she jokes. “By the end of the night, I was handcuffed to a champagne bottle and didn’t know what happened.” According to Weinstein, Rourke’s looks might now work to his favor. “His façade reflects the intensity of the characters he plays, and people are drawn to his whole persona. His looks offer something different than the Hollywood norm—no one is like him. And, you know, despite his tough exterior he’s really an honest, good person at heart.” Much is made of Rourke’s face, which can appear impenetrable and expressive simultaneously. But if literal transformation can come with redemption, then the mask he dons under the straggly, bleach-streaked mane seems to soften with each meeting I have with him. And his eyes appear more alive than they have in years.
After over a decade of therapy, Rourke knows what he’s had to do to change himself, fit in somewhat with society, with Hollywood, that cliquish subculture. And there have been, as the therapist might say, “progress” and “breakthroughs.” “I let my past destroy me,” he says. “I was walking around my adult life with my fists clenched¼pointing the finger at everyone but me. “But I finally opened my hands and went, Wow! This is a lot easier than walking around with smoke coming out of my ***. I was looking for this big fight, this war, you know? And it was all in my head.” He now talks about “turning the other cheek,” although a guy recently pissed him off so much by not shaking his hand that, he says, “I wanted to punch this mother****er right in the ****ing mouth and knock all his teeth out.” But cooler heads prevailed. “To this day,” though, he says, “I still think about sticking my hand up this guy’s *** and pulling out his tongue.” On a final visit to his house one late afternoon, sitting in his living room, Rourke nudges my shoulder and smiles mischievously, pointing to an object under the coffee table. It is a black handgun just lying there for anyone to pick up. I do, feeling its weight. He warns me not to pull the trigger; a live bullet is in the chamber. I set it down. Says the actor, “I still got that little time bomb inside of me. I’m still capable of ****ing things up. It’s like my dog Jaws. Because of what happened to him when he was little, he’ll always growl when you put your hands near him. Sometimes, I mean, people are putting their hands near you to pet you on the back, not hit you over the head. Before, if someone disrespected me, the little hatchet man that lives inside of me would come out. Now, at least, I’m gonna count to 10 before I act on it. It’s like they say, Only a fool trips over the same rock twice. But I could short-circuit in a heartbeat. That little hatchet man, he’s always gonna be there. You can’t change the spots on a horse, you know? I’m always, deep down inside, going to have him running around. I just gotta make sure he stays¼quiet.”
same source
 
Ring Free

Julian Schnabel

German Vanity Fair

January 2009
(Translated for us by Wolfgang)







JS:When I am working on a film as a director, what I really want from my actors is not to act. It´s a strange idea, because they are actors, but watching you it always seems to work. You are an actor who never seems to act. How do you do that?



MR: It´s very simple: When you act, it has to be personal. As soon as it is personal, you get real ideas- instead of pretending them .I was very fortunate to be at the Actor´s Studio as a young man. The style and the technique that was taught there, comes more from the stage, developed by the Russian Theatre revolutionist Stanislawski. And it´s from a time, when actors rehearsed for a play for 6 months and performed for 2 years. At the Actor´s Studio I learned to concentrate and to stay focused. You only succeeded if you manage to stay relaxed. It´s all about developing these skills, and to be able to blind out all the technical stuff that is important when making a movie. And you have to act from moment to moment, because it is these moments that make a movie special, not the whole film. When you go the movies, you see individual moments instead of whole films.



JS: You say that actors back then had 2 years to act in a play?

That´s right.



JS: So it wasn´t a performance any more, it became reality ...

Exactly.



JS: Do you think that the years when you went back into the ring as a boxer were some sort of rehearsals for your role in “The Wrestler?”



MR: Acting and boxing have a lot in common. When you´re boxing it´s very important to always stay focused. As soon as you hear the gong, you have to blend everything out and to always stay “in the moment”. And you have to give everything you can give, or you´ll be running into troubles. When you act and you don´t give eveything, it´s easier to get away with, but then you´re not a very good actor, only average. I quit acting because this was happening to me. In a way I was a sell out. At the same time I swore to never let this happen. But I found myself in the situation that I was starring in films I didn’t have any respect for. My only interest was to do something for my bank account. I broke the promise that I had given to myself as a young man: to always be as good as I can.



JS: I don´t like the word but is “ The Wrestler” an autobiographical film?



MR: The funny thing is that when I first read the screenplay I was less interested in the story than to work with Darren Aronofsky. I heard so many good things about him: he is his own boss, he never makes any compromises, he´s intelligent and innovative and he takes risks. That´s what interested me the most. When I heard about the story it was more or less like: why on earth should I act in a wrestler movie? I didn´t have any respect for wrestling. All the fights are staged and not real fights. Everybody knows that it´s only a show.



JS: But it is story about someone who is burned out ‑ a fighter who realizes how much he has failed in life.

MR: When I first read the screenplay, I instantly thought about rewriting it. Who else than me? I lived it, it was my own story. So Darren and I were working on the screenplay for 6 months, each day after my training. 2 hours of lifting weights and 2 hours of wrestling training. I put on 2o kilos and nearly had a x-break/star break. It wasn’t something that I was expecting. It was unthinkable for me that you can get hurt in the ring - and then I had 2 MRI’s in 2 months because it was that hard. On the other hand it is logical that you get hurt as a wrestler. If a 130-kilo guy stems you up into the air and throws you back down, you are not going to land properly in most cases. Anyway, the making of the film didn’t feel like a walk in the park. And at the end of each day I swore to not go back the next day.



JS: Couldn’t you make it easier for you?

MR: No. Darren shot the scenes with real wrestlers at real shows. We just went in with our handcamera and shot our fight scenes during breaks while a thousand of people were watching. Besides I wanted to impress the pros who had taught me all their tricks.



JS: You wanted to get their respect?

MR:Yes. As much as they got my respect. These guys are doing entertainment, but the injuries which they get from these shows are real. Most of the wrestling legends from the 80s are ****ed up, they can not even tie their shoelaces.



JS: What do they say about your movie?

MR: We had a screening with a lot of wrestlers in Los Angeles. And then suddenly a guy named Rowdy Roddy Piper, a legend from the 80s, stood up. And this huge man started to cry, because for him we had portrayed his life. As I said before: “You are not an actor who acts but who is.” It´s like in a fight. You have to be on top of the game, or you lose, you drop out of it and become mediocre. This was something that stuck out when I read the screenplay: There´s this 50-year-old guy and everybody tells him, “You´re done, you´ve had your time, it´s over.” He´s become too old for what he does, it´s not the Madison Square Garden but small sport halls in New Jersey, and it´s not 50 000 people in the audience, but 2000. His wife has left him. His daughter is a lesbian, he had never taken care of her because he was always on the road. In a word, this guy lives a life which is very similar to the one I have had. I remember one day I said to my therapist, Another 10 years have passed. And I still can´t get a job.“Well, I´ve made lots of mistakes and I haven´t come to terms with many things as I didn´t know how to adress these things.”



JS: How did you suceed after all?

MR: First I had to lose everything. And when I had lost it all I looked into the mirror and said, “You have to change.” So that´s what was the most difficult ‑ for me and for all the people around me. For a long time I hadn´t realize how much I had been fallen from grace. “To fall from grace” is a phrase I would have never had used. It was only when I was seeking a wise man´s advice who showed me how to save my life and how to change myself.



JS: What kind of advice did he give you?

MR: He told me, “You live in a state of despair, you have been fallen from grace.” This was hard for me to accept, I am a proud man. When I finally understood what he had told me, I thought it would take me 2 years to get back where I once was. But it took me much, much longer. I´ve become very bitter. I dissociated myself from everything, I was arrogant and there was a lot of anger inside of me, and beneath all of that hid a lot of shame and desolation. Something I realized only lately, because all my

bitterness and impulse to destroy inhibited me from seeing who I really was.



JS: This sounds strange to me. I´ve watched you playing with my

sons or my dogs many times. You always seemed so gentle

and tender.

MR: Deep in my heart I am a good person. I think that I have to thank my grandmother for that. She was a wonderful woman. But I´ve always had this one big problem: As soon as I felt disrespected or somebody was acting up, I blew a fuse. And something dark came out of me. There were a lot of reasons for my behaviour, but I was never able to control it.



JS:So why is it that I´ve never had any problems with you?

MR: Because you are someone who approached me with respect. As soon as I feel respected and feel respect myself, you will get everything that I can give. But if there was somebody I didn’t have any respect for in the past, he´d have a very rough time with me. That´s why I decided to only work with people I can respect and to only work on projects with integrity. I´ve realized that´s it not good for me to take on a project just because of the money. I have to be content with less money and to work with people I can respect. People who make me want to go to work and not put me off.



JS: When did you get to New York?

MR: I think it was 1974.



JS: We first met when you finished shooting , Rumble Fish“ with Francis Ford Coppola. Back then you were incredible, full of euphoria. You wanted to take everybody you met on the trip with you. You were proud and you were constantly talking about how much success you´d have. But suddenly you lost that. And I couldn’t tell you, because back then I didn’t know you that well.

MR: Well, back then I was very arrogant. I came from the streets. I spent so many years on the streets and carried it with me like a burden. I treated actors the same way as what I had experienced before. You know, when I was working for the brothels on the 42nd street.



JS: What on earth did you do?

MR: It was a time when the 42nd street was still the 42nd street, it wasn’t t as harmless as it is today. My job was to look after the flyer distributors. The brothels had these young boys from Puerto Rico who handed out flyers on the street. And my job was to walk around and to check if they did their work. And I had to protect them from the pimps because they ruined their business. So it was up to me to tell the pimps to get lost.



JS: Were you in a lot of fights?

MR: You bet.



JS: Did you get into lots of fights when you were young?

MR: All the time. It´s not something that I am proud of. But it was a

matter of surviving. This movie also deals with survival... and mortality. Lots of things in this movie are similar to my own personal story.



JS: There this one scene in the movie that stuck out for me. This man comes into the deli and recognizes the wrestling hero of his past, who then starts rampaging. Why? What´s his problem that somebody admires him for old times´ sake?

MR: It´s the same reason that I tried not to be recognized during the last 10 years. When I went out to buy cigarettes there was always a guy in the queue who slightly remembered me. “Hey, aren’t you ... You are ... I know you from the movies, what´s your name again?” And I thought, “Just give me my

change so I can get out of here.”



JS: What worried you?

MR: It´s so ****ing embarrassing. And it´s better to never have been somebody - than to have been somebody a long time ago. You live in this state of shame. You live in a city built on envy, you have been fallen from grace, suddenly nobody envies you anymore and you´re only met with regret. So you try to hide the best way you can. When Darren wanted me for the role, I instinctively knew why he had set his mind on me. And deep inside I knew what he wanted from me: to go to a dark and painful place of my own life. He wanted ‑ literally ‑ my flesh and blood. And I thought: Maybe it´s about time that I get going again. If I want to have a second chance it will only be through a director who got balls. But then it looked like I was going to be replaced by another actor. In a way I felt relieved. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to go there.

JS: Wait a second: Why were you going to be replaced?

MR: They needed a big star to finance the movie. Nobody wanted to pay for my name. So I was out of it. But weeks later I got a call and I was in again.

JS:You must have felt relieved.

MR: No, not at all. I was getting used to the way I was living my life.

JS: But something inside of you must have made you go for the role?

MR: Luckily there was still some kind of intelligence left, because I realized this opportunity to win back my position and my title. And when we finished it, I just knew that we had made something special. So I sat down and wrote a very long and personal letter to Bruce Springsteen. I wanted him to write a song, although I knew that we didn’t have the money to pay for it. So I wrote to him that this had been the toughest part I´ve ever had, but at the same time the best role of my career. And I wrote to him about my gratitude for the 2, 3 people who had helped me to get to grips with my life. During my lost years I´ve broken off a lot of contacts, I haven´t talked to Bruce for 13 years. And I wrote to him how happy I was not to have turned into somebody like Randy, although there were a lot of indications that I would end up as hopeless and burned out.

JS: When did he respond to your letter?
MR: After a couple of months. He called me one day late at night from his tour in Europe. “Listen”, he said, “I´ve read your screenplay and I wrote a little song for you.” He really took the time to write this song, “The Wrestler”, which at the end of the movie sums up the core of the whole story. I must have listened to it a hundred times and I´m always thinking: Wow, he really nailed it. For me it was like a special Christmas present. I am so grateful for this song. He told Darren why he had written this song.

JS: Why?

MR: He said, “So Mickey can get back to where he belongs.”

same source
 
Time Magazine
(February 2009)

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Alex Robinson
STILWELL, KANS.
Probably a baseball player. Then a boxer. I think it was always sports in general. I was not very comfortable in social settings. I was more comfortable on a ball field or in a gym than anywhere else.

Looking back, why do you think you were so self-destructive after your initial success?
Rian Cooney,
SAN FRANCISCO
Oh, there were a lot of reasons. None of them outstanding. I had a very naive outlook on what I thought acting was all about, and I wasn't really prepared to deal with the business end of it or the politics. And I think that sort of short-circuited me.

Do you feel like the same person you were 25 years ago?
Amir Khan,
ATLANTA
God, no. Absolutely not. I don't walk the same, talk the same, look the same, sound the same, hear the same, react the same, especially. Before, with me there were no rules. I didn't really care about repercussions. Those added up and bit me in the ***.

I always loved your '80s stuff--Barfly, Angel Heart and the like. Even though those movies are still panned by critics, what do you think of your '80s work?
Andrew Fedeli
GREENBRAE, CALIF.
I had a good time when I was working with good directors. When I was working with Adrian Lyne on 9 1/2 Weeks, I was fine with that. I was fine with Francis Ford Coppola when we did Rumble Fish. It would fall apart with me if I did material for a payday. When you got bills to pay, you've gotta take a part that I would call a piece of crap. Then you just don't like yourself. That was when I really started to self-destruct. Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man--that started it.

Do you ever regret leaving acting to pursue boxing?
Quan Pham,
MELBOURNE
There are days when I do and days when I don't. Looking back, I probably should not have done it. But it was something I did to save myself from myself, and at least I found direction in something honorable. It could've been worse if I didn't have that outlet.

Does it bemuse you that your performance in The Wrestler should get so much attention?
Lindsay Coleman,
MELBOURNE
I think it was not just my performance. It wouldn't have been the same movie without Darren Aronofsky and the team of people that he surrounded me with--my wrestling trainer and Doug Crosby, a great stunt coordinator. Evan Rachel Wood was just so focused. When you're working with somebody as talented as she is, you can take each other to another level.

Where'd you get such great style?
Zach Kienitz,
BOZEMAN, MONT.
I grew up in Miami. [Laughs.] Probably my grandmother. I lost her about four months ago. She was 99. But you know, she was pretty sharp.

How hard was it to train and get in shape for The Wrestler?
John Luma
WESTLAKE VILLAGE, CALIF.
It was murder. I walk around at about 192 lb., and I had to get up to 228 and put muscle on, not fat. I found this trainer, this Israeli ex-commando, and he made it real serious. He's like, "You gotta be here at this time. You've gotta eat seven meals a day. You have to run every day." I respected him, and he respected his job

In your Golden Globes acceptance speech, you thanked your dogs. What kind do you have, and what are their names?
Jill Fritz,
MADISON, WIS.
I've got Chihuahuas, pugs and a Samoyed. There's Loki, the Chihuahua, who had a brother, Chocolate--he passed away. And then there's La Negra. She's a pug. And Ruby Baby. Taco Bell, he's a Chihuahua. Jaws, who's a Chihuahua. He's named Jaws because when I rescued him, I went to give him a kiss and he gave me two stitches in the face. He's a character.

What is your advice to survive and come back in hard times?
Jose G. Camil
QUERETARO, MEXICO
Get a lot of sleep, a lot of exercise. Eat real good. Say your prayers. And be good to your dogs.

same source
 
Mickey Rourke
By Christopher Walken
Interview Magazine
February 2009
Photography by Sante D’ Orazio

In Bob Dylan's memoir, Chronicles, Volume One, he recalls a trip to the movies he took in 1988 while recording his album Oh Mercy, when he went to see Mickey Rourke in Homeboy, a film about a small-time boxer whose passion and petulance prove self-destructive. Dylan offers this account of Rourke's performance in the film, which the actor, a former boxer himself, also had a hand in writing: "He could break your heart with a look. The movie traveled to the moon every time he came onto the screen. Nobody could hold a candle to him. He was just there, didn't have to say hello or goodbye."

While Dylan might not be as revered a film critic as he is a songwriter, he is certainly onto something here. A lot of actors talk about being influenced by Marlon Brando, but Rourke is really the only one who practices a comparable brand of voodoo. Cool and combustible in Rumble Fish (1983). Indelible in Body Heat (1981). Magnetic in The Pope of Greenwich Village (1984). Dangerous in 9½ Weeks (1986). A Dylanesque antihero in Homeboy. Rourke seems to have a genetic predilection to stick his finger in the socket-sometimes in life as much as on the screen. Mickey Rourke: motorcycle loner; professional fighter; squanderer of talent; creature of cheap motels and ill-lit bars; a hundred miles of bad road. Mickey Rourke turns down Beverly Hills Cop (1984). Mickey Rourke says no to Pulp Fiction (1994). Mickey Rourke and Carré Otis in Wild Orchid (1990). Mickey Rourke gets arrested. Mickey Rourke gets back in the ring. Whether it was hubris or humility that drove Rourke to walk away from acting 17 years ago and resume the boxing career he began as a teenage welterweight out of Miami, only to return a decade and several concussions later with his hat in hand and little goodwill on his side, the fact remains that the film industry, despite its lack of anything resembling conventional wisdom, can sometimes show flashes of unwitting intelligence and allow a second act. Because actors like Mickey Rourke don't come along once in a generation, let alone twice. So here's round two, or is it 10, with the championship contender humbled, through the ringer, looking for one more chance, asking for another shot. And because it's cheaper to buy low than to buy high. And because sequels are good business. And because everybody loves a good redemption story.

In Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler (2008), Rourke plays a onetime titan of the tights who now lives in a trailer park and, with a weakened heart and a body ravaged by years of flying elbows and steroid use, is out for some redemption of his own. Watching Rourke onscreen now-older, odder, beefier, his features more rugged from years of fighting and surgery-is actually strangely comforting, like some great wrong has been righted, even if the wrong in question was in part his own doing. He looks more physically imposing, but gentler in a way. He also seems somehow to have more power, some of it magic and some of it tragic, doing the kind of work he was meant to do, the kind of work people wanted him to do, the kind of work other people can't do-at 56 years and numerous lives old, doing the best work of his career.

Christopher Walken, who has known Rourke since their days at the Actors Studio in the mid-'70s, recently caught up with him in New York.

CHRISTOPHER WALKEN: I wanted to ask you about growing up in Miami, because when I was a kid in the '50s my father used to take us there. South Beach was where the inexpensive hotels were. Is that where you were? Collins Avenue near Wolfie's coffee shop and everything?

MICKEY ROURKE: Yeah, yeah. It's funny that you mention that, because when I was a kid and I was doing amateur boxing, Wolfie's was right on the corner. So on nights that I'd be up really late and go to Wolfie's, I'd see all of Angelo Dundee's -fighters-like Muhammad Ali and Jimmy Ellis and Jerry Quarry, and all these guys would be there eating after they ran. They used to run on the golf course down there, and then they'd go to Wolfie's and have eggs and ****.

CW: South Beach was where the cheap hotels were, right?

MR: Yeah, absolutely. They used to call it the Elephant's Graveyard.

CW: In the '50s, you could take your car on a boat and go to Havana . . . Anyhow, I've been reading some stuff about you that I didn't know. I didn't know you were originally from Schenectady.

MR: Upstate New York, yeah.

CW: And then you moved to Florida. And then you had your first career kind of in sports. And then you got into acting. Well, I never knew you were on the stage. What was it, a Jean Genet play?

MR: Yeah, I probably did a dozen plays, like Off-Off-Broadway stuff. And the Genet play was the first one I did. What the **** was it? [pauses] Deathwatch.

CW: A lady got you into that? A teacher?

MR: You know what it was? It was actually a kid from my football team in high school who was going to the University of Miami. He was directing a play, and he didn't like the leading man-or the leading man quit, or he fired him-and I was sitting on the beach one day, and he said, "Hey, man, I'm doing this play at the university." I said, "Well, I'm not going to the university." He said, "Yeah, but nobody will know it." So he put me in the ****ing play. And I liked it. I really liked it a lot. I had gotten injured during the boxing, and I was supposed to take several months off because I'd had a couple of concussions, and so I sort of just left the boxing and got into the acting by accident after I did that play.

CW: How much later was it that I met you at the Actors Studio?

MR: I would say maybe four years later. I think the first year and a half that I was in New York I was having trouble just living somewhere. Back in them days the city was a lot different than it is now.

CW: You know, I have to say that I recently saw The Wrestler, and you are great in it. It's very difficult nowadays to get independent movies done . . . Oh, by the way, how's your dog?

MR: She's barking because I'm not paying no attention to her.

CW: Well, give her a pet or something. I had that on my list of questions. I was going to say, "How's your dog?"

MR: Yeah, Loki's still around. She's 16½. I didn't know you saw The Wrestler.

CW: I did. It is very powerful, and obviously they didn't have a lot of money to spend.

MR: Well, it was really hard, because in the beginning, Darren [Aronofsky, the director] really wanted me to do it. I had done some research on him, and all the information I got I really liked. I asked some people who had worked with him whose opinions I valued, and everybody said, "He's his own man." But the thing with the budget was tough, because it was, like, a $6-million shoot. And then I was actually going to be replaced in the movie before we even started because they wanted a bigger name-Darren didn't know if he could make the movie for so little money. So a couple of weeks later, after I got replaced, I got a phone call going, "You're back in." And after meeting Darren, I wasn't jumping up and down excited, because I knew he'd want me to do, like, six months of weight lifting and put on an extra 34 pounds and then do three and a half months of wrestling training . . . And you know, it was one of them movies where you didn't get paid. So I think my agent was more excited about the piece than I was. [laughs]

CW: Is the character based on somebody?

MR: It's really based on all of the wrestlers from the '80s, who pretty much went through that whole catharsis of transformation with moving from time to time and getting older and having to take performance-enhancing drugs to get bigger. And, at the end of the day, a lot of them walked away with no health care, no compensation for anything. They're kind of like old shipwrecks by the end of their careers, in their early 40s, or late 30s even.

CW: I did a play once in Calgary, which is a wrestling capital, you know.

MR: Oh, I didn't know that.

CW: And I stayed in this funky hotel where the bar was a wrestlers' hangout. There were these huge guys-they were very nice. They were, you know, wearing jackets with fringe on them.

MR: Yeah, yeah. They're a wild bunch. I didn't realize the camaraderie that they have among them. It's so unlike boxers, who are very isolated-or isolated within their own camps.

CW: You have a lot of experience with boxers behind the scenes. Is there a comparative thing between boxing and wrestling?

MR: You know, the two sports are as different as Ping-Pong and rugby. In boxing, you don't know what's going to happen. In wrestling, it's already prearranged. But the thing I didn't know about wrestling is that you really get hurt. Because, you know, you're wrestling in front of a live audience, and you end up doing things like jumps or slams, and 40 percent of the time you don't land right.

CW: And there's an accidental elbow in the face or something like that.

MR: Exactly. So these guys are all pretty busted-up by the ends of their careers. Since I knew it was all choreographed, I thought, Oh, they don't get hurt at all. But I walked away with a renewed respect for the sport. Because I was very ignorant before-I knew nothing about it.

CW: You know, there are maybe a couple of people in my life who I wouldn't mind hitting with a folding chair.

MR: Exactly.

CW: Is that fun?

MR: Well, yeah, but sometimes you don't get hit with the flat part of the chair. You get hit with the blunt part. And you get hurt.

CW: People make mistakes.

MR: Yeah. I mean, by the end of the shoot, my trainer was pushing me up three flights of stairs to my house and holding my arm like I was an old cripple. I had three MRIs in the first two months of working on the film. I felt like it really was over by the time we started shooting the movie.

same source
 
continued:

CW: The actors love you. You know that. And you must be feeling that right now.

MR: Well, you know, look at it this way: I was pretty much out of work for 13 or 14 years, and toward the tail end of my sort of exile . . . I mean, I took the five and a half years off to go back and do the boxing, and then it was still seven or eight years before I started to work a little bit. [Steve] Buscemi gave me something to do in Animal Factory [2000] and then [Sylvester] Stallone gave me something in Get Carter [2000] . . .

CW: You were amazing in Sean Penn's film The Pledge [2001].

MR: When I did Sean Penn's movie, I think I was living in, like, a $500-a-month room, and someone called me up or bumped into me and asked me if I'd come up to work for a day. That sort of got me going a little bit. But it wasn't until Sin City [2005] that I kind of got back into the game.

CW: When you were boxing, did you have real bouts with pros?

MR: Yeah. I had 12 fights-10 wins, two draws.

CW: Where?

MR: In Germany, Japan, Argentina, Oklahoma, St. Louis, Miami . . .

CW: The people who were watching you must have known you were an actor.

MR: Exactly. I tried to change my name for the fights, but the only way they could pay me money was if I used my own name. I wanted to change my name to, like, Romeo something-or-other, and they said, "No, we can't do that. We've got to use Mickey Rourke." Because they paid me a lot of money to go over to Europe and Asia to fight. I wanted to change my name to Romeo Florentino. But they didn't go for that. Romeo Florentino-that's a good fighter's name.

CW: But they're paying for Mickey Rourke-they want Mickey Rourke.

MR: Exactly. Not Romeo Florentino.

CW: So what was that like? The thing is that if somebody hit me-even lightly-I'd fall on the floor. That would be it.

MR: Well, you know what it is? You get desensitized to getting hit. That's where the damage comes in. It's not the fights that **** you up. It's the decade or so that you spend sparring.

CW: That's how they say Ali got hurt.

MR: Yeah, it's all that. Because I would spar an average of probably close to 30 rounds a week.

CW: You wore headgear, right?

MR: I wore it most of the time, but lots of times I didn't. Then, I think it was around my 11th fight, I started having some memory-loss issues. I took a neurological exam, and they said, "Well, you should stop fighting now." And I kept begging them for one more fight, one more fight, and the doctor said to me, "How much are they going to pay you?" I was supposed to fight three more times, and one would have been for a cruiser belt. So I said, "I just need to fight three more times." He said, "Listen, you can't even get hit in the head one more time, your neuro is so bad."

CW: Well, I hope that's over with.

MR: It's been over with for 10 years now. I took a picture in Freddie Roach's gym of me sitting in a rocking chair.

CW: There's this story that Julian Schnabel painted a picture of you.

MR: Yeah. He painted a picture that he dedicated to my character in Rumble Fish. It was called The Motorcycle Boy. I remember when he brought it over to me at the Mayflower Hotel [in New York] years ago. This is when you and I knew each other.

CW: The Mayflower Hotel was the actors' haven.

MR: It was the actors' hangout. And I remember that he brought it over there one day, and I looked at it, and I couldn't . . . I looked at it sideways, I looked at it upside-down, I kept looking for the motorcycle, and I couldn't find one. It was some sort of abstract painting. But Julian and I have been friends for 20-some years now.

CW: Julian says that he has Marlon Brando's -boxing gloves.

MR: That's right.

CW: But nobody's ever seen them.

MR: He keeps wanting to give them to me, and I keep telling him to keep them.

CW: Well, you should take them.

MR: Yeah, but I have so many boxing gloves around my house that I would get them confused with other gloves.

CW: I was someplace doing a play, and I went to this auction where Muhammad Ali's boxing trunks were up for bid. They were signed and everything. It was 1972, after the Vietnam thing had put him out of the business-you know, him not going into the Army. Nobody wanted these trunks. I got them for $40. Did I ever show them to you?

MR: No, I don't think so. But I think we had a conversation about this once, because when I was like 12 or 13, Ali gave me a pair of his trunks that were white satin with gold stripes. They were full of blood, and my mother threw them away. I think it's the first time I ever cursed at my mother.

CW: These ones I bought are Everlast. They're black and white, and it says "The Real Champ: 1972" on them. And nobody wanted them because Ali was sort of off the radar. But come over to my house. I want to show them to you.

MR: I've got to tell you a funny story about Ali. I think it was around my seventh or eighth fight, and I got really nervous because I was fighting a pretty tough cookie from the Bahamas with a really good record. I couldn't sleep at night-my hands were sweating, my feet were sweating-and I'd get up, and I'd start shadowboxing. I was a nervous, shaking wreck. So I called up this photographer I knew named Howard Bingham, who'd done books on Ali. I said, "Howard, can you do me a favor? Man, I've got this fight, and I'm a nervous ****in' wreck. Do you think I can talk to Muhammad Ali? I think he could calm me down a little." This is, like, 10 or 12 years ago.

CW: Where were you?

MR: I was in a hotel room in Miami. The next night I get a call, and it's Howard Bingham, and he's got the champ on the line. Ali didn't remember me from being a kid, but he was going, "Yeah, you're in bed, and you want your mama with you ." It really helped so much. He spent 15 or 20 minutes on the phone with me. That's a memory that I'll always cherish.

CW: I met Ali once, and you could feel that about him. He's a very, very big spirit.

MR: I remember back in the day they called him the Louisville Whip. You'd hear him all through the gym, just running his mouth all day long. He'd yell at anybody who came into the gym.

CW: You wrote Homeboy, right?

MR: Yeah, I wrote Homeboy.

CW: Are you still writing?

MR: Well, I've been working on a script called Wild Horses for about 18 years now.

CW: I've heard about that. What's it about?

MR: It's about two brothers who haven't seen each other for years, and they reunite for one last motorcycle ride.

CW: Actors like to direct sometimes. You ever think about that?

MR: No, I couldn't direct traffic. [laughs]

CW: Exactly. People ask me about that all the time. They say, "Did you ever think of directing?" And I say, "It's completely out of the question."

MR: I'm on your side with that. It's hard enough just acting.

CW: If I were directing and anybody asked me, "What do you think we should do?" I'd say, "Do whatever you want." That's not a good thing for a director.

MR: No, no, no. By the way, I saw an old mutual favorite director of ours recently. You know who I'm talking about, don't you? It was great seeing him.

CW: I see him sometimes, too, and I miss him.

MR: I miss him working. Aronofsky reminds me a lot of Michael Cimino.

CW: It's actually a mystery to me why he's not making movies.

MR: I don't know. Because, man, I'm telling you, on the floor he's like a general. He brings the best out of you.

CW: Obviously, it's his decision, because he's perfectly capable of directing a film anytime he wants. Which brings me to Heaven's Gate [1980]. That's something we did together.

MR: I was so nervous working with you. I think you had already won your Academy Award for The Deer Hunter [1978].

CW: Just, like, a month before we started shooting. I was probably really obnoxious at the time.

MR: Well, you were actors' royalty, brother. I mean, you were someone we all looked up to.

CW: No, I was probably a pain in the ***.

MR: Well, you were always, like, this strange being from another place.

CW: You know, we did that movie, Heaven's Gate, and at the time nobody knew it was going to become this problem. Everybody was just having a terrific time. You and I have a scene in the movie. It's at night. We go from the stable to Isabelle Huppert's character's house. We're walking in the dark, and we pass some strange antiques stores. And I remember during the take, you said to me, "What's that?" And I said, "It's a flying saucer." If you see the movie, and you listen very carefully, they forgot to take that out.

MR: There was something about outer space with you. You and I had dinner one night at the Outlaw Inn in Kalispell, Montana, and you said to me, "What do you think happened to all the dinosaurs?" I said, "I don't know." And you said, "I think they grew wings and flew away to another planet." I always remind you of that, and you never fess up to it-that that's the conversation we had.

CW: But you did remind me of it. There is a scene like that in Homeboy.

MR: That's why I wrote it. Because I thought, Wow, here I'm having this one chance to have dinner with one of my favorite actors in the world, and he's talking about dinosaurs in outer space.

CW: There was this story that I heard, something about me teaching you to put on makeup. It rings a bell, but . . .

MR: When I was really young and I got into the Actors Studio, I used to see [Robert] De Niro and [Al] Pacino and [Harvey] Keitel and you, and you were the one who was most available, believe it or not. You spent a lot of time with the other actors. I think you really liked it there. So I remember you and I had a conversation one time, and you said to me at the theater that you always did your own eyes. So after you told me that I went out and bought some ****ing makeup kit, and I did my eyes. Then, five years later, I finally got a job-I think I went out on 78 auditions before I ever got a ****ing job. I think the job was Diner [1982], actually. And I insisted on doing my own eyes. The DP actually pulled me aside one day and said, "Listen, we're not doing Dracula."

CW: That's because I grew up in Broadway musicals, in the chorus, and in that world we did a lot of our own eyes. I carried that into movies, and it was a huge mistake. It took me decades to get over it.

MR: Yes, I often looked at your eyes in movies. You have very heavy-lidded eyes anyway.

CW: The eye advice was not good.

MR: Yeah. If you look closely at some scenes in Diner, my eyes look like Dracula's. But the DP got me to stop that, and I was a little pissed off because I'm thinking, My God, if Christopher Walken tells you to do your own eyes, then you'd better ****ing do your own eyes.

CW: This was my mistake. I'm sorry. So you're living back in New York now?

MR: I lived in London and in Paris for a while. In London, I've been staying at the same hotel for, you know, 20 years. In the same room.

CW: I'm always looking the wrong way there when I cross the street. But you like it back in New York?

MR: I love it. This is where you and I met. This is where it all started. It kind of all started for me in the West Village, and it's probably where it will all end for me.

CW: I spent so much time there that I like being out of it.

MR: Are you living out in Connecticut still?

CW: Yeah. If you're ever taking a drive, come see me.

MR: I remember many, many years ago, I was at your house. We were with that guy, Lenny, and he was looking for a bottle of wine or something, and he looked in your cabinet, and he found your Academy Award mixed in with the booze.

CW: Well, I've got this little room now where I keep all sorts of those things. But I remember, yes, I had just had all this gravel put down, and we were -standing outside, and you said to me, "Good gravel."

MR: You did have an awful lot of gravel in the front yard. Have you been back to the Actors Studio at all?

CW: Hardly. Though about a week or two ago I was in the neighborhood, and I just dropped in. It's good, because it's sort of the same, except it's got fresh paint on it. It was on an off day, and there was nobody there. The place was clean and painted. But it still looks the same.

MR: We had some characters there back in the day.

CW: We did. It was funkier.

MR: It was like One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

CW: A little bit. Remember the director sessions, where they used to attack each other?

MR: Yes. It depended on who was moderating. When Shelley Winters moderated, I usually went out and smoked a cigarette. She had that screechy, kind of nails-on-the-chalkboard voice.

CW: Listen, it was a great place to meet girls.

MR: Yeah, well, I never saw you with any.

CW: Well, I used to follow them out.

MR: I just used to follow Al Pacino and you out. And Harvey Keitel. I didn't give a **** about the girls. I just wanted to see which way you guys were going.

CW: So you're going to be busy for the next while.

MR: Yeah. You went through this, right?

CW: Well, it's a wonderful thing. You made something really beautiful, and maybe that's even more important than awards. Thirty years later, you're one of the top actors doing important work, and that's very powerful. You know, there's an old saying: "Nothing happens 'til it must." I like that.

MR: Let me ask you one question.

CW: Yeah.

MR: Where did the dinosaurs go?

CW: They're sitting in the tree outside.

same source
 
How I Met Mickey

by Nic Saunders

March 13th 2009



As a 36 year old guy, Mickey Rourke is my generation’s Steve Mc Queen. He’s the guy with the lethal combination of a ferocious talent and an even more ferocious reputation, he epitomises the word ‘Cool’. I probably first saw Mickey on screen in “The Pope of Greenwich Village” and was hooked from that moment. He was who you wanted to be like, to dress like, to walk like, to speak like. That fascination hasn’t diminished over the years. Of course, since “Sin City” and now with “The Wrestler” Mickey’s everywhere again, but long term fans will know it wasn’t always like that. Ten years ago, you’d read the odd snippet in a film magazine or gossip paper, but finding the actual films was no easy task. Getting hold of “Francesco” or “Thursday” required serious effort and often serious money. But Mickey was always the actor I was most interested in and even in the worst movie (and some were pretty bad) they’d been something worth watching, some spark that made you remember why you loved The Motorcycle Boy or Harry Angel.

I first saw Mickey Rourke in the flesh in 2003. I skipped an evening class I was attending to stand outside a small London cinema that was hosting the UK premiere of a film called “Spun”. I’d spotted Mickey looking cool in the way only he can adjusting his collar under his white cowboy hat on a poster outside the cinema the day before. Having found out Mickey was in London to support the film, I waited outside that cinema for three or four hours hoping to see HIM in person. There were probably five other people there – no big crowd, no big deal. This was London in November, it was cold and raining. But Mickey Rourke was going to be there. At about five to eight, wearing a black suit and sunglasses Mickey arrived. He posed politely for the couple of press photographers present before turning to go inside. I called out his name hoping he’d sign an autograph, but I’d been told earlier it was unlikely. “He’s a bit of an ****hole. He never signs” one of the event organisers had told me earlier. But Mickey turned and came over. He looked down at what I was holding out to him – a May 23rd 1991 Fort Lauderdale boxing programme – and smiled. “Where’d you get that?” he enquired. “Oh, I got a lot of stuff” came my reply. “Cool”, he replied and signed his name. “Take care” he said and went inside. Mission accomplished, I thought. Seen Mickey Rourke in the flesh and got an autograph. What the **** did that event women know anyway? It wouldn’t be the last time Mickey would prove people wrong.



After “Spun”, Mickey’s name started to appear more regularly. First there was his appearance in Bob Dylan’s criminally underrated “Masked and Anonymous”, then a cameo for Tony Scott and another for Robert Rodriguez. These were good days – Mickey seemed to be making a slow, but steady comeback. A comeback that was cemented by his turn as Marv in “Sin City”. Suddenly Mickey was big news again. And with “Sin City” came my next chance to meet him.

My autographed boxing programme had hung proudly on my office wall for two years and I’d achieved my aim of seeing Mickey in the flesh, but if he was going to be in London it seemed almost rude not to try to see him again. So, to those ends, I managed to buy a ticket for the West End premiere of “Sin City”. It wasn’t difficult, “Sin City” was being advertised everywhere. I was rewarded with watching Mickey and director Robert Rodriguez walk up the red carpet signing autographs and shaking hands. Mickey looked in his element and it was great to see him so appreciated again. I’d got my autograph last time, but couldn’t resist a few photos this time. Once inside, I saw Mickey again as he joined the director and other cast members on stage to introduce the film. Every now and again during the film I had to turn round and check if he was really here He was. He sat about twenty rows behind me next to Madonna and Guy Ritchie! It was great to see Mickey back where he should be, appreciated and doing great work, but it’s funny how a tiny bit of you feels that your favourite actor is about to become everyone’s favourite actor again. It’s as if a little bit of you craves recognition for having been there through the lost years. I never imagined that recognition would come from Mickey himself in less than 24 hours.



I’d heard someone at the premiere say that Mickey was going to be on the Jonathon Ross TV show this week. Now, I knew from having attended the filming of that show some months ago that the show aired ‘as if’ live on a Friday, but was actually recorded on a Thursday. I also knew from having been at a recording of the show which exit the guests left by and roughly how long after the recording had finished. I knew this because the episode I’d seen being filmed had U2 as guests and there was no missing the large crowd of fans waiting for them outside. The following evening I headed over to the BBC TV centre and stood by the guest’s exit. I didn’t really know what I was doing there, I didn’t know what I’d say if Mickey came out or even if I had anything worth saying. I didn’t have anything to sign and I already had a photo. It was only once I was there, I began to question why I was there. Was standing by a traffic barrier at 10pm on a cold night normal behaviour for a grown man? What had possessed me to come here? I began to feel slightly embarrassed by my own behaviour when a large black car slowly crawled past. I recognised the man in the front seat as being Mickey’s bodyguard and I mouthed something like “How’s Mickey?” before the car drove off. I couldn’t see if Mickey was in the back as the windows were blacked out. I felt slightly pleased the car had gone and I could now go home and I promised myself I’d not do this kind of thing again. Lucky escape.



I was about twenty yards down the road when a black car pulled up and a window slowly went down. The man behind the window asked “How long you been waiting there?” “About an hour”, I replied. “In this weather, Jesus”, came the reply, “For me?” “Uh, yeah, I guess” came my less than eloquent reply. I was having a conversation with Mickey Rourke. I heard him order the car to stop and he opened the door and got out. “Well, you deserve an autograph” he said. “I’ve got nothing to sign” I said. “Okay, then let’s do a photo” he said and before I knew it, his bodyguard had joined us and was taking my photo with Mickey. “Take another in case it don’t come out right”, he said. I thanked him and told him how great “Sin City” had been. “Oh, you were there last night?” he asked. “Yeah”. I told him it was great to see him in a movie worthy of him again. “Yeah, there’s been some ****ty ones”, he said. “Shergar was rough”, I joked. He smiled. We spoke a little bit more and then he got in the car and drove off. Unbelievable, but it happened. I have the pictures to prove it.



I’d now seen Mickey Rourke in person three times. There would be one further time.



The last time would be an accident. A friend of mine invited me to visit them at Pinewood Studios. They knew I was a theatre director and secretly harboured a dream to work in movies, so they thought I’d appreciate the chance to come on set and watch a film being made. “Some kid’s film, nothing special, no big names”, they told me and I almost didn’t go. Thank God I did as I found myself watching Mickey film his last scene in the film “Stormbreaker”. Another cold night (a recurring theme in these meetings) and I was stood less than 40 feet away from Mickey filming a scene with Damian Lewis in which Mickey’s character is inspecting his army and witnesses Lewis’s character shoot a fork lift truck driver. Mesmerised, I watched Mickey film for about ninety minutes before the director yelled “It’s a wrap and that’s Mickey’s last scene on the film”. Mickey played the scene differently each time, keeping it fresh, finding a way to turn banal, functional lines into something a little edgier, a little more interesting. I asked a crew member what Mickey was like – “A complete **** hole. Rude to everyone” was his reply, “Keeps himself to himself, doesn’t talk much.” Didn’t sound like the guy who less than a month earlier had taken the time to instruct his bodyguard to take a photo and who had taken 10 minutes or so to shoot the breeze with some guy on a street corner.



I watched Mickey walk off, an associate carried Loki for him. I decided that I’d say hi before leaving. I’d been told not to approach anyone, but what would they do? Ask me to leave? I was leaving anyway and this might be the last time I’d ever see Mickey Rourke in person. I followed discretely behind as Mickey went into the makeup trailer. I recognised his car and asked his driver how long he would be. “Ten minutes, Mickey’s not one to hang around”, he told me. I thanked him and waited a little distance from the car. Again, I found myself asking “What am I doing here? What will I say?” Mickey appeared and his driver whispered something in his ear and pointed at me. To my amazement, Mickey walked over – “Hey ,it’s the dude from the Jonathon Ross show” (or something similar) “How the **** you get here?” “Friends in all the right places”, I joked. Mickey smiled. “Good to see you.” We talked for a few minutes. “I got something for you” he said and his driver opened the car boot. “What’s your name?” I told him and he produced a large Marv poster and wrote “To Nic, Best, Mickey Rourke” (I’d never seen him sign more than a squiggly M before). “There you go, brother. You take care and see you later”. We shook hands, he drove off and I’ll never forget his hand waving out of the window as he left. Didn’t seem like an **** hole to me.


There hasn’t been a later yet, but I feel very privileged to have spoken to Mickey. I found him to be gracious and polite. He seems to have a reputation, but it hasn’t been deserved from what I’ve seen. People have remarked that during the promotional circuit for “The Wrestler”, Mickey’s demonstrated a new found humility, approachability and a new found respect for his fans. He’s always had that from what I can see. Give the man respect and he’ll give it back. I’ll probably never meet Mickey Rourke again, but that’s okay. I feel lucky to have had the contact I have and I may be 36 and it may be totally uncool to have heroes, but Mickey Rouke is most definitely still THE MAN.

same source
 
This Week’s Cover: IRON MAN 2
July 17th 2009

Entertainment Weekly's second annual Comic-Con preview issue features Iron Man 2 on the cover, and inside it’s packed with exclusive first looks at highly anticipated TV shows, comic books, and movies.

The first Iron Man blasted Robert Downey Jr. back to stardom, and the superhero franchise is readying to return to the big screen on May 7, 2010. Iron Man will battle new villain Mickey Rourke, size up Scarlett Johansson (exclusive photo of ScarJo as Black Widow, after the jump!), and, hopefully, prove that the success of the first movie wasn’t a fluke. Downey knows the movie isn't an underdog this time around. "There are a lot more invisible eyes on us now," he says.

When Marvel Studios first announced the sequel, no one was sure what the movie would be about. Downey, director Jon Favreau, screenwriter Justin Theroux, and the rest of the creative team struck upon the idea of introducing two very different foes for Stark. On one side is Justin Hammer (Sam Rockwell), a fast-talking weapons manufacturer who fancies himself the next Tony Stark; on the other, Vanko, who, while incarcerated in a Russian prison, creates his own battle-suit, which shoots devastating, whip-like beams. Hammer and Whiplash join forces to take down Downey’s character, Tony Stark. Rourke, for his part, wanted to instill some lightness into the role of the heavy. "I told Favreau, 'I don't want to just play him as a one-dimensional p----,'" he says. "He let me have a cockatoo, who I talk to and get drunk with while I’m making my suit."

Just as the deals were being hammered out, Terrence Howard -- who had played Stark’s best friend -- fell out of the sequel in a public salary dispute. The role was re-cast, with Don Cheadle stepping in. "We had to make some tough deals," says Marvel Studios president Kevin Feige. "When they got public, you go, 'That sucks. Okay, you want a peek behind the curtain? Here you are!'" Says Cheadle, "Terrence and I couldn’t be more different. We address it head-on in the movie in one exchange. We're not trying to fool people." (Cheadle admits he didn’t know much about Marvel’s superhero before the first movie came out: "I always thought Iron Man was a robot.")

Adding more flesh and blood to the new movie, Scarlett Johansson joined the cast as Stark’s mysterious new assistant, Natasha, who has an alter ego of her own, Black Widow. That introduction inevitably sparks romantic tension between Stark and former assistant Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow), who’s been promoted to CEO of Stark Industries. "The men want it to be, like, 'Ooh, the girls are fighting over Tony,' but it's not as standard as that," says Paltrow. "There's a weird male catfight fantasy. Downey agrees. He believes what differentiates the franchise from other superhero series can be summarized as follows: "We're horny. Not, like, can't-bring-your-kids horny, but just¼horny."

The question remains whether Iron Man 2 will soar like the first film or show signs of rust when it hits theaters. "People are going to be more critical," says Downey. "That’s their prerogative¼.In a way, there's no way to win, except to win. Big."

same source
 
Hey does anybody have pictures of him with Carre Otis, they were such a hot couple!
 
r2954g.jpg


vgpy81.jpg


blogs.yahoo.co.jp/sleepybear426
 

GQ UK 2006
allstars-online.net



interkino.ru


Amelia Troubridge
etoday.ru



Amelia Troubridge
1. ameliatroubridge.com
2. iorr.org
 
Mickey Rourke chats about playing Gareth Thomas

by Dean Piper
Sunday Mirror 13/02/2011



“I’m inspired by the story behind Gareth. He’s a brave guy and the first professional to come out while still playing, anywhere across the world. I will be learning Welsh. But Dean, let’s say it’s a work in progress at the moment.
I’m meeting Gareth’s parents and his family tomorrow in a box to watch the game. This is an incredibly important story about equality and it’s something I want to make happen. We’re working on the script, the *treatment and we have the producers on board. I’m very excited to see Gareth play – it’s a first.”

25s6bz7.jpg

telegraph.co.uk

But this wasn’t any old call from a limo – he’d caught a train to Cardiff to watch Gareth play with the Crusaders against Salford City after deciding he needed a bar for the journey. He laughed: “Admittedly I wouldn’t usually travel by public transport except when I’m forced to. But I’m actually very easy going when it comes to getting around. I’m fine with the fans and meeting people. They’re the people that made my name and kept my career alive so why not be on a train with them? Also – there’s a f***ing bar on a train.”


Mickey shocked onlookers at London’s Paddington station just after midday yesterday when he pitched up with Russian model *girlfriend Anastassija Makarenko. He also admitted he’s going to be slimming down to play *37-year-old Gareth. He *chuckled: “I don’t know about beefing up for the role, I think I need to beef down.” Classic.


mirror.co.uk
 
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