The first shot of Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler is from behind, and throughout the opening, director Darren Aronofsky refuses to show his star from the front. He continues this tease, barely showing the edges of the actor’s battered face before finally allowing us the chance to see it in all its wounded glory. Rourke doesn’t need makeup to look this permanently damaged these days, and some of the emotional scars in his performance probably run painfully close to reality as well.

His character, Randy “The Ram” Robinson, is a pro wrestler who was once considered one of the best performers in the business. But years of personal difficulties, drug use, and generally being a fuck-up have reduced him to trading on his reputation in relative obscurity. Here I’m still talking about Randy, but could just as easily be talking about Rourke himself. And Randy needs a second chance to shine just as surely as Rourke does. In The Wrestler, he gets it: an opportunity to stage a rematch of one of the most celebrated bouts of his career for buckets of cash. For a guy who just got locked out of his run-down trailer for being behind on the rent, it’s the right opportunity, but at the wrong time. Randy has health problems that should have him looking for another line of work in a hurry.

But when you’ve wrecked your body with steroids and HGH while hitting guys with chairs and pile-driving their heads into the floor for your whole life, what exactly is your next career move? Aronofsky’s film looks with an unflinching eye at the plight of people who make their living off their bodies, and what they do next, once there’s nothing left to shake out of that moneymaker. For Randy, it’s the wrestling ring that has paid the bills; for his friend Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), it’s the stripper’s pole. Her work exacts a physical toll over the years just as surely as his, and her clients, even more than his, are always clamoring for a younger model. Leering fratboys don’t really want a lapdance from a woman old enough to be their mother.