When ?Bad? Brad Berkwitt, RSR?s CEO, Publisher and webmaster suggested I pen a piece on Mickey Rourke I gladly jumped at the opportunity after taking a moment to reflect on arguably the most unique career in motion pictures today. I learned long ago that any suggestion made to me by RSR?s Master Blaster usually has good reason behind it, and it didn?t hurt that ?El Marielito? just happened to be one of my all-time favorite performers on a short list that includes the names of such silver screen greats such as Burt Lancaster, Spencer Tracy, Christopher Walken and Burt Reynolds. So it wasn?t all that hard to grasp the brilliance behind the suggestion, given Rourke?s incredible body of work in film and his mostly forgotten sideline two decades ago as a professional prizefighter.
Mickey Rourke was born Philip Andre Rourke JR in Schenectady, New York on September 16th 1952. He was raised Roman Catholic, a faith it is said he still follows closely today. His father, an amateur bodybuilder, left the family when he was six years old. After his parents divorced, his mother married a Miami Beach police officer with five sons from a previous marriage, and moved Rourke, his younger brother and their sister to southern Florida to start their new life.
His teenage years were a time primarily spent focused on sports. He took an interest in self defense while attending the Boys Club of Miami, the place where he had his initial exposure to boxing. Over time he picked up the necessary skills needed to compete and decided to embark on an amateur career, the desire to test himself in actual competition, no doubt fueled by the competitive component of his character, a trait that would ultimately serve him well into adulthood. Rourke won his first match as a rangy 118-pound bantamweight, later pursuing his training at the famed 5th Street Boxing Gym in Miami Beach where the great Muhammad Ali began his career.
Quickly finding his groove as an amateur fighter, at one point, he scored twelve straight stoppage wins. In 1969, Rourke, weighing 140-pounds, sparred with former World Welterweight champion Luis Rodriguez, a seasoned professional with over one hundred bouts to his credit and at the time the number one-rated middleweight contender in the world. Such was the focus, drive and competitive nature of Rourke he received a concussion sparring with the former world champion.
1971 proved to be pivotal year for Mickey Rourke. He suffered another concussion while taking part in the Florida Golden Glove tournament. Having been advised to take a year off from boxing to avoid further risk of injury he put his amateur career on hold. As a senior at Miami Beach High, he had a small role in the Jay W. Jensen play The Serpent despite the fact that his primary focus had been boxing. Not long after he drifted from his first discipline after being offered the role of Green Eyes in the play Deathwatch by a friend who was directing, after the original performer had quit. When he got the part he suddenly became enamored with acting, an unanticipated segue given his previous passion and focus. Eventually he relocated to New York to take formal coaching as an actor with a teacher from the Actors Studio, Sandra Seacat, a respected actor, director and acting teacher.
Rourke?s film debut was a small role in Steven Spielberg?s near-forgotten WWII spoof, 1941. It was a crucial first step that led to other small supporting roles the following year in 1980, but it was his 1981 performance as arsonist Teddy Lewis in Body Heat that would ultimately serve as his break-out big screen performance. Notable roles in movies such as Diner, Rumble Fish and The Pope of Greenwich Village over the next couple of years ensured continued exposure to the public and with the power brokers of Hollywood.
The 1986 film Nine 1/2 Weeks opposite the stunning Kim Basinger underlined Rourke?s unmistakable screen presence and ability to captivate the audience while attaining him sex symbol status. In that film his ability to manipulate moviegoers was commensurate to his character?s ability to manipulate Basinger, a quality not lost on the critics of the day. The next year Rourke again sent shockwaves through the media with his steamy performance as a private investigator opposite a sexually charged vixen of voodoo in Lisa Bonet in 1987?s Angel Heart. Many cited the effort as an exercise of dark titillation but in fact the film was incredible with its many convolutions and revelations. His next effort after that saw him turn a different corner, giving us one of his truly great and profound screen performances as Henry Chinaski, the drunken but unusually perceptive writer/poet non-conformist in the film Barfly opposite Faye Dunaway.
Mickey Rourke had not only caught the attention of Hollywood?s powerbrokers, he had managed to thoroughly embed himself in the minds of film goers, often to polarizing effect. He had, at the time, movie star good looks, yet was not afraid to dress down his appearance for the sake of the art, as evidenced in Barfly. But his successes simply didn?t roll onto the big screen one movie after another. Several efforts failed to catch on at the box office and to a great extent these performances were punctuated with projects that underlined his ability and that special quality he brought to the big screen. Critics that took the low road often focused on this aspect of Rourke?s career as opposed to allowing him the opportunity to hone his craft before us, and at a time when the tabloids were enjoying the fruits of his increasingly notorious off-screen pursuits. One such forgotten effort was 1988?s Homeboy, an underrated and mostly forgotten gem about Johnny Walker, a down and out professional boxer. I recall seeing this film back in the day. I had always liked Rourke and had read of his youthful pursuit of pugilism as an amateur fighter before becoming an actor and wondered just how believable he?d be as a fighter given his looks and generally perceived celebrity persona.
I remember becoming captivated by his ability to transform over the course of the film, taking on the look and exuding the feel of a heart-felt no-hoper keenly aware that his chance and time were quickly slipping away from his grasp, both in the ring and in life. Beyond being aware that Rourke had once fought as an amateur I had no notion what lurked deep within his soul and that in fact boxing was his first, greatest love. In a very real way, this film would serve as a precursor of sorts for the next few years of his life with Rourke fueling the fires of mainstream criticism by taking a sudden detour off of the red carpet and back into the shadowy, dank and dingy world where he first found true passion.
His 1990 effort in Zalman King?s Wild Orchid again played on his ability to manipulate the senses of viewers with what can be best described as an intensely sensual exercise in erotic intrigue opposite the captivating Carre? Otis, who would later go on to become his wife. Critics had a field day with this movie and his effort, inferring that as an artist he had sold out, opting for payout as opposed to the pursuit of fine craft. Much was written about Rourke?s off-screen life and the whispers were that success had enabled him to succumb to the darker indulgences that often take the better of men, and that in Wild Orchid moviegoers watched Rourke?s degeneration as an artist and celebrity play out. His acting career eventually became overshadowed by his personal life and career decisions. Directors such as Alan Parker found it difficult and highly stressful to work with him. Parker stated ?working with Mickey
