Who Is Mickey Rourke?



Fierce forces are his state. This blog continues, woozily, in its fascination with Mickey Rourke because he is like some sort of Platonic cautionary tale of a fine actor that somehow got derailed from his fixed aim, his noble vocation and got caught up in the plastic game of Hollywood celebrity. And a "star" is a different kettle of fish altogether from an "actor." Actors get their greatest joy from the immediacy of the stage, they pay their mortgages with screenwork; shooting Stars get alighted by the speed of magazine covers and boldface mentions of moist canoodling at trendy joints with other heavenly bodies (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).

Rourke once relied on $200 a week from a pal so he could get McDonald's food. That is a sobering fact for an actor who could once command princely salaries for playing a lord of Greenwich Village. So, do you think the nation's most fascinating tale of redemption would end with Mickey grasping his second chance, in Shakespearean manner, being a better, more humble regent?

Fat chance.

As this weekend's NYTimes Sunday magazine story proves, Mickey has come a long way from handouts from pals. A long way down. In this installment the former Prince of Greenwich Village harasses his assistant for lozenges and ice cubes like a Little Lord Fauntleroy. What a catface:

"ROURKE WAS SUFFERING from a sore throat. He summoned his personal assistant, J. P., and sent him to the drugstore for throat lozenges."

".. J. P., the assistant, returned with the lozenges. Rourke popped one into his mouth just as his little black pug shuffled into the parlor. 'Get the hell away from me,' Rourke snapped at it. 'Go on.' The pug cringed by my feet, and I petted it. Rourke said the pug was 'the dumbest dog on the planet.'"

And, later:

"Rourke didn’t notice when his pug jumped onto the sofa while he was talking. Rourke called out to J. P., 'Get me some ice cubes.' J.P. entered the room with a bowl of ice cubes and handed them to Rourke. Rourke sucked on one to soothe his sore throat, then said: 'I resented all the money and what came with it, the way people treated me in a special way. I didn’t know how to play the game.'"

He seems to be playing it rather well, if assily, if you ask us.

More here.