Review and news hub for movies, music and video games

Movie:		7.0
Picture:		6.0
Sound:		7.0
Extras:		2.0
Score:		7.0

Director(s):	Michael Seresin
Writer(s):	Mickey Rourke
Starring:	Christopher Walken • Debra Feuer • Jon Polito • Mickey Rourke
Genre:	Drama • Romance • Sports
Website:	http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0095316/
Release Date:	September 01, 2009
Rated:

List Price:	DVD - $12.99
Amazon:

Let me just start off by saying that I f--king love Mickey Rourke. I love the goddamned shit out of him. I don't care how many unnecessary facelifts he gets or how many homophobic slurs he casually throws around while drunk off his ass; in my eyes the man can do no wrong. It's only fitting that I should warn you of this unflinching devotion of mine prior to getting into the review portion of this ode to Rourke, lest you think that I actually aim to be objective. But there is a reason for my fanatic blubbering, as Homeboy is largely just a shameless vehicle for the man in question to display his unabashedly cocky yet undeniably enigmatic persona.

To get pretentious for just a minute: Rourke was practically made for the role of the Byronic anti-hero. His steadfast stoicism heightens the emotional implications of the pained soul that undoubtedly lurks beneath the surface, and as you try desperately to catch a glimpse, even just a sliver of that light peeking out from under all that caustic cool, you are confronted with the knowledge that you probably won't succeed. He bares bits and pieces of himself when he wants to, and you can bet that that he'll be taking his sweet time in doing so.

This is precisely the attitude that carries Homeboy much further than it ever would have gone otherwise. The story concerns a reckless but talented down-on-his-luck boxer named Johnny Walker (Rourke). After one particularly vicious fight, Johnny meets Wesley (Christopher Walken), a tough, sleazy gangster who anticipates big money in Johnny after he sees him in action. They develop a strangely close-knit kinship rather quickly, their bond seemingly growing stronger the higher the stakes are raised and the more crimes they commit. Somewhere along the way Johnny meets Ruby (Debra Feuer), the ostensible love interest of the film, how else but by protecting her from the most horrid of fates -- getting raped by none other than Stephen Baldwin. Shudder. Feuer is generally unremarkable in most every way (especially alongside Walken and Rourke) other than bearing a striking resemblance to a young, low-rent Jessica Lange. Walken's trademark stilted delivery is downright perfect for his smarmy mobster character, though it isn't much of a stretch for him, but hey, if it ain't broke...well, you know.

Rourke is clearly the driving force of the film. Hell, he is the film. His charm lies in the fact that he really doesn't have to do much of anything in order to make an impact. In fact, he barely even utters a word for the first twenty minutes of the film, merely beaming steely-eyed glares and Midnight Cowboy-esque swagger at anyone that dares look at him the wrong way. He chews tobacco and confronts cops and thugs alike. His name is Johnny Walker for Christ's sake. Suffice it to say that the dude oozes cool like he was born sucking on a cigarette and clutching a glass of whiskey. Despite his resolute I-don't-give-a-shit-about-anything demeanor, his presence on screen is consistently strong, commanding, and -- dare I say it? -- captivating. The thing about Mickey Rourke is that it's difficult to figure out exactly where this character ends and the man begins. He just never acts like he's acting. And therein lies the mark of a true artist. To be able to so thoroughly blur the lines of truth and fiction and make it look effortless all the while is a feat few actors can accomplish.

Now for the bad. The fight scenes aren't always up to par, which is both distracting and detracting to the film, considering that this is supposed to be a boxing movie at heart. Also, Seresin has such a feverish penchant for slow motion shots that it becomes downright grating about an hour in. I mean, okay, I understand what he's trying to get at: to convey Johnny's constant state of detached disorientation, simultaneously emphasizing and feeding his desperate need for genuine human contact, something to tether him to the world that he feels no part of. I get it, I do. But come on, guy! There are other filmic devices out there, you know.

The similarities that this film bears to The Wrestler are undeniable. From the long stretches of lonely, meditative silences to the soundtrack contributions of world-renowned rock stars (Bruce Springsteen to The Wrestler, Eric Clapton to Homeboy) to Johnny's profession (wrestler, boxer.) The reason I point this out is because The Wrestler will probably go down in history as Rourke's undisputed masterpiece, while Homeboy collects dust on the shelves of only the most devoted of fans, only because I don't think that Rourke had entirely come into his own during the making of it. He's really only now starting to realize his power. And there's the fact that, strangely enough, he somehow manages to emote more emphatically with a face full of Botox than without.

DVD Bonus Features

Just some subtitles and a trailer and not much else.