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You'd think Mickey Rourke would be happy, sitting in an Italian restaurant near his apartment in Manhattan's Greenwich Village, talking up his Oscar-worthy performance as washed-up pro wrestler Randy "The Ram" Robinson in The Wrestler. Still, he can't help but be pulled into the darkness of his past. He talks about how his once-hot career imploded and how close he came to ending it all, and when he talks about how his brother died of cancer four years ago, his once-pretty face twists, his mouth trembles, he chokes up and he drools a little down his denim shirt, unbuttoned to reveal the silver ram medallion that he wore in the movie. "I lost everything that meant anything," Rourke says. "I've worked very hard with a therapist. I was putting the blame on this prick or that person, but it was Mickey Rourke. I fucked up everything. When you fall that far, you can make the decision if you're gonna give it a shot or blow your brains out. The Ram is living in that same state of hopelessness."

It's impossible to watch The Wrestler and not see it as an allegory for Rourke's career: on top in the Eighties, AWOL in the Nineties and looking for redemption in the new century. The more Rourke talks, the more agitated he becomes. On cue, his manager arrives with a white pill and one of his pet Chihuahuas, Taco Bell, to soothe him. Rourke swallows the medication. "I have panic attacks when I talk about this stuff," he says. At his lowest, he says he was sitting in a closet with his favorite dog, Beau Jack, "doing some crazy shit, but I saw a look in Beau Jack's eyes, and I put the shit down. That dog saved my life. There's still a little man inside me with an ax — but I keep that little fucker quiet." SEAN WOODS

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