The Interview - Arena talks to Mickey Rourke
Dec 9th, 06'

Michael Martin

He’s been on the canvas and out of the picture altogether, but the actor, ex-boxer and Arena’s original cover star is back, bigger, badder and - unbelievably - more mental than ever.....

Question : What time does Mickey Rourke show up for a photo shoot?

Answer : Whenever he wants to. It’s a rainy morning in a garage in Brooklyn, by the waterfront, and when Rourke eventually materialises he’s in jeans and a nice overcoat, shanking the rain out of his hair, trailed by a tough-looking assistant named Pinky and a small white dog - tiny legs, wiry white hair, sturdy body - called Jaws.

As for Rourke, the words physically intimidating somehow don’t quite cut it. He’s a huge, solid guy; so tightly coiled it’s like sitting across from a hurtling brick. His knuckles are tattooed with letters that are difficult to make out, but you can get the feeling that if you were to catch a glimpse of those words coming at you, they’d be among the last you processed on earth.

That’s the legend of Mickey Rourke: rough, uncompromising, erratic, possibly batshit. He was born in 1956 in Schenectady, New York, and was raised Catholic in Miami. A lifelong fan of motorcycles and boxing, he came to Hollywood after studying at the prestigious Less Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute in New York. Small parts in 1941 and Heaven’s Gate led to his performances of two genuinely iconic films of the Eighties: Diner and 9 ½ Weeks. There were other curious choices : after turning in performances of great integrity in Barfly and the IRA drama A Prayer For The Dying ( a project that got him banned from London for seven years), next came Harley Davidson And The Marlboro Man , a film as good as its title indicates. Then, Rourke launched a career as a professional boxer.

The fighting rearranged his face, and Rourke re-sorted his priorities. But he returned to Hollywood to find it largely disinterested, until his career-saving turn as knucklehead anti-hero Marv in last years Sin City.

This year, Rourke has starred in the well-received family action film Stormbreaker and the forthcoming (Out Of Sight) Leonard adaptation Killshot. At this moment, though, he’s talking with the make-up artist about what hair product he prefers, while his dog runs around the studio. “I can’t put the wrong shit on it, or it will just....hey Pinky, keep an eye on Jaws!”

In attempt to bond with the beast, hoping it will lead to trust from it’s owner, I take a step towards him. He bares his teeth and backs away, snarling venomously. He is the most intimidating breadbox-sized dog imaginable. “ Jaws,” scolds Pinky. “Is that nice?”

“They were going to put him to sleep”, says Rourke, scooping up his pal and settling into the chair. “I got him two days before. He was already in the execution chamber. He was very vicious, had been very badly abused. When I adopted him, he bit me in the mouth, gave me two stitches. Before, when you’d pick him up he’d freak out. Now you can even do this to him...”

Rourke strokes Jaws under the chin and Jaws maneuvers his head under the meaty paw that dominated those frames in Sin City. Dog and owner seem content . “Yeah”, Rourke tells the make-up artist. “I’ll have moisturizer. Thanks.”

This year is Arena’s 20^th anniversary and you were the first cover in 1986.

Really? Wow.

{We show him the cover story} Do you remember the shoot?

[ laughs] Nope.

What do you remember about 1986 ?

Nothing. I remember I was living in New York, and it was just before my career ended. Who did the shoot?

Christopher Gstadler.

Oh that piece of crap. He used to be a friend. Fuck him.

In that interview you said, “I had a very naive picture of what acting is all about. I thought it really mattered what kind of actor you were. Nobody gives a shit. But I give a shit.”

I still feel exactly the same way. There’s a lot of stuff I said in 1986, before I went to therapy that I’m ashamed of. I was angry. But I think what you just read, I feel even more that way now. It’s [still] not really about acting. It’s about the publicity. It’s about what cunt is going out with this one, what cunt had a baby. In real life, people have babies all the time and it’s no big fucking deal. But that’s what he movie business has turned into.

Are we going to see Marv return to Sin City 2?

If they pay me enough. Or do you want to call {it} ‘art’? [laughs]

Is their a script. Have they told you what they’d like you to do?

Sort of yes and no. They’re really going to have to show me that they want me back. They’re going to have to realize the success I had with it personally. They gotta show me the money, that’s all I’m talking about.

Some said you WERE that film.

You bet your ass I was.

So what did Sin City do for you?

It was the first time I took a job for money. For two, three, four years, I hadn’t worked, and there was nothing on my plate that I wanted to do and I was broke and I had bought this big fucking house and so I did this stupid movie, Harley Davidson And The Marlboro Man, and I was fuckin’ miserable doing it and I realized I had sold out. But there was a lot of other stuff going on too, with my career, my personal life, my life in general. Shit was way out of control. So it was a slow burn of destruction that just blew up all of a sudden.

Would you consider Harley Davidson the worst movie you made?

I’ve made some really bad movies - I don’t even want to remind myself that I made them. I just worked on a movie [Killshot] with a wonderful fucking director from Canada, John Madden. It’s as good as I’ve felt about making a movie in 15 years.  Madden’s, like, driven. He’s a perfectionist. He can do 80 takes and he makes it better and better every time. And that’s what I like. I like that he cares so much that he drives himself - he turns purple.

About Killshot - are you an Elmore Leonard fan?

To a degree. I met him. I’m a fucking Madden fan. I’ve also got to give credit to {producer} Harvey Weinstien. Harvey knows my old reputation, and Harvey putting me in these movies means a lot to me. Because Harvey’s a hard-ass. He either likes you, or he doesn’t give you the fuckin’ time of day. My kind of guy. Old-school real tough motherfucker. If I were in his business, I would be as ruthless as him. But there’s also a soft spot to Harvey. He really cares. You can see through the hard veneer.

What about Stormbreaker?

Stormbreaker was a money job, to be honest with you. I went because I love London, I want to go to London, and it was a role I thought I could pull off. It was “Let’s go over there and get away with this.”

How do you choose a role these days?

Usually, if it’s got entrance and exits and it has layers that challenge you. I’ve got a big hang-up about working with actors I don’t like. I’ve turned down tons of shit because I don’t like the company. When I don’t like someone, I really fuckin’ don’t like them, and when Id don’t want to work with somebody, I really don’t want to work with them. [In the past] I’ve had to compromise and do some roles like that, but as of recently, I haven’t. I talk with my therapist, who I really need, and he goes, we’re making the same mistakes again. Why do you hate this person? Why do you think that person is such a bad actor?” For years, I was embarrassed to admit that I even had a therapist. He saved my fuckin’ life and my career. I don’t what Tom Cruise says about therapy. Fuck him. Cunt. Fuck therapists. Let the Scientologists go fuckin’ live on a planet of their own.

Are there any parts you’ve turned down that you regret?

Oh Yeah. I’m not telling you which ones though.

Do you regret the boxing?

When I was amateur, I didn’t turn pro because I got hurt. I always felt ashamed that I didn’t have the guts to continue with something that’s really hard. But, I’m happy with the fact that I turned professional at 33 years old, when most careers are over. I had 14 fights - 12 wins and 2 draws. I got hurt a lot and paid the price with operations on my nose, which were several. My timing was off. I regret it on one hand because my day had come and gone as a fighter, but I’m at peace now. It was hard. People can say what hey want, but I got to fight all over the word, and it gave me focus and concentration. When that bell rings, you can’t go, “Hold on, I need another take,” or “Can you fix my make-up?” When that fuckin’ bell rings, you better be right there, because that guy want to rip you a new asshole.

How badly were you injured?

I’ve had several nose operations to repair damage in my cartilage; I had my cheekbone reconstructed when I shattered that. I had about three or four concussions. There were a lot of injuries.

Have you had surgery purely for cosmetic reasons?

No, just those things I mentioned, that’s pretty common knowledge.

Who’s your pick of the new acting talent?

I really enjoyed working with Rosario Dawson. She’s really pretty and such a hard-working actress. Same thing with Keira Knightley. I’ve worked with some of these new kids and I’ve been very impressed with them.

Which of their qualities impress you most?

I was sitting in the make-up chair, and I was looking over a Keira who is 23 years old or whatever [she’s actually 21], and I thought, “God, look how professional she is, “She’s on time, she’s not late, she looks really great. I wasn’t even working when I was 23. I was when I was 28, but I was a fucking mess. I wasn’t professional at all. And I looked at her and wished that even when I was in my 30's I could have been more like that.

What has time taught you about women?

It’s been a humbling experience. Very painful. You can only do it by yourself, and it doesn’t take months, it takes years. I programmed myself to be a certain way - to live on the street. Something out of the Dark Ages. That changed in time. You can be physically strong and that can be a tremendous weakness. I learned it’s OK to let go, and count to 10.

What is your chat-up line that always works?

Do you want children?
Never given it any thought. My childhood was a fucking mess. I promised one thing to myself: I knew what it was like growing up without a father and meeting him 25 years later. I would never do that to a human being because of what I went through. If I bring somebody into this world, I’m going to be there. Until I can guarantee that, I don’t deserve to have a child. My childhood was so bad that if somebody said, “Would you rather go through your childhood again or never be born?” I’d say I’d rather never been born. I used to sit around and say, Why can’t I live in his house down the street.? Why am I stuck in fuckin’ purgatory here, in this shit hole?” You know, that’s OK, because it gives you character. But who wants to get character that way?

Are you spiritual?

To a degree.

Have you become more so?

It’s an interesting question. My little brother Joe died a year and a half ago. I always prayed and went to church once a week, and I haven’t been there or prayed with the same conviction since. He died a very slow, painful death of cancer. In my arms. He was really a good guy, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. You see somebody die like that, who’s your blood, at a young age and you think, “What the fuck is going on?” It’s been hard for me. I was raised very Catholic. Joe’s death took a lot out of me, but it also gave me strength. When we visited each other when he was dying, we hadn’t seen each other for a while, but he looked at me and said, “You’ve changed, Bro. I never thought you would.” Here’s a guy dying who’s glad to see the change in me. So now, if some days I can’t do it for myself, I think about him and how much it meant for him to see me not the way I was.

Alan Parker, the director of Angel Heart, described you as a “nightmare, very dangerous, because you never know what he’s going to do on set.” Is that an accurate assessment?

I never do the same take twice. Same way I’m not going to sit in this chair the same way I sat her 20 minutes ago, and people aren’t used to that, especially if they come from the theatre. So I think he’s talking about something like that net of unpredictability.

Has that changed?

No.

Do you still really enjoy acting?

You know what, ever since I got a second chance, I love it more then ever. Because, you know, if you’re talented and you put the work in, you’re going to make it the first time around. It might take you 10 years, like it did me. But when your career is over, once you’re a has-been and you’re finished, to come back after 13 years and you’re not 28 years old anymore...well, not many people can do that.

How do you feel about the word “comeback”?

I’m afraid of it, in a way. Because people always go, “Glad you’re back,” and when you’ve been out of work 13 -14 years, you never feel like a come back. I thought after four, five years it might happen, and when several years went by, I thought the dance was over. So when people say, “You’re back,” I think, “Ooh, dunno.” Because I’ve still got it in me to really fuck up. I can’t pat myself on the back and say “You’re back,” because of where I was. When you lose your career, your wife, your house, your money - all at the same time - it’s humiliating. It’s humiliating to hear, “Oh, what happened to you?” Or, “How come you don’t work anymore?” You know, you to buy a pack of cigarettes and you hear, “Oh, you used to be in the movies,” it goes through you like a bolt of lightening.

What stops you from fucking up again?

Just no reacting right off the bat, just going, “OK, there’s consequences to this. “The other day, there’s some drunk guy giving me shit in a restaurant. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt and I said to the waitress, who’s next to me, “I want you to watch this. If he touches me, I’m going to knock him right the fuck out.” And they got rid of him. Where in the old days I would have just punched him in the mouth. He was really being rude and obnoxious, but I’m now able to evaluate and see what the consequences are.

Do you think about your legacy?

No, not at all. There’s a guy running around that wants to do my memoirs. I say, “Not now, I’ve got stuff to do.”

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