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The Daily Inquisition / September 22, 2008


Today’s Defendant: Mickey Rourke

Statement of the Grand Inquisitor: The heretic in question is just about to make a major comeback in The Wrestler, a new movie by that tick Darren Aronofsky (pi, The Fountain) which is currently wowing everybody at the film festivals. But that’s nothing compared to the infamous act he’s charged with: praising the actions of the current scabrous git of an American president. Rourke is on record with the following statement: “George is doing a hell of a job during very difficult times, more power to him. Screw all them people who don’t like him.”

A clear case of “mixing angels and demons” here, which is heresy any way you slice it, and calls for burning at the stake. And no merciful strangling before the burning thing, either. I mean, I think Rourke’s one of maybe five great actors in America too, especially after he pulled off the Marv part in that otherwise appalling bunch of crap Sin City–but that remark about “George” cannot stand.

Statement of the Defense: This is indeed a grave charge. But consider the great faith of this Rourke, who has long had his priest on speed-dial: ”My priest is this cool Italian from New York. We go down to his basement and he opens the wine. We smoke a cigarette and I have my confession. He sends me upstairs to do my Hail Marys.”

As is noted in the Catholic Times, it was “Father Pete” who persuaded Rourke not to commit suicide after Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man. And in addition to Faith, Rourke has a few Works to offer up: he now dedicates himself to dog rescue, and has seven (last count) rescued Chihuahuas, some of which are extremely mean and not house-broken.

Note also that Rourke donated part of his salary from the film Francesco, in which he plays St. Francis of Assisi, to the Provisional Irish Republican Army, and got a pro-IRA tattoo at a time when such an act could result in being dropped like a hot brick in Hollywood. Which indeed came to pass.

A further complication comes in the form of Rourke’s own desire to be scourged for his sins. He’s been at it for years. Self-abasing roles in movies, brain damage from boxing while middle-aged, his face is destroyed, he looks like Quasimodo in shades, he’s barely making a living, he’s forcing himself to reside in some crappy house in Los Angeles, a place he despises, because that way he’ll have no desire to go out and enjoy himself which would only tempt him back into trouble. He’s currying favor with the same Hollywood types he used to spit on just so he can keep working. He deliberately adopted a Chihuahua that bit him in the face, requiring stitches, when he found out it was named “Little Mickey.”

Seriously, he’ll love the whole burning thing. It’ll make his day.

Verdict: Spare him, and when he mercifully kicks the bucket, put him up for sainthood.

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