Once again a contender

THE YEAR'S most over-cooked movie story may be the return of Mickey Rourke, who never really went anywhere.

It's true that "The Wrestler" restores him to leading-role status, but Rourke has never stopped working as a stand-out supporting actor - even the dissipated Rourke has more screen presence than most of his peers, and in small doses he adds a lot to a movie without creating too many headaches on set. (He was faulted for recklessness, never a lack of talent.)

He pops up on the grid from time to time, doing memorable work for Francis Ford Coppola in "The Rainmaker," taking jobs with Tony Scott (as a sleazy lawyer in "Man on Fire,") and Robert Rodriguez ("Sin City").

Rourke was terrific in the latter film, and was nominated by the Philadelphia Daily News Film Critics Society - unanimously, by its membership of one - for best actor that year.

Oscar voters ignored him, but that won't be a problem for Rourke in "The Wrestler," a tough, bloody, enthralling movie that makes Rourke a sure bet for an Oscar nod, and even money to win the whole thing.

"The Wrestler" is Rourke's "Wrasslin' Bull," a compelling portrait of a brawler's self-destruction that manages to be moving even without "Raging Bull's" offer of redemption (though the ending here is certainly open to interpretation).

Rourke is Randy "The Ram" Robinson, a washed-up pro-wrestling legend now eking out a living in North Jersey: making nostalgia appearances on the minor-league circuit, showing up at old-timers shows, posing for snapshots and signing autographs.

The violent (not for the squeamish) wrestling sequences that comprise the movie's first hour (some filmed in Philadelphia) are almost hypnotically good, as The Ram sacrifices what little is left of his body for the sake of a good show. The pain he endures, the pleasure it gives him to remain vital and relevant, register strongly via Rourke's performance.

To say that Rourke is perfect for this role is an understatement - wrestling sits at the nexus of fighting and entertainment, and Rourke, a lousy boxer and a great actor, understands both well enough to integrate them into a vivid whole.

And then there is the ravaged monument of his once-captivating face, which tells you everything you need to know about The Ram's many failures. All of the excesses, indulgences, sins, mistakes of a misspent life are written on that puffy, ruined visage.

The spottier second half of the movie delves into The Ram's bungled efforts to right certain wrongs - he tries to repair things with his estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) and revive his on-again/off-again relationship with a stripper (Marisa Tomei).

The funny and touching Tomei, incidentally, is as miraculously ageless as Rourke is prematurely old. She approaches the role of a fortysomething stripper fearlessly, and with a body like that, why not?

But she's not Adrian, and he's not Rocky, and there's never much hope that love will halt or even delay The Ram's decline, his slide toward oblivion.

He can't keep a woman, or hold a job (there are darkly funny scenes of The Ram's day job at the supermarket deli counter).

He's good for one thing, and that one thing is certain to kill him. That kind of death spiral can be a chore to witness, especially if attended by narcissism. The Ram, though, is brutally honest about his flaws - every time he disappoints somebody, he feels it deeply.

Never, though, does he disappoint an audience. So, when The Ram, bad ticker and all, makes his last climb up the turnbuckle, brace yourself for the first, and surely the last, three-hanky wrestling match.