The Calamari Wrestler

Dorsher leant me some very suspect DVDs, and tonight we got round to putting one of them on: The Calamari Wrestler.

Now, it's not often that you get to watch a film about wrestling, where the hero is a bloke in a big rubber squid suit, who buys sardines from local fishmongers and spends his downtime meditating in a temple while a Buddhist monk hits him on the head with a ceremonial wooden plank.

I'm not saying this is where Mickey Rourke got the idea for his character in The Wrestler. I'm just saying. (Then again, I haven't even watched The Wrestler, but if it's lacking a man in a giant rubber squid suit, silhouetted against a glowing sunset, I'm going to put my foot through my television and send Hollywood the bill.)

Anyway, it's an odd film. I guess that went without saying, but whenever you think it's becoming just a run-of-the-mill-film-about-redemption-through-wrestling-that-just-happens-to-have-one-rubber-squid-costume-more-than-usual, it takes a left turn, and you find yourself watching a man having his back scrubbed in the bath by this tentacular monstrosity.

Perhaps this wasn't the best way to start learning Japanese again.

Then again, if I can say "You're saying I should go out with a squid?" I'll probably be set for life.