Written for the screen by writer Charles Bukowski, author of such great novels as Ham on Rye (1982), Women (1978) and Hollywood (1989), which was written about his experience working on this film, Barfly follows his stylized alter-ego, Henry Chinaski, as he works shit jobs, gets into bar fights, and drinks himself into oblivion.  

     Not gonna lie, this movie, much like most of Bukowski's work, doesn't take you on an emotional rollercoaster like the usual Hollywood tripe.  Rather, it's a sociological piece about a sociopathic beast.  There are no real highs or lows, and the movie ends in the same place it begins, with Mickey Rourke picking a drunken fight in the alley.  Which, with the cookie cutter process that movies always follow, is kind of a breath of fresh air.  Granted, that fresh air smells like a burning outhouse, but at least it's something new.  I'm looking at you, Michael Bay. 

     

     What Makes This Movie Cool:  Mickey Rourke.  This was the point in Mickey Rourke's career where they were comparing him to Brando and Dean.  And, even with a character with no real emotional depth written for him, Rourke manages to pull something genuine and somewhat sympathetic out of a bottle.  He's too cool for the room, too fragile to fight, and too drunk to drive.