I did watch the Oscars this past weekend, and I did have....thoughts. But at this point the Discourse is unbearable and I would only be adding to the litany of voices screaming into the void. With that, I'm choosing to focus on 2024 releases that give me joy rather than those that give me a headache.
I use the word "joy" loosely of course, because Aaron Schimberg's A Different Man is to me a horror movie in the same vein as Jane Schoenbrun's I Saw the TV Glow. Meaning, I loved it.
At the center of the film is an actor, a moniker I have not donned in quite a long time, who lacks courage and confidence. Edward suffers from neurofibromatosis, a condition that causes tumors to grow causing facial deformities. He's awkward, unsure, and uncomfortable in his body. He primarily books small speaking roles in office industrials (corporate training videos we've all been forced to watch at one time or another), has trouble talking to the pretty woman who's moved into the apartment next door, and spends lonely nights in his small apartment watching whistling tutorials. He's clearly unhappy. So, when his doctor recommends him an experimental procedure that could potentially reverse the effects of his neurofibromatosis, he's interested. He undergoes the treatment and, after a very effective body horror scene, wakes up a different man.
Edward's neighbor, Ingrid, who he was friendly with is a playwright. Her and Edward often joked about how perfect it'd be for her to write his first big role--he even gifted her a bright red vintage typewriter. After Edward transforms he decides he is ready to live a different life with his new face--under a new name. Edward is dead, he proclaims (suicide, tragic stuff) and Ingrid reckons with the news.
Some time later, Edward's living his new life as a beautiful real estate agent--successful, no trouble with the ladies, roomy apartment--and stumbles upon the theatre Ingrid is auditioning to find the lead of her new play, "Edward." Naturally, Edward is still inclined to his acting dream and is almost ecstatic that there is a role that he was "born to play." Despite his new appearance, he's able to use a mask of his old face given to him during the initial drug trials to convince Ingrid to take a chance on him. That is until Oswald (played by the incredibly charismatic Adam Pearson), another man with neurofibromatosis stumbles upon a rehearsal of the play and turns Edward's world on its head.
Other than the movie being what I believe is a very familiar and accurate depiction of what it's like to be a working (primarily theatrical) actor, which I do have a soft spot for, it is also a great interrogation of questions revolving around privilege, representation, and who gets to tell what stories.
Ingrid has hang ups when initially casting Edward as the titular role: shouldn't she be casting someone with a disability? What if the disability isn't the same as Edward's was, is that okay? What if a person who is able bodied is a better actor? Is she beholden to historical accuracy, or telling a compelling story? And more than that, what right does she have to tell a story so far removed from herself? Her and Edward have arguments as the story progresses about the way she pacifies him and makes him this sad, pathetic man. What did she really know about him? Of course all of these conversations are happening without Ingrid knowing Edward's true identity, and now he looks like Sebastian Stan, so what does he know about struggles either?
These examinations of art remind me of what I loved so much about Theresa Rebeck's play Seminar, which I had the pleasure of directing during my time in college. It follows a group of affluent white twenty-something aspiring writers and one of the through lines of the story was the exploitation of the stories of the marginalized in order to have something "compelling" to say. Ingrid may justify writing "Edward" as a way of honoring a sorry soul who met a tragic ending in the apartment next door to her, but she frequently reduces him to being nothing more than her "creation" and discards pieces of him (like the typewriter he gifted her) with little regard for his memory. She utilizes his story to secure (what we can assume to be) her first off-broadway show but in her later years disavows the production entirely. What once could've been seen as a thoughtful tribute became a dehumanizing caricature.
Then of course there's the foil of Edward and Oswald. If there was a "Brutalist" style intermission around the halfway point of this film (or whenever Edward secures the leading role in Ingrid's play), you might walk to grab a popcorn refill worried this film would be one that belabors how horrible life was for its main character until he gets this miracle cure. That is until Oswald walks in. While both have (or had at this point) the same genetic disorder, Oswald is everything Edward is not. He's confident, charismatic, has hobbies. He takes jiu jitsu classes and participates in tai chi in the park. He has a busy social calendar, has no trouble with the ladies and sings karaoke at bars.
Oswald is my favorite part of this film because Edward believes all that he has gained: acclaim at work, a relationship with Ingrid, the leading role in an off-broadway show, would not be possible without his transformation and Oswald proves him wrong. Obviously there are levels to this message, the Sebastian Stan's of the world are going to be treated better than the Adam Pearson's or Renate Reinsve's of the world. But, the salient point the film is trying to make is that no outer change is going to fundamentally alter who he is. Ingrid's play, while self indulgent and exploitative did also shed a light on the way Edward was perceived. The writing is at fault because Ingrid has no real reference of who Edward was as a person, but he was passive. He was timid and meek and uncomfortable in his own body, as Guy Moratz (his new identity) is as well, albeit with a more conventionally attractive face.
The entire second half of the film is Oswald effortlessly accomplishing all Edward never thought he could: snagging the lead role, winning Ingrid's heart, and is beloved. He achieves all this while Edward pouts, seething with envy and confusion. It was comedic, but also somehow sobering? I don't know about others but I have been there, and embarrassingly find myself in a similar headspace more often than I care to admit.
While I love theatre and have done it for years, the life of an aspiring performer is not glamorous or particularly fun. I spent years in high school and college being sidelined and beaten out for roles by girls whiter and thinner than me. The achievement awards usually given to those who've dedicated a tremendous amount of time to the theatre--whether it was my high school's theatre award or the litany of service awards gifted during our yearly department banquets in college--never seemed to come my way. I watched peers and close friends excel, lauded with praise and accolades, and always felt stuck. Slighted.
Recently, my roommates and I got the opportunity to see a college classmate perform in a local professional theatre's production of Dominique Morisseau's Confederates. After the show she asked how auditioning was going, and after a couple minutes of awkward silence we confessed we hadn't been. I felt myself immediately get defensive, whether the others could tell I'm not sure, but I remember thinking to myself how absurd it was that she'd even asked, "as if anything could come of that." But like...it could? I went to school for theatre. It was literally the only thing I could imagine myself spending four years doing and every time I get to dissect a film or play I light up. Why on earth would I scoff at the prospect of pursuing my passion and...succeeding?
Edward was never devoid of talent. In fact, I really enjoyed the monologue he gave during his audition scene early in the film. Instead he lacks the courage, the confidence to Do The Thing. A tale as old as time. That's what makes the second half so stomach churningly brilliant. We, as an audience, are meant to laugh at Edward who mirrors those feelings of inadequacy and envy we can all choose to sit in instead of chasing what brings us joy. I referenced in my Love is Blind post that the realization of self hatred requiring a level of narcissism completely reshaped the way I thought about myself. To me that's the difference between Edward and Oswald. It sucks to be Edward, but the beautiful thing is you don't have to be! You can choose to live a different life. To be a different man in the ways that matter. There is still time. There is always time.
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