漂亮男孩

Either peace or happiness,

let it enfold you

when I was a young man

I felt these things were

dumb, unsophisticated.

I had bad blood, a twisted

mind, a precarious

upbringing.

I was hard as granite, I

leered at the

sun.

I trusted no man and

especially no

woman.

I was living a hell in

small rooms, I broke

things, smashed things,

walked through glass,

cursed.

I challenged everything,

was continually being

evicted, jailed, in and

out of fights, in and out

of my mind.

women were something

to screw and rail

at, I had no male

friends,

I changed jobs and

cities, I hated holidays,

babies, history,

newspapers, museums,

grandmothers,

marriage, movies,

spiders, garbagemen,

english accents,spain,

france,italy,walnuts and

the color

orange.

algebra angred me,

opera sickened me,

charlie chaplin was a

fake

and flowers were for

pansies.

peace and happiness to me

were signs of

inferiority,

tenants of the weak

and

addled

mind.

but as I went on with

my alley fights,

my suicidal years,

my passage through

any number of

women-it gradually

began to occur to

me

that I wasn't different

from the

others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome

with hatred,

glossed over with petty

grievances,

the men I fought in

alleys had hearts of stone.

everybody was nudging,

inching, cheating for

some insignificant

advantage,

the lie was the

weapon and the

plot was

empty,

darkness was the

dictator.

cautiously, I allowed

myself to feel good

at times.

I found moments of

peace in cheap

rooms

just staring at the

knobs of some

dresser

or listening to the

rain in the

dark.

the less I needed

the better I

felt.

maybe the other life had worn me

down.

I no longer found

glamour

in topping somebody

in conversation.

or in mounting the

body of some poor

drunken female

whose life had

slipped away into

sorrow.

I could never accept

life as it was,

i could never gobble

down all its

poisons

but there were parts,

tenuous magic parts

open for the

asking.

I re formulated

I don't know when,

date, time, all

that

but the change

occurred.

something in me

relaxed, smoothed

out.

i no longer had to

prove that I was a

man,

I didn't have to prove

anything.

I began to see things:

coffee cups lined up

behind a counter in a

cafe.

or a dog walking along

a sidewalk.

or the way the mouse

on my dresser top

stopped there

with its body,

its ears,

its nose,

it was fixed,

a bit of life

caught within itself

and its eyes looked

at me

and they were

beautiful.

then- it was

gone.

I began to feel good,

I began to feel good

in the worst situations

and there were plenty

of those.

like say, the boss

behind his desk,

he is going to have

to fire me.

I've missed too many

days.

he is dressed in a

suit, necktie, glasses,

he says, 'I am going

to have to let you go'

'it's all right' I tell

him.

He must do what he

must do, he has a

wife, a house, children,

expenses, most probably

a girlfriend.

I am sorry for him

he is caught.

I walk onto the blazing

sunshine.

the whole day is

mine

temporarily,

anyhow.

(the whole world is at the

throat of the world,

everybody feels angry,

short-changed, cheated,

everybody is despondent,

disillusioned)

I welcomed shots of

peace, tattered shards of

happiness.

I embraced that stuff

like the hottest number,

like high heels, breasts,

singing,the

works.

(don't get me wrong,

there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism

that overlooks all

basic problems just for

the sake of

itself-

this is a shield and a

sickness.)

The knife got near my

throat again,

I almost turned on the

gas

again

but when the good

moments arrived

again

I didn't fight them off

like an alley

adversary.

I let them take me,

I luxuriated in them,

I made them welcome

home.

I even looked into

the mirror

once having thought

myself to be

ugly,

I now liked what

I saw, almost

handsome, yes,

a bit ripped and

ragged,

scares, lumps,

odd turns,

but all in all,

not too bad,

almost handsome,

better at least than

some of those movie

star faces

like the cheeks of

a baby's

butt.

and finally I discovered

real feelings of

others,

unheralded,

like lately,

like this morning,

as I was leaving,

for the track,

i saw my wife in bed,

just the

shape of

her head there

(not forgetting

centuries of the living

and the dead and

the dying,

the pyramids,

Mozart dead

but his music still

there in the

room, weeds growing,

the earth turning,

the tote board waiting for

me)

I saw the shape of my

wife's head,

she so still,

I ached for her life,

just being there

under the

covers.

I kissed her in the

forehead,

got down the stairway,

got outside,

got into my marvelous

car,

fixed the seatbelt,

backed out the

drive.

feeling warm to

the fingertips,

down to my

foot on the gas

pedal,

I entered the world

once

more,

drove down the

hill

past the houses

full and empty

of

people,

I saw the mailman,

honked,

he waved

back

at me.

漂亮男孩 (2018)

6.2

2018 / 美国 / 剧情 / 菲力斯·范·古宁根 / 史蒂夫·卡瑞尔 提莫西·查拉梅

这部电影适合全家人去看，因为你看完之后你会觉得特别好看，你也会让你的孩子彻底认识到毒品对一个人的危害多大，它不仅仅会坏掉，你还会坏掉你全家搞得你家破人亡，这就是毒品的危害，管怎么样？我觉得禁毒是肯定是一定要进行到底的，因为毒品的危害实在是太可怕了，他可以把一个本来品学兼优的男生给毁掉了!

上个月原著作者David和Nick父子来我司座谈，趁刚看完电影，来回忆一下内容。

Nick & David Sheffs 父子印象

当时看到Nick第一印象就觉得发型和甜茶好像，不知是巧合还是谁抄袭谁。不过Nick也打趣说甜茶的发型在加州理发店很火，进店理发都说来个Timothee hair，甚至还有Timothee peach（纯洁的我表示根本听不懂）。Nick本人给我感觉是姿态动作都是美国小伙那种耸肩挠头，说话手舞足蹈，要不是面部略显沧桑，还真让人有种20出头男孩的感觉。这点甜茶在电影里还真的模仿的惟妙惟肖。

David衣着随意，一头精干的短发，眼神矍铄，直到讲起话来，才让人感觉到他的作家身份。这点史蒂夫卡维尔在片中，无论是外表还是感觉，都反差挺大。David说当时知道Steve在试镜自己的角色时别提有多惊讶了，他们俩第一次坐下来聊的时候，Steve向David保证，自己不会像甜茶那样每天10小时粘着原著真人来模仿。所以Steve自成一派的表演也是对自己演技自信的一种体现吧。

David Sheff & Nick Sheff

父子俩谈观影体验

比起对于史蒂夫卡维尔饰演父亲的overwhelming，他们两位对于当时名不见经传的甜茶并没有表现得多么激动。后来甜茶开始shadow Nick, 学习他的一举一动，他俩关系就变得很好，有时还一起冲浪。直到后来看了《Call Me by Your Name》,Nick说他完全被甜茶演技征服了。

David说当时知道Felix要拍后，特意找出了《Broken Circle》来看，惊为天人。后来他们看到《Beautiful Boy》成片以后，也都很感动。他们接下来准备去校园里宣传这部电影，目的是让更多毒瘾青年认识到自己并不孤独，完全有希望走出来。

Nick谈戒毒

Nick说当时吸毒是因为用毒品来逃避现实，他觉得自己是孤独的，没有人能懂自己。后来他能走出来，也是因为发现自己并不孤单，但是自己也非常幸运，有一个这样支持自己的家庭。他们身边有很多人就这样没有走出来，而英年早逝。两位都谈了很多戒毒的心路历程，一度让笔者以为影片会着重描绘Nick如何和毒瘾抗争的，结果发现其实是另一个角度。这里就不细说了，大家有兴趣的话可以看电影。

其实一小时的座谈，聊了很多，但是因为已经过去了一个月，加上当时没有看过电影和原著，所以比较囫囵吞枣。这里只写了能回忆出的一些内容，如果有出入，还请担待。

值得一提的是，当时台下还坐了一排主创，其中有制片人Jeremy Kleiner，主持人说最近几年能想到的好片，几乎都有他的参与，估计是皮特的好搭档？（虽然我并不认识）。Jeremi坐在台下略显局促，跟我想象中好莱坞大制片张扬跋扈的形象完全不一样，甚至一度还眼泛泪光，估计是作为艺术工作者都情感过于丰富细腻吧。

为了那段欲到窒息的吻戏看，看了才发现是冰毒之后的高潮，瞬间毫无感觉。

好莱坞最深情最甜的爹 是当年《阳光小美女》里的gay uncle，最让人心疼的崽是一步一步注定万丈光芒的茶。

从《史蒂文森小姐》到《CMBYN》到这部《漂亮男孩》到《lady bird》到《小妇人》到《纽约的一个下雨天》到《沙丘》，我总打趣说我能看到同是infp的他的所有感性倾注和没有防御的脆弱。他是这样的体验派演员，他生来就一定会成为一个movie star.

故事插叙的乱七八糟，剪辑一片混乱完全是硬伤，叙事立足点完全没有打出来，于是父子再好的演员也无济于事。

我在想我的仔也是从小就被说是漂亮男孩，值得最好的父母的仔。可是我总是害怕我没有那么好，那么强力，在他未来需要抉择的时候帮助他选择看起来更多的那条路。甚至在他无助的时候我也会无助，我甚至没有办法在姨妈期间对他保持耐心。我的缺点会在他日后造成没办法纠正的影响… 想到这些我就很绝望。不要说他深陷毒品，他失恋我可能都没办法让自己以正确的角色和方式出现能帮到他。

作为父母的视角看孩子 一个所谓自己的作品 其实“充满了【盲点】。”你的视角 你爱他的不行。他的视角可能无助，害怕，丧失，毫无安全感。

说到这去看了漂亮男孩影评区的第一篇影评。作者：hugo蔷薇（来自豆瓣）来源：//movie.douban.com/review/9878272/

太牛逼了。无论是原著还是电影 真的是我见过看的最透彻的影评之一了。仔细看完作者所有的解析发现、我茶真的也是把角色吃透到烂了。天赋异禀。

这篇影评里有一段甜茶的获奖词如下：

【在此我引用甜茶在颁奖季的一则获奖发言，也是他对于参与这部电影的领悟，发出来分享给大家:

在成长的过程中，有一个瞬间，我意识到父母和周围其他成年人都是是普通的人。所谓人类，就是有着各种各样的弱点和缺点，这个发现对我的表演产生了最大的影响。但当我得知每个人都是脆弱的，都会受到伤害的时候，我感到了恐惧和失败。我的梦想是成为一名职业运动员。像勒布朗詹姆斯或莱昂内尔梅西这样的球员。我被无敌的人所吸引，而不是其他任何东西。然而，我看到自己在镜子里，意识到我不能像他们一样。除了太瘦弱之外，我不具备那样的才华（会议厅笑）。

我去了纽约的戏剧学校，我的叔叔，母亲，姐姐都去了。我开始有所改变。在我的生命中，我第一次坠入爱河，我感到前所未有的兴奋感，就像当初我想成为运动员一样，但这次我不是想成为超级英雄而是憧憬成为一个普通人。像希斯莱杰和瑞凡凤凰这样精致的艺术家，和不屈不挠的梅西和勒布朗同样具有吸引力。那些敢于展现脆弱的演员都使人着迷，我开始疯狂地学习他们的作品。真实的人物、真实的故事所揭露的人性真相是那样鼓舞人心，我希望总有一天得到认可的不再仅仅是那些赞颂人类不可战胜的作品，而是那些看到我们缺陷之美的作品。】

看到这我瞬间有点点释然

我们的路 他的路 总不能都被“过去”决定。

即使人生复杂，也总有机会走向还不错的方向。

以及永远要相信爱珍惜爱。是真的持久的爱而不是只是短暂出现的关心。

写到这真的好累。

（片中和片尾念到的Charles Bukowski诗作，觉得非常美。找出来分享。）

Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you

when I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing.

I was hard as granite, I leered at the sun. I trusted no man and especially no woman.

I was living a hell in small rooms, I broke things, smashed things, walked through glass, cursed. I challenged everything, was continually being evicted, jailed, in and out of fights, in and out of my mind. women were something to screw and rail at, I had no male friends,

I changed jobs and cities, I hated holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, garbagemen, english accents,spain, france,italy,walnuts and the color orange. algebra angered me, opera sickened me, charlie chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies.

peace and happiness to me were signs of inferiority, tenants of the weak and addled mind.

but as I went on with my alley fights, my suicidal years, my passage through any number of women-it gradually began to occur to me that I wasn't different

from the others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome with hatred, glossed over with petty grievances, the men I fought in alleys had hearts of stone. everybody was nudging, inching, cheating for some insignificant advantage, the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty, darkness was the dictator.

cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. the less I needed the better I felt.

maybe the other life had worn me down. I no longer found glamour in topping somebody in conversation. or in mounting the body of some poor drunken female whose life had slipped away into sorrow.

I could never accept life as it was, i could never gobble down all its poisons but there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking.

I re formulated I don't know when, date, time, all that but the change occurred. something in me relaxed, smoothed out. i no longer had to prove that I was a man,

I didn't have to prove anything.

I began to see things: coffee cups lined up behind a counter in a cafe. or a dog walking along a sidewalk. or the way the mouse on my dresser top stopped there with its body, its ears, its nose, it was fixed, a bit of life caught within itself and its eyes looked at me and they were beautiful. then- it was gone.

I began to feel good, I began to feel good in the worst situations and there were plenty of those. like say, the boss behind his desk, he is going to have to fire me.

I've missed too many days. he is dressed in a suit, necktie, glasses, he says, 'I am going to have to let you go'

'it's all right' I tell him.

He must do what he must do, he has a wife, a house, children, expenses, most probably a girlfriend.

I am sorry for him he is caught.

I walk onto the blazing sunshine. the whole day is mine temporarily, anyhow.

(the whole world is at the throat of the world, everybody feels angry, short-changed, cheated, everybody is despondent, disillusioned)

I welcomed shots of peace, tattered shards of happiness.

I embraced that stuff like the hottest number, like high heels, breasts, singing,the works.

(don't get me wrong, there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism that overlooks all basic problems just for the sake of itself- this is a shield and a sickness.)

The knife got near my throat again, I almost turned on the gas again but when the good moments arrived again I didn't fight them off like an alley adversary. I let them take me, I luxuriated in them, I made them welcome home. I even looked into the mirror once having thought myself to be ugly, I now liked what I saw, almost handsome, yes, a bit ripped and ragged, scares, lumps, odd turns, but all in all, not too bad, almost handsome, better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby's butt.

and finally I discovered real feelings of others, unheralded, like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving, for the track, i saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there (not forgetting centuries of the living and the dead and the dying, the pyramids, Mozart dead but his music still there in the room, weeds growing, the earth turning, the tote board waiting for me) I saw the shape of my wife's head, she so still, I ached for her life, just being there under the covers.

I kissed her in the forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seatbelt, backed out the drive. feeling warm to the fingertips, down to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the houses full and empty of people, I saw the mailman, honked, he waved back at me.

在很久以前看完了这部电影，影评的契机大约是因为在摘录册里发现了这样一句话，“爱是多层次的，爱是无力的，爱也永远不会是无条件的，爱太会审时度势趋炎附势，爱是世界上最深刻的绝望，NIC的问题只是太过清醒。”败于我习惯脱离原作的记录习惯，竟一时记不清NIC这个人到底是谁，而当终于寻到出处时，又仿佛重新经历了当时的心境。

漂亮男孩，一个父亲这样形容自己的孩子，漂亮是个很偏意的形容词，它看上去简单幼稚，毫无内涵，但似乎又是最令人难以言表的beautiful，介乎于震撼和爱之间，漂亮似乎是外人来看最适合的赞叹，而对于一个父亲来说，用漂亮来形容自己的孩子又显得过于轻浮。

而在了解到故事的原型以及他们的出版书籍之后，我更是觉得，无论如何，这样的形容词，都让我觉得他把自己的孩子当成了一件橱窗里的装饰品，对于这位父亲而言，孩子也许是漂亮的，可以被精心爱护的，可以露出微笑，向大家展示的自己的珍藏，但同时也是可以被轻易舍弃的，如果他不够漂亮，或者其实因为他根本不重要。

电影里的NIC看上去似乎是个问题少年，可这都归因于他过于破碎的童年经历，他太早地被迫成熟，被迫习惯父母的离异，我们都明白大多时候，一个孩子的心理问题，都来源于他的家庭。

NIC过早地失去了来源于家庭的归属感，他觉得似乎这个世界上没有人需要他，但他同时又太过清醒，太过恐惧，不敢出声打破这表面的平静。

就像电影里，他看见继母要求自己的孩子远离他，却没有追问，他始终意识到自己是多余的那个，但是作为一个孩子来说，他却又不能承受这样的境况，于是他在这样的漩涡里深陷，生怕，生怕行差踏错，但他也从不，从不追问自己的父母这样的原因，于是最后他找上了毒品，意图通过这种方式逃避现实中的问题，他反复的吸毒，反复的成瘾，似乎看上去就是个无可救药的瘾君子，根本不值得得到救赎，可是仔细想来，他也没有一刻真正得到过救赎。

他的父亲只把他当做一个年轻时的幻想，出于某些父母想要培养好自己第一个孩子的执念而存在，他父亲给予的帮助甚至可以说是以不影响自己正常生活的情况下提供的，完全微不足道。而他的继母，对于一个跟自己毫无血缘关系的孩子，甚至有某一刻，我觉得她恨不得他消失，那NIC又何谈被救赎呢，真的有人想要救他吗，连他自己的亲生父母都已经放弃了这个孩子，那他们，那我们，又有什么资格冠冕堂皇地说这个孩子不配得到救赎呢？

而NIC他没有求救过吗？他歇斯底里地期望他的父亲救他，渴望有人关心他，甚至他渴望成为父亲的漂亮男孩的时候，他没有过吗？而在这样极度的渴望认同当中，我们不应该明白的是这位表面上光鲜的父亲已经给他的孩子留下了这样深深的心理阴影了吗？这种病态的心理，他的父亲真的从没意识到过吗？还是他只是不在乎。

而NIC也真的如同大家所说是个过于软弱的青年，实在不够清醒吗？也许事实并不是这样，但是这对父子似乎都已经熟悉了这样病态的关系，他的父亲堂而皇之的接收自己孩子迟来的忏悔，换来公众的支持，完美意义上的HAPPYENDING，而那个故事里的孩子也许在很多很多年前就曾明白自己的父亲想要的只是一个乖巧的玩偶，不论这个漂亮男孩是谁，甚至不在乎这背后葬送的是一个男孩漂亮的一生。而我现在想来，最害怕的是，原来连他自己都已经忘了。