美丽男孩

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。

很难接触到的题材。甜茶的表现力与爆发力在这部电影中可以说是impressive and incredible. 影片结局不是所谓毒瘾少年改头换面重新做人的圆满，因为你知道的，那就是他。

我想到一年前的幼童自缢事件。如今的我并不知精神压迫和动辄打骂哪个属于更好的教育方式，甚至会怀疑“教育”这东西，我觉得只是大人用自己的傲慢也好耐心也好碰运气遇到一个跟你对盘的小朋友。像是驯服，可人不是动物。

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!

" Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you.

When I was a young man I felt that 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 hoildays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movie, Spiders, garbagemen, English accents, Spain, France, Italy, walnuts and color orange.

Algebra angered me. Opera sickened me.Charlie Chaplin was a fake. And flowers were for pansies.

Peace and happiness were to me 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 gobble down all its poisons. But there were parts, tenuous magic parts, open for the asking.

I reformulated. I don't know when-- date, time, all that-- but the change occured.

Something in the 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, really 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 most 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's 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'm sorry for him. He's caught.

I walk out into 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 remember 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 bade 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. Scars, lumps, odd turns. But all in all, not too bad.

Almost hadsome.

Better at least than some of those movie star faces like the cheeks of a baby's butt.

And finally I discovered real feelings for others, unheralded.

Like lately, like this morning, as I was leaving for the tracks, I saw my wife in bed, just the shape of her head there, covers pulled high, just the shape of her head there.

Not forgetting centuries of 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 or my wife's head, she so still. I ached for her life, just being there under the covers.

I kissed her on forehead, got down the stairway, got outside, got into my marvelous car, fixed the seat belt, backed out the drive.

Feeling warm to the fingertips, dowm to my foot on the gas pedal, I entered the world once more, drove down the hill past the house full and empty of people.

I saw the mailman, honked. He waved back at me."

色调很美的片子，艺术性大于故事性。不知道导演本意还想拍出什么更深的立意，但在我看来这部片子的核心立意就是毒品对家庭的危害以及为孩子操碎心的父爱。 甜茶演的Nic这个人设是个漂亮但性格有点绿茶的失足男孩，最后Laura被救护车拉走后Nic哭着给爸爸打电话请求他让他回家的那点把“装可怜”三个字演绎得很好很好，虽然他吸毒并总爱干一些作死的事，但完全让人恨不起来。电影有个镜头后劲很大，就是Nic少年时期爸爸唱“beautiful boy”的歌哄他睡觉的那一段，看的时候内心平静，看完之后回想起来，真的很想让我掉眼泪，我想不管是Nic还是爸爸，都宁愿时间永远停留在那一刻，一个希望自己永远不会长大，令一个希望自己永远不会老去。“如果仅仅到这里就是结局该有多好，如果后面那些事情都不要发生就好了。” 在这部片里完全get到了甜茶的美，我首先就很喜欢很喜欢他的气质，他能完全不矫揉造作地把“娇”的感觉表现出来，嘴上不说，一举一动里却都透露着“虽然我总是让父母为我操心，但这不能完全算我的错，我也很可怜，我也很脆弱，我想借你的肩膀哭一会，我想要你抱抱我”的感觉。但他的“漂亮”同时也是这部片子的嘈点，导演没有把握好文艺片和现实片之间的度，导致我看起来感觉有些美化吸毒者。瘾君子犯毒瘾是非常可怕的，这点小李子的《边缘日记》珠玉在前，主角犯毒瘾时歇斯底里，六亲不认，攻击性强，折磨家人折磨自己，像怪物一样的形象才正常。但甜茶把犯毒瘾时候的Nic完全演成了一个病弱美少年，只有“美”而不见“毒瘾”了，因此我看外网有人评论说“这个片子应该所有中小学强制播放，向他们宣传毒品的危害”的时候，我是不以为然的，当个甜茶颜值安利片还差不多，戒毒宣传片还是差了点。如果抛开以上都不谈，甜茶真的是可以用“美”来形容的男孩子，大眼长发冷白皮，身材比例优越，又瘦又高，真的会爱死帅哥。（而且在这部片子里他穿的衣服都好好看，把他原本就好的气质衬得更好了，四年前的他还不是如今这个穿个孙答应的赤色鸳鸯肚兜就上红毯结果被群嘲的笑料，好莱坞的风水不养人呜呜呜） 更新一下 看了一些豆瓣影评，把我内心隐隐感受出来但没能用语言很好的表达出来的内容说了出来，这部片子还有更深的立意。我们带着一身棱角来到这个世界上，高傲地看不起一切，将安宁与和平视为软弱者的精神寄托，但在日子的洪流中，我们彼此推搡着，慢慢发现曾经总以为与众不同的自己也和他们没有什么区别。某种程度上来说，我们都在为不同的东西而“上瘾”，逃避着一切我们不愿意面对的现实。可惜导演没有把这个立意拍深，不然就该八分往上了绝对不会只有6.2分。

再更新下

看完七百多条的高赞影评后我突然狠狠地共情起了Nic，我也有个看起来很美好的家庭，外人都羡慕，我父母也很爱很爱我。可惜，关系网是由个体组成，个体的问题对关系网的影响牵一发而动全身，在这个世界上，没有人是完美的，每个人都是普通人，在我看似美好的家庭中，也已经积攒了许多问题，这些问题让我在很多个深夜辗转反侧时都忍不住偷偷落泪，爱与恨的关系就如同善与恶，随意强行剥夺哪一方，另一方也会自然消失。我常常在这种环境下也告诫自己“我已经比很多人都幸福了，我不该这样矫情”，但结果只会让我越来越痛苦，越来越崩溃窒息，这简直是环境pua我后我又自我pua的后果。 虽然我不至于像Nic那样因为成长中受到的伤害去吸毒，但被伤害的人表现出的情绪是多种多样的，索性我意识到了“我在这之中受到了伤害，我应该去面对而不是逃避”这一点，我愿意努力疗愈自己。

最后感谢甜茶把Nic这个角色演绎得活灵活现，感谢原著作者愿意揭开伤口把他的故事呈现给我们，希望类似的悲剧不要再发生

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.

无论是安宁还是喜乐

让它包围着你

在我年少懵懂的时候 我觉得这些东西

很愚蠢 而且过于真实

我愤世嫉俗 思想扭曲

经历了一个很危险的成长过程

我曾像花岗石一样坚硬

斜睥太阳

不相信任何人 尤其是女人

我把狭小的房间变成了地狱

摔碎和摧毁了很多东西

穿过玻璃 咒骂着

我挑战着身边的一切事物

我不断地被驱逐和监禁

在频繁的打斗和自己的思绪中进进出出

女人是用来折磨和责骂的

我没有男性朋友

我频繁更换工作和搬家

我讨厌假期 婴儿 历史

报纸 博物馆 老奶奶

婚姻 电影 蜘蛛 收垃圾的人

英式口音 西班牙 法国 意大利

核桃和橙色

代数使我生气

歌剧让我反胃

查理卓别林是个伪君子

鲜花是给娘娘腔的

在我看来 安宁河喜乐是自卑的表现

是软弱和混乱心灵的寄居者

但当我继续我的巷战

近乎自我摧残的岁月

跟无数女性发生关系时

我慢慢发觉 我并没有什么与众不同

我跟他们是一样的

他们的内心充满了仇恨

被无谓的抱怨所掩饰着

和我在小巷里打架的人都是铁石心肠

每个人都在互相一点一点地推搡着前进

只为路一些微不足道的利益而弄虚作假

谎言是他们的武器 但是毫无计划

黑暗是独裁者

有时候我会小心翼翼地让自己感觉良好些

我在廉价的出租屋里找到了片刻的宁静

只需盯着梳妆台上的把手

或者是黑暗中聆听下雨的声音

我需要越少 我就感觉越好

也许是另一种生活已经让我疲惫不堪

我不再觉得一些事情有吸引力

例如在对话中打败别人

或者是爬上某个喝醉了的可怜女人的身躯

使他们的生活陷入了悲痛之中

我无法接受生活的本来面目

无法欣然接受生活中的苦难

但是生活中的有些部分 纤细而神奇的部分

是供人询问的

我重生了

我不知道具体是什么时候 日期 时间那些的

但变化就这么发生了

我心中的某个部分变得无拘无束和圆滑

我不再需要去向谁证明我是个男人

不需要证明任何东西

我开始看清一些东西

咖啡店柜台后面整齐排列的杯子

或者是一只在人行道上散步的狗

或者那只在我梳妆台上面的老鼠

它就这么停在了那里

它的身体 耳朵和鼻子也随之停住了

一动不动 但又有着一种生命力

它的眼睛看着我 真是一双美丽的眼睛啊

然后它就跑开了

我开始感觉良好

我开始在最糟糕的情况下也感觉良好

即使总有糟糕的事情发生

就比如说坐在桌子后面的老板

他不得不开除我

我已经缺席了好多天

他穿着西装 打着领带 戴着眼镜

说“我必须开除你了”

我告诉他“没关系”

他必须做他该做的事

他有妻子 房子 孩子

日常开销 甚至可能有情妇

我为他感到悲伤

他被困住了

我走到炽热的阳光底下

这一整天都是属于我的 虽然只是暂时的

全世界人都被这个世界扼住了喉咙

每个人都觉得愤怒 不公 被欺骗

每个人都觉得沮丧 幻想破灭

我欢迎短暂而又破碎的幸福

我欣然接受了这些事物 彷佛他们是最受欢迎的数字

像是高跟鞋 乳房 唱歌 画作

不要误会我了

愚蠢的乐观主义是真的存在的

让人忽略一切最基本的问题

而只是为了自身的利益

这是一个自我保护的盾 也是一种病态的现象

那把刀子又逼近了我的喉咙

我差点又打开了那个开关

但是当好的时光来临时

我没有像在小巷里跟敌人打斗一样把它赶走

我让它们拥抱我 让我沉浸于中

我欢迎着他们的归来

我曾经看着镜子里的自己

觉得自己很是丑陋

但是我现在喜欢我所看到的

近乎帅气

是的 稍微有些口子和不平的坑

一些疤痕 硬块和皱纹

但总的来说 还不算太差

近乎帅气

至少比某些电影明星的样貌要好些

彷佛是婴儿的臀瓣

最后我发现

真正地为别人思考是无意间的

比如说最近 像是今天早上

当我离开的时候 我看见我妻子躺在床上

虽然只看到她头的形状

她的被子拉的很高 所以只能看到她的头的形状

谨记几百年以来的生命和死亡

还有正在死去的 还有金字塔

莫扎特死了 但是他的音乐仍然流传至今

杂菜在生长 地球在转动

赌金揭示牌在等着我

我看到我妻子的头的形状

她很平静

我为她的人生感到疼痛

就那么静静地躺在被子下

我亲吻了她的额头

走下楼梯离开了家

坐进我非凡的车 系上了安全带

开始倒车

感受着延伸到指尖的温暖

脚踩着油门

我再次进入了这个世界

驱车下山经过那些房子

它们要么人满为患 要么空荡荡的

然后我看到了那个邮差 按了下喇叭

他朝我挥了挥手