Trigger Warnings: mentions of physical disfigurement, body disability and disturbing visuals.
One is tempted to draw parallels between writer-director Aaron Schimberg’s third feature, A Different Man, and Coralie Fargeat’s body-horror fable The Substance: both feature a protagonist who, dissatisfied with how they look, undergo a procedure that ‘betters’ them; both become cautionary tales for beauty standards; both are not suited for the squeamish. Yet, while Fargeat’s film honed in on themes of celebrity and female beauty standards, A Different Man is, well… different. It is a haunting exploration of masculinity, self-worth and physical disfigurement. While it occasionally struggles with its tone and epic narrative, the film is ultimately worth seeing because of its stellar performances, eerie visuals and timely message.
The film follows Edward (Sebastian Stan), an actor with neurofibromatosis – a rare condition causing tumours to grow on the skin’s surface, making it appear disfigured – struggling to have confidence when talking to his attractive neighbour Ingrid (Renate Reinsve) and desperate for change. In these early scenes, Wyatt Garfield’s cinematography adopts a voyeuristic quality – you can practically feel the camera gawking at Edward’s face (impressively recreated with prosthetics) – showing how, even with no-one present, Edward’s painful self-consciousness consumes his waking days. His acting roles are reduced to workplace sensitivity training videos about working with facially-disfigured people that ironically offer a surface-level, dated attitude of how to treat them (and with this satirical video, Schimberg is able to criticise the lack of representation that disabled people have in the media). So, when Edward is offered a cure for his condition, he naturally takes it, and things get better, right?
Even with no-one present, Edward’s painful self-consciousness consumes his waking days
At first, they do. Edward now looks conventionally attractive, walks around without being horribly aware of his own existence, and is able to start a sexual relationship with Ingrid that his disfigurement previously held him back from initiating. Then, he learns of a play based eerily close to his own life, where an actor (Oswald, played by Adam Pearson) is cast to play him. Pearson has neurofibromatosis in real life, and his character of Oswald acts as an interesting foil to Edward; where the latter allowed himself to be defined by the rejection and isolation that his disfigurement brought upon him, Oswald is confident and charming in spite of what society might expect of him.
Stan’s performance becomes chilling and obsessive as he stalks Oswald, jealous of how different the two are (hence the clever double meaning of the film’s title). Meanwhile, Pearson’s charismatic, easygoing persona directly challenges Hollywood’s painful history of attitudes toward people with facial disfigurements. Repeatedly, they have been left out of the narrative altogether, or – if they are lucky enough to be included at all – will be portrayed by conventionally-appearing actors wearing prosthetics, and their character arc will entirely revolve the ‘struggle’ of their disability – Auggie (Jacob Tremblay) in 2017’s Wonder is a recent offending example of this). With this performance, Pearson has said that he hopes to rewrite his own narrative and that the public no longer views him as a ‘disabled’ actor but just an actor. To smooth out the wrinkles in the system, though, we must first examine them, which A Different Man does with aplomb.
Just as Umberto Smerilli’s score twists and turns like a knotted stomach, Edward’s mental state deteriorates
Everything from the close, intimate set design to the unique aspect ratio exudes a sense of claustrophobia, mirroring how Edward feels trapped inside himself – the ironic truth being that, despite having a new face, he feels less like himself than ever. Even Ingrid’s gaze, portrayed with a bitter honesty by Reinsve, serves as a mirror for Edward’s obsessive need to be worth something; for a time, her validation is enough, but there is no escaping oneself, and so just as Umberto Smerilli’s score twists and turns like a knotted stomach, Edward’s mental state deteriorates.
Schimberg’s script is a thing of beauty, a many-tentacled beast that plunges the knife deep in the heart of its own themes then twists it unpredictably. As the film hurtles toward its conclusion, the narrative feels a little unwieldy (a scene with a physical therapist in particular feels as though it was taken from a different film altogether) and the tone is occasionally off – like the film suddenly remembers it is also a comedy every now and then, before abandoning the notion a few minutes later. But by the time the final scene hammers home the message, it is already obvious. Cleverly avoiding the classic ‘it’s what inside that counts’ cliché, the film offers this: no matter how much we change our appearance, our dress, our mannerisms, we will always be faced with the horror of ourselves.
Verdict
Though occasionally uneven, A Different Man’s compelling message and enthralling lead performances mark another success for writer-director Aaron Schimberg.
Comments