Aaron Schimberg’s A Different Man took me back in a quaint way to some resonant lines from the TS Eliot classic “The Hollow Men”. It’s a film that inhabits, as Eliot puts it in his poem, the “shadow” that falls “between the idea and the reality”, “between the desire and the spasm”. The larger post-World War I human despair that he speaks of finds an enigmatic echo in the deeply personal impasse confronting Schimberg’s protagonist, the struggling, insipid, and ineffectual New York actor Edward (Sebastian Stan), who is largely disregarded by people but for his unusual medical condition and facial disfigurement.
What happens when something elusive, that you might have deeply yearned for, comes true? Does it iron out all the creases in your life, does it solve the innumerable issues and problems? Does it ensure that hereon you’d live happily ever after? Paradoxically, happiness continues to remain in the shade, chasing it adds up to nothing more than an exercise in futility, dreams stay illusory and desires eternally obscure. Absurdly so, the dream face that Edward hankers for becomes his living nightmare when it turns real.
Defined by his appearance, which limits opportunities for him as an actor, Edward decides to undergo a transformative medical procedure. The one with life-changing implications, in which the possible rewards appear to outweigh the potential risks. As his face begins to fall off in clumps, a good-looking bloke, a Man-Candy so to speak, starts to emerge. A lot changes for him as he kills—metaphorically speaking—his old self and embraces the new avatar of a successful, suave, and popular real estate agent, Guy. But, the sense of fulfilment is still beyond reach. He hasn’t been able to become who he truly wanted to be—a successful and celebrated actor. There’s a glimmer of hope as he snatches the role of a lifetime and along with it the possibility of a long and committed relationship with playwright and director Ingrid (Renate Reinsve), the neighbour of his old, now dead self to whom he had once gifted a typewriter with the hope of having her write him a part on it.
However, the role is eventually denied to him, ironically again for his looks—this time for a picture-perfect, chiselled, beautiful face. Along with the career he finds his relationship also meeting a sudden death with Oswald (Adam Pearson) afflicted with the same medical condition as he once was, replacing him on both fronts. The film comes to life with scintillating performances from the trio—the ever effervescent Reinsve as Ingrid, the eerily self-assured Oswald played to confidence and charm by Pearson but, most so Stan, as the extremely good-looking but incredibly insecure Edward/Guy. The moments of solitude with his deformed self, Edward, resonate as loudly as his newfound beautiful personality, Guy, writhing silently in unexpected loss and pain.
The combination of casting (Maribeth Fox) and make-up (Sarah Graalman) also contributes profoundly to the film. In a throwaway, self-reflexive scene early in the film we find a casting director “specialising in actors with unusual physiognomies”, doling away his card to a stranger. Fox does a great bit of authentic casting with Pearson who has neurofibromatosis for breathing life into Oswald and Graalman recreates the condition to perfection through prosthetics on Stan’s face.
Schimberg quite pertinently situates body horror in showbiz. He uses a world that spins on appearances—cinema, advertising and off-Broadway stage—to pin down lookism—how we perceive ourselves and how others notice us based on the way we look. The notion of identity and personality gets further more complex with a reference to Beauty And The Beast and the transformative power of love. The bottom line, however, is fairly simple: that beauty is only skin deep. But, a more profound underlying message is that of the futility of trying to change one’s fate. Or as a character in the film cheekily quotes Lady Gaga, “All the unhappiness in life comes from not accepting what is”. So, make peace with yourself and your life and stay happy. That’s the only option available.