漂亮男孩

" 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."

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。

（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.

首先，甜茶的颜粉了有福了。

这里有恬静茶，哀伤茶，疯狂茶，绝望茶。

继「炎夏之夜」后，甜茶再次出演瘾君子。表演很不错，层次很丰富，而且情绪控制得很好，男主爹的表演和甜茶也配合得完美，从心疼的不断付出到心疼地绝望放弃。

但我其实有个疑问：上瘾的动机是什么？影片其实没有交待清楚。当然可能会有人指出是因为家庭破裂重组的关系，但是甜茶在里面可是吸尽了能吸到的各种毒品，我觉得只有经历了巨大的波折才会有如此行为吧？何况从影片中倒叙里父子互动场景能看出父亲对茶无微不至地关怀。我认为有可能是为保护真实人物的隐私而没有着重交待上瘾动机，或者电影的重点在于“走出”，因此草草掠过原因。

这是一部具有戒赌社会教育意义的片子，凑巧邻居枫叶国刚宣布大麻合法交易，可以说很反讽了。茶对毒品上瘾，想要致幻，实则想要逃避，他可能也一直能感受到自己在父亲心中是pretty boy，但是他在现有生活里，或者说空间里感到压抑，在毒品里他可以完全麻痹自己，恍如跨越到另一世界里，那个世界或许有最初完整的没有争吵的原始家庭。毒可以比作是甜茶划破现有生活的一个刀片，最后把自己伤害到遍体鳞伤，无人能救。茶心里觉得自己很丑陋，很恶心，他说谎，吸毒，浪费人生。但在父母眼里，他就是那个pretty boy，所以父亲和后妈一直在竭尽全力地帮助他，从无放弃之心，但他们最终渐渐发现，他们在这件事上毫无用处，能够get him back的人只能是茶自己。有一个场景我记得很清楚，甜茶带着女友仓皇从家里开车逃走，后妈马上去追，追到一半停下来了，大哭。我能感受到一种竭尽全力后的无力感。还有茶的亲妈给他爸打电话是说自己无论如何都不能放弃茶，但需要他的帮助，这通电话里，再也不是互相责备，而更像是忏悔，忏悔茶的上瘾原因在于他们关系的破裂，那个漂亮男孩再也回不来了。

影片彩蛋是茶的独白，他用平和的语气剖析了自己。

最后，他还是回来了。

再次成为了拥挤人群中一个能感知微小幸福的人。

So pretty.

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!

伴随着影片最后八分钟的落幕和音乐，我很想表达一下我对这部电影的喜爱！

首先，当我看到十分钟左右的时候，我就已经很怀疑豆瓣上的这个评分，看到后来我越来越不服气这个评分，我去IMDb上去搜了评分——7.3，要知道甜茶同样出演的《call me》在IMDb上也只有7.9的评分。因此，豆瓣上一些大V顶着流量的旗号，影响着一大批观影者的评判，当然不少时候我也是我刚刚说的那样，是一个被影响者。

电影的摄影构图绝对是精心的，我截了几张我很喜欢的图片。摄影一直保持着高水准的构图，有黄金分割，有中轴对称，整个画面一直都保持着很舒服的状态。

配乐是丰满的，虽然有几个片段显得故意了一点，honestly，但整部电影的配乐是让我融入情绪的重要配件。重金属摇滚和亲和钢琴，还有促进情绪的配乐，都很能借助音乐表达情绪。

再说剪辑手法，个人而言我很受用时空交叠的描述方式，因为当这样的手法是文字写在书上的时候，是会引起无尽的想象的。当然有一两个地方，这种剪辑用过了，造成了理解上的些些偏差。

很多童年片段的重演，是导演对人生前后的差别表达，也是剧情的一部分。

文学与艺术方面，诗歌的介入，摇滚乐的介入，小团体忏悔式的自述的介入，无不都在掀起一些列的情绪波澜，电影的价值是在无形中被赋予的。

很多人觉得这部电影，剧本太弱，甚至有说它是一部「禁毒宣传片」。我个人的感觉是，如果不去真的用情感带入，应该会很难理解情节上的反复重复；而且一再突出的「禁毒宣传」让他们情感上很难平静得去融入电影里。

剧本不弱，情感线更不弱！父子之间的感情线，从童年讲述起，一路贯穿成长。非要在这样的电影里讲述一个动人的感情故事吗？非要像寻亲那样悲鸣吗？父亲的信任变化与情感变化，是写实的；继母的情感也是真实的！

说起情感，难道，桌子上那封写给「漂亮男孩」的信，所要传递的，不够吗？冲浪的回忆对比，不够吗？写作在整部电影里出现的意义，与充满黑暗色彩的日记本，不够吗？不能够揭露内心吗？

说到写作，我很明白，一个擅长或忠于写作的人，是能够从写作中找到解脱的。这也是为什么电影总是在强调Nic需要写作，写作是一个人得到解脱，最廉价也最昂贵的方式，昂贵在很多人不愿意借助文字表达内心。

我喜欢这部电影！我觉得这个评分大家给的太低了！

我大胆猜测大家评分只有三星的主要原因是，大家不爱这个题材，觉得毒品电影就应该拍成《湄公河行动》？？？