For God’s Sake, Let’s Talk About a Different Movie

by

Approximately 40 minutes into the movie “A Different Man“, the character portrayed by Sebastian Stan, who gives a poignant performance as the struggling actor Edward Lemuel, starts to lose his face piece by piece, with it appearing as red, fleshy fragments.

Edward has neurofibromatosis, a condition that causes visible tumors on his face, making him self-conscious in public as he notices how people react towards or ignore him. However, in quieter, private moments, he feels awkward, dependent, and hopeful, particularly when interacting with the budding playwright Ingrid, who becomes his neighbor. When he decides to join a drug trial advertised as a cure, he agrees to a cast of his face as an early memento for when the drug shows success. Edward’s situation stirs not contempt or pity, but a shared, sorrowful understanding – his desire for a different appearance reflects on what defines a human being as recognizable, comprehensible, and even lovable. His struggle as an actor intensifies this exploration of identity.

In Edward’s trembling hands, wet and bloodied fragments fall from his post-trial-scarred face, a gruesome spectacle captured in the reflective glass of a framed photograph. He breathes out in shock with each drop, as if undergoing a rebirth. A brief montage of this metamorphosis unfolds over the next three minutes, establishing a steady pace. Edward stumbles into his blood-stained bathroom, awestruck and bewildered by the remnants of his old self. His face serves as a threshold; no longer completely who he used to be, yet not yet fully transformed into what he will become. Spending his evenings peering through the peephole at Ingrid, eating microwaved dinners on his kitchen floor while background noise of whistle tutorial videos fills his grimy apartment, Edward continues this routine until one day, he shuts the mirrored cabinet in his bathroom and encounters the face of a completely transfigured man.

Edward cautiously traverse the city on foot, sporting his novel visage. Captured from behind as he navigates the vibrant neon lights of nighttime New York, his posture is stooped. He remains vigilant. Upon catching sight of his own reflection, he stands taller. Admires himself. Could this be what it feels like to be beautiful? The confidence to occupy more space without hesitation? To gaze upon oneself without flinching? As he grows accustomed to his good looks, Edward decides symbolically to eliminate his previous identity, adopting the moniker of Guy – informing one of the doctors from the trial who visits his apartment that Edward is “truly, truly deceased.

A man who is a ruthless real estate agent with a sizable apartment takes on new social circles, unbeknownst to him, auditions for the play written by Ingrid about her previous neighbor (without recognizing Guy and Edward as the same individual in ways that become more amusingly awkward). He eventually gets cast. However, his tranquil life is disrupted when Oswald, a captivating British man with neurofibromatosis, enters the scene. Interestingly, Oswald bears a resemblance to what Edward used to look like, but he does not carry the same burdens that Edward continues to drag around. The character of Oswald is brought to life by actor Adam Pearson, who actually has neurofibromatosis. Director Aaron Schimberg crafts a darkly comical, thought-provoking, and insightful film from this premise, as Oswald gradually becomes intertwined with Ingrid’s play, her existence, and Guy’s imagined destiny.

As I sat down to watch “A Different Man” for the first time, my thoughts instantly drifted towards “The Substance”. Coralie Fargeat’s directorial work, a brutal cocktail of body-horror, is nothing if not raw and unforgiving. It’s a tale that’s part fairy tale, part hagsploitation, centered around Elisabeth Sparkle, a once renowned actress (played by Demi Moore), who found herself unexpectedly out of work after turning 50, following her dismissal from her long-running aerobics morning show. Her life takes a turn when she’s introduced to an underground concoction that promises the ability to regain youth and transform into “a simply improved” version of oneself.

Elizabeth self-administers a vibrant green fluid, resulting in a youthful, attractive version of herself named Sue (Margaret Qualley) emerging violently from her back. To preserve their dual life, they must swap bodies every seven days; one stays awake while the other sleeps, using spinal fluid to ensure stability. As Sue climbs the ladder of success, landing Elizabeth’s former role and defying time constraints, the elder woman observes from the sidelines as the young one disregards their age limits, causing Elizabeth to rapidly age into an exaggerated elderly form that becomes increasingly grotesque, blurring the line between characterization and cruelty.

These films, “The Substance” and “A Different Man,” while not directly comparable, seem to engage in a thoughtful dialogue. They delve into similar thematic elements: doppelgängers, bodily identity, disability, self-hatred, misguided desires, existential nihilism stemming from seeking one’s identity externally. Both films made an impact when they debuted at film festivals; “The Substance” garnered the Silver Bear for Best Leading Performance at Sundance, while “A Different Man” received the Best Screenplay award at Cannes. The lead actors in both movies also won Golden Globes for their captivating performances, delivering compelling portrayals within highly stylized settings (the former in an ’80s-inspired, distorted depiction of Hollywood populated by image-obsessed women; the latter in a manipulative and exploitative world of New York theater).

Moore and Stan have received Academy Award nominations, but Stan’s recognition as a Best Actor nominee for his less remarkable performance in “The Apprentice” has sparked debate. While “The Substance” is considered the potential comeback contender that might give Moore his long-overdue recognition, it is “A Different Man” (only nominated for Best Makeup and Hairstyling, competing against “The Substance” in this category) that carries real substance. This Oscar season has been criticized for attributing depth to Fargeat’s film that it may not truly possess.

In contrast to “The Substance,” which is bluntly straightforward, “A Different Man” intentionally evades clarity. While “The Substance” becomes self-absorbed and serious due to excessive self-love within its camp, “A Different Man” skillfully extracts dark humor from discomfort and anxiety. Unlike “The Substance,” which focuses on superficial aspects reinforced by impressive prosthetics and special effects, “A Different Man” delves into the characters’ complexities, portraying the consequences of the lead character’s transformation as deeply rooted and hidden.

In a similar vein to the mirror scenes in “A Different Man,” Demi Moore appears in comparable scenes. However, Fargeat’s camera scrutinizes every detail of Moore’s appearance under intense bright light, creating a disconnect that diminishes the depth of Moore’s performance. Despite the film’s preoccupation with the physical form, it lacks genuine intimacy. The closer the camera gets to a recognizable face, the less one can see of an authentic soul.

“The Substance” is straightforward and self-absorbed, while “A Different Man” intentionally evades clarity and delves into complexities. Demi Moore’s performance in “A Different Man” is scrutinized by the camera, creating a distance that undermines her acting. The film focuses on physical appearances but lacks intimacy and depth.

In the film “A Different Man,” the camera focuses on the body as the primary means of connection. However, the body is also depicted as a source of dread, hinted by Edward’s transformation sequence. More significantly, the body serves as a tumultuous platform where identity is formed and twisted, making Schimberg’s film a skillfully crafted and biting doppelgänger story. Towards the end, Edward finds himself at a karaoke bar with Oswald, where Oswald sings “I Wanna Get Next to You” by Rose Royce against a sparkling red tinsel backdrop. While everyone enjoys Oswald’s singing, Edward appears bewildered. His gaze darts around, struggling to find a truth he can’t reconcile with. In the present moment, through Stan’s transparent acting, viewers witness Edward realizing the chasm of experience separating him from Oswald. Despite having everything that American culture encourages people to desire – money, social life, sex – Edward finds neither meaning nor joy in these things. It seems his deepest desires remain a mystery to himself.

In a surprising turn of events, Oswald leads an expansive life contrary to what Edward perceived as his inevitable downfall. Pearson portrays Oswald with a lively charm that starkly contrasts the heavy melancholy exhibited by Stan. This choice in casting is the film’s most striking feature, avoiding the predictable moralizing about disability. As Oswald gradually invades Edward’s new world, eventually taking over the role Edward was destined for on Ingrid’s stage and ultimately disrupting his romantic involvement with her, it becomes clear to Edward that his predicament wasn’t solely his facial appearance but something more complex.

In contrast, living within any body in “The Substance” offers no true delight. Even when Sue, who conforms to today’s ideals of beauty, manages to stand after ripping through Elisabeth’s back, she appraises herself much like a lewd camera does: with an unsettling quality, suggesting an insatiable desire. The aesthetic of “The Substance” is reflected in the mechanisms of glossy advertisements that capitalize on the anxieties about aging instilled in women by a society that suggests death might be preferable to growing old. Fargeat employs the objectifying gaze typically found in 2000s beer commercials or modern pornography to amplify the exploitation of Sue’s youthful complexion and toned physique, her gaze sweeping over her own body as if drinking herself in. While the film portrays abjection in Elisabeth’s body, it sees infinite potential in Sue’s.

However, these scenarios present a self-contained cycle. What Sue yearns for is simply more – more vitality, more attractiveness, more recognition. The fact that these possibilities lead to exploitation is a consequence of Elisabeth’s own creation. The film doesn’t attribute women’s issues to the patriarchy pushing them towards singular desires, but rather to their decision to stay youthful – as if they truly have a choice in the matter. Advertisements like Carl’s Jr.’s are blatant temptations, but what is The Substance trying to entice its audience to explore and consider something different? These aren’t characters but vessels for ridicule.

As a passionate cinephile, I must say that Schimberg’s character portrayal is as much about the world outside him as it is about the inner self. His work in this piece showcases an intriguing fascination with how our self-perceptions collide with the realities of others. The direction, script, and Reinsve’s performance, notably, delve into the exploitative nature of artists who subtly invade people’s lives, extracting meaning for their craft.

During a quiet night in Ingrid’s apartment, they shared an intimate moment. She whispered, “Do you have the mask? Wear it,” referring to the cast of his face taken by medical professionals before he was ‘treated’ for neurofibromatosis, which he later used for his audition with Ingrid’s play.

Edward hesitated, asking, “Why?” Ingrid’s stern response was, “Just do as I say.” Edward hesitantly left the room and returned wearing only the mask that concealed his face. As they resumed their intimacy, Ingrid burst into laughter. “This is so twisted. You look ridiculous!

This scene suggests that “A Different Man” is an exceptional example of a doppelgänger tale, as each character is vividly portrayed through compelling performances, creating self-contained, deeply emotional and psychological spheres. Stan frequently sports a tense, venomous grin around Oswald, but his bitterness seems to harm him more than anyone else. One can’t help but anticipate his downfall. And it happens. After losing the role in Ingrid’s production, which ultimately flourishes with Oswald as the lead, he disrupts a performance, donning the mask of his former face. His attempt to choke Oswald triggers a large stage prop door to collapse and fracture Edward’s limbs, leaving them encased in thick casts. Ingrid and now-pregnant Oswald look after Edward’s recovery, but his rage and despair escalate. Following an offhand comment from an in-house physical therapist about how Oswald ended up with Ingrid, Edward explodes into a fit of anger, fatally stabbing the physical therapist in a disorganized kitchen brawl.

As a movie enthusiast, I found “The Substance” to conclude in an incredibly gruesome manner, with a macabre display of gore and disfigurement featuring Elisabeth’s grotesquely transformed body and the aftermath of Sue’s self-inflicted use of the substance. The climax resonates strongly with Brian Yuzna’s 1989 film “Society.” However, while “The Substance” is undeniably referential, it fails to seamlessly weave its influences into a fresh narrative that could contribute to ongoing discussions about women, aging, and the horrific potential of horror. In Fargeat’s movie, bodies are not vessels for truth but rather tools for confusion, pain, and self-hatred. Each body in her film is like a collapsing hall of mirrors, offering no reflection at all when examined closely.

In the movie “A Different Man,” Edward, now out of prison and showing signs of aging, encounters Oswald, who was previously known to him. However, it’s more accurate to say that Oswald is the one who seeks out Edward this time. They arrange a dinner at an expensive sushi restaurant, with Oswald’s companion, Ingrid, a renowned playwright planning to retire and move with him to a nudist colony in Canada. Ingrid expresses her readiness for a new phase in life, stating that she has accomplished everything she ever wanted. The conversation leads to the revelation that Oswald calls Edward by his real name, implying that Edward’s arrest would have exposed the true identity of Guy. As Edward listens, he struggles with the understanding that changing your appearance, name, and past doesn’t equate to true transformation but rather a fruitless denial. The story of these characters, deeply etched into their bodies, is a subject of obsession for their respective filmmakers, but only “A Different Man” recognizes the narrative possibilities beneath the surface.

Read More

2025-02-12 23:55