An Unpopular Opinion about The Man Who Laughs?

I had a conversation with someone the other day about The Man Who Laughs because she had just seen the silent film for the first time and knew that I have a special fondness for it. That inspired me to think about the problems I have with it (and yes, I do have problems with it, despite its magnificence) and why I have those problems.

As much as I think Veidt did a beautiful job portraying Gwynplaine (and there is no other I think would have done better at the time, not even Lon Chaney), I don’t think it is the right portrayal. Victor Hugo is exceptionally sentimental in the book which, I suspect, misled a lot of Paul Leni’s direction, and I think it misleads many readers.

I have never believed that Gwynplaine is a weak character and I do not believe that he should be portrayed as a meek, shrinking, timorous man, and especially not because of the way he looks. Looks shape a person, not make a person. And contrary to what seems to be the pervasive understanding of his character as a man so gentle he recoils out of fear of being approached or viewed or what have you, he’s a young man of twenty-five with a healthy curiosity, a dash of impertinence, and a good deal of nerve, tempered only by acute self-awareness and a serious soft-spot for Dea.

What doesn’t seem to be well-understood is that, behind the disfigurement, is a person, is a mind, as fully complex as that of anyone else, that his existence may put his disfigurement to use, but his reality is not centered on it. He has a life outside of his face. He probably has thoughts as mundane as “the caravan could use another coat of green paint,” or “I really need to patch that hole in my coat sleeve,” or “damn, Homo’s taken a dump a little too close for comfort and it stinks in here.” Then at other moments he thinks Aristotle was a clueless ancient who should stick to describing craters of the moon because no one could then gainsay him.

And truly, to deliver that final speech to the assembly, he needed a backbone, not just in the moment, but in the whole story leading up to it. One does not simply gain all that courage for a momentary plot-point. It is there at call because it is something he has always had. It is the one moment that should define him, not as a disfigured man, but as a man who is aware of his disfigurement, as a man who is so much more than just what people see. And that nerve, that courage, that brazenness to address such a group when you are only tolerated in it, that is not gentle. That is bold. That is bitter and gritty. That is the knife edge that has been sharpened upon the receiving end of disdain and ridicule, of being reduced to a disfigurement when there is so much more to him.

The silent may be moving, may show the pain of the story very well, may convey the moodiness poignantly, but it only shows the tears behind the smiling face. It misses the foundation of the person completely.

A Phantom of the Opera Photo(Manip)

When I got home tonight, I was tired, but I am most certainly not sleepy. I therefore wasted a bit of time playing around with the photo program that came with my laptop. After this month of selfies, I have been getting decent at it, with sharpness and contrasts and whatnot, making the lighting kinder to me. But I thought, I’m a Phantom of the Opera fan and I would like to know my program better… and I’m already not a very attractive guy.

 So this is my product of tonight. It’s not terrible for a first try with one of my own photos… but you can still see the lines of my scars because I couldn’t manage to take them out completely. Ah well. Next time perhaps.

Tumblr Hate Mail: First Edition

I had an anonymous user on Tumblr send me a charming message:

your a fucking freak

OH NO. YOU NOTICED.

 

Someone Misses My Selfie A Day

From an Anon on Tumblr:

Maybe this is weird but I kinda miss seeing your selfies every day on my dash.

Yes, that does seem a little weird to me considering how much I disliked taking them and posting them (and looking at them, but that is a given), but it isn’t a bad sort of weird, I don’t think. In truth, it is nice that someone is telling me they miss them instead of how freakish and horrible I am. I don’t think I have many other pictures of me readily available that I haven’t already posted. I always avoided cameras. And pictures now, selfies or by others, takes a presence of mind that I don’t usually have. There are a couple of me while at work, but I’m covered with so much makeup, you would never recognize me. Even if that were not a deterrent, I hate admitting to what I do for a job and pictures would give that away. However, I just dug this up (you can tell why I didn’t use it during the Month of Selfies). Yes, this is me doing duck-face. Just because (I have a healthy dose of not-taking-myself-too-seriously). And I ask you: look upon this face (of, how do the kids say it? cray-cray?) and ask yourself, are you sure you miss my selfies? Are you completely sure?