漂亮男孩2018

在看《Beautiful Boy》的过程中，我始终疑惑，Nic为什么会选择use drugs，直到全片看完也没有给出解释。但是在细细碎碎的日常和不断闪回的片段里，似乎能够一窥端倪。 全片营造了一种父爱如山的意境，以至于我在看到某些镜头的时候十分不解。 比如说自幼父母离异的Nic每年大部分时间和父亲住在一起，但是暑假需要回到母亲家待两个月。父亲送他登机，在把他交给空姐之前，问他“我能抱你一下吗”，小Nic摇了摇头。父亲很困惑“为什么不，因为我让你离开，所以你在生我的气吗”，小Nic这时候很轻很轻地点了点头。结果父亲接下来说“但是你见到妈妈就会很开心了对吧”，小Nic又点了点头。接下来父亲试图向Nic表真心，还说了这样的话“你知道我有多爱你吗，世界上所有的言语加起来也不足以表达我对你的爱，我爱你胜过世间全部”。随后小Nic主动拥抱了父亲，拉着空姐的手上了飞机。 正是有这么一段前情提要，后面父子两每一次分离都会说“everything”，意指“世间全部”，但非常诡异的是，每一次在他们互相说完“everything”之后，都会发生一些不太好的事情。所以回过头来看父亲这里对Nic说的话，其实是有为自己开脱的成分在。父亲送小Nic登机其实有意识到小Nic的沮丧情绪，但是他没有正确面对这个情绪，而是用了自己做不到的誓言试图粉饰太平。前后连接起来应该是：我很爱你，但是我仍然要送你去你妈妈那里。所谓的“爱你胜过世间全部”真的太有保留，反而像渣男骗小姑娘的把戏。因此在表真心之后父亲顺利收获了Nic的原谅和拥抱。 小孩子的世界是非常单纯的，小孩子对人的信任也是绝对的。你告诉他世界上有怪兽他就会夜里做噩梦，你告诉他你爱他胜过世间全部他就会相信你绝对能够做到。但是根据父亲的表现来看，虽然他确实为了Nic的康复做了很多努力，但明显大部分出于责任，甚至到后来几乎是不管不问的放弃状态。 就比如说Nic在康复中心疗养400多天没有复发，结果一回到父亲家，只是简单度过了个周末，再想返回康复中心的时候，他就复发了。虽然这次复发非常猛烈，但是Nic是有向父亲求救的。他给父亲打电话说他想回家，他愿意自此放弃use drugs，但是他不想再留在康复中心，他想要回家，想要父亲的陪伴。这时候接到电话的父亲是怎么回复的？“对不起，我不能答应你。”为什么不能答应Nic？你不是爱他胜过世间所有吗？为什么做不到接纳他陪伴他？因为你再婚了，然后你再婚的夫人希望Nic远离她的两个孩子。因为你想起来你有了新的家庭，有了新的孩子。Nic只是你曾经的一个失败的儿子，他不能如你所愿成为“beautiful boy”所以活该被你遗弃。 这里并没有指责父亲的意思，只是想说大人在给小孩子许下承诺的时候最好掂量一下自己的水平，看看自己能不能够实践诺言，如果不能，就不要随便给承诺，小孩子是真的会当真，而且会因为大人的说话不算话产生巨大的心理阴影。 其实我一直觉得西方的亲情都是非常淡漠的，孩子成人之后就需要为自己的一切行为承担全部责任，父母不再掺和孩子的人生，不像东方的父母，即使是面对成人成家的孩子也还会不自觉地过度干预。这样的淡漠和疏离有好处也有坏处。好处就是独立性非常强，各自为各自的人生负责，谁也别成为谁的负担。坏处就是如果孩子幼年时没有得到应有的陪伴和良好的亲子关系，就会在成人之后表现出对情感的高浓度渴望，这些孩子可能会试图通过一些掠夺弥补幼年的缺失。如果不能向外掠夺就会向内攻击，不断地摧毁自己的内心，使得全部的精神世界夷为平地。 Nic显然是没有得到过所谓的正确的陪伴。自幼父母离异，然后父母各自再婚。他在两个家庭间来回奔波，但是无论是父亲的一家四口还是母亲的二人世界，他都觉得自己是个外人。他融入不进去任何一个家庭，他享受不到给予他的独属于他的那一份爱。他的父亲他的母亲他都要和别人分享，他始终有一种寄人篱下的心态。他的天分让他拿到了6所大学的offer，只换来了父亲轻飘飘的赞叹。他和父亲继母以及两个弟妹一起去海边，弟弟想和他一起去冲浪，继母不同意，继母不对他提任何要求，只是不同意弟弟和他一起去冲浪。他想得到的不过是一种无差别的爱和对待，竟然也成为了一种奢求。 这期间他成功远离use drugs的那400多天，是有母亲的全程陪伴，所以他想要的不过是童年不曾有过的来自亲人的关心和爱护。结果回到父亲家面对继母和弟妹的时候，他又感受到内心的撕扯，终于又再次复发。这时候父亲拒绝再为他提供依靠，他才会彻底崩溃。 就像他在康复中心的发言：有一天我在医院里醒来，有人问我为什么住院，我说我嗜酒还是个瘾君子，那个人说，那只是你处理自身问题的一种方式罢了。Nic为什么会选择use drugs，是因为他总能敏感察觉到自己内心深处藏着的巨大的黑洞，他做了很多努力都没办法填补，终于有一天他通过use drugs这样的方式找到了一些满足，只有在use drugs的时候他才能感受到自己的人生是圆满的，自己的内心是充实的。想让Nic康复的手段不是把他丢弃在康复中心，而是给予完整的心理陪伴。但是显然，所有和他有关系的亲人并没有意识到这个问题，他们只是伤心失望于Nic反反复复的use drugs，在反复把他丢弃在康复中心的过程里自我感动。 还是那句俗话，幸福的家庭都有一样的幸福，不幸的家庭各有各的不幸。虽然我们已经很努力想要摆脱原生家庭的束缚独自翱翔，但大多数时候，我们依然是飘荡在空中的风筝，总会想要被线的另一端妥帖收回。不是成长得不够，而是从未得到过的东西无法成长。那些敏感的被我们忽略掉的小情绪在我们心里侵蚀出的黑洞，残忍逼迫我们必须去面对。有些人把自己的棱角磨钝，有些人把自己的情感磨钝，有些人无论如何也改变不了敏感，就只能眼睁睁地看着内耗不断蚕食内心。 Nic说的最多的一句话就是“I'm really sorry”，每次看到这句话都想说，没关系，那不是你的错，即使没有人爱你，你也要好好爱自己，成不成为beautiful boy都不重要，重要的是妥帖对待自己的小情绪，除了use drugs还会有别的更好的对待自己的方式，别放弃自己。 p.s.没看原著，只是因为甜茶看了电影，甜茶这挑角色的口味真独特，从elio到nic没有一个是标准尺度里的人物。看完之后是有很多疑惑的，所以去看了一些评论，从评论里获得了许多真实事件的信息，发现电影果然是高度美化了父亲的形象，但是即使美化成这样，依然看得出父亲的爱是这么有条件：他从未在nic幼年时关心照顾过nic的小情绪，凭什么要求成年后的nic就能成为自己引以为傲的beautiful boy？还有nic真的从头到尾都在道歉“对不起，我让你们失望了”，他们是对nic提出了多么苛刻的条件才会让nic这么有负罪感？就是因为他们从来没有给予却要求nic自力更生，而nic努力了却做不到，所以才觉得愧疚。从旁观者角度来看，说不好听点是父母对子女的PUA，明明是父母能量匮乏却把所有过错推给孩子，并且通过言语和行动让孩子默认这种逻辑。孩子为什么要承担这种莫须有的罪名？孩子凭什么就要为父母的过错买单？亲子关系真的是一生的功课，作业太难写不出来。

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。

甜茶主演的电影，没看简介来看以为是很平常的故事线进行。没想到是讲一个孩子吸毒反复挣扎无法逃离的故事，画面+音乐很是渲染人物心境和故事起伏这样。吸毒环境的压抑+看到父亲为了了解儿子吸毒而去尝试吸毒来感受毒品瞬间炸裂的愉快享受，不同时期画面的来回组接，有一种吸毒的现实与幻灭的切换，颠倒一般人的生活线。没有毒品短暂家人相聚的日子，以及吸毒逃离又联络父母的挣扎恐惧。家庭起初主要拍了主角尼克和父亲重组家庭继母和弟弟妹妹画面，因母亲住在美国另一座城市，后期母亲和父亲出现在一起陪伴尼克，看完是压抑的，父亲在起初就问他为什么要吸毒，尼克回答不出来。小时候尼克画面时不时切出，还很小到父母膝盖的孩子，假期坐飞机去妈妈家看着就很心疼的宝贝，眼里充噬着不安，可能从小伴随的不安与恐惧是长存的吧。以至于与亲情父母的交流接口也在无形中迷了方向，不知为何，答不上来。结尾先是字幕讲述美国毒品现状，和说要把它当作疾病来正视，并以一点数据来展现吸毒带给美国人民的巨大伤害。 在结尾字幕快出完，有一段独白，是尼克在学校里读过的一个诗人的一段话，写实而又并非可以用通俗字面理解，却通过尼克角色声音再一次把那段诗读完又有了许多赋予意义在里面。对了父亲是作家的身份，儿子尼克之前也在跟随兴趣写作（不得不说这是否是有遗传在里面呢），这部电影是根据书改编的，电影里父亲的名字是和书作者的名字一样，最后才意识到这可能是作者的自述与表达，面对儿子自己与毒品所经历的一切。（百度搜了下，是作者的回忆录改编～）

（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.

影片并未从尼克的视角展开，以至于人们会觉得恨铁不成钢。尼克拥有一个如此深爱他的父亲，即便父母离婚但给他的爱却从未减少。并且尼克聪明又漂亮，家庭虽算不上幸福但也并不悲惨。无论如何也不至于沦落至此吧？！

是的，和那些无家可归，食不果腹的人们比起来，尼克简直算得上幸福。但成长创伤并非无病呻吟！不是只有生理上遭受的折磨和痛苦才算是伤害，心理上遭受的不安，恐惧和挣扎对一个孩子来说也同样是毁灭性的。也正是这些对于一个孩子来说无法自我消化的伤害和痛苦使尼克不幸的同时患上了抑郁症和躁郁症。大多数人的生活都只是平凡又普通的，即便是遭受的痛苦也是，不是所有的苦难都来的那么极端和戏剧化，但它们的破坏力却丝毫不差。即便没有尼克的视角，我也深刻体会到他受到伤害的每一刻。

如果你依然觉得尼克不不至于此，过于矫情，那你不妨试着想一下：那个曾经完全只属于你的父亲突然有了新的家庭，你多希望可以融入他们，你也做好了去爱他们的准备。但你发现你就是融入不了，不是你的错，也不是他们的错，但，你就是自然而然的被排除在外了。那个曾经只属于你的父亲，有了一个与你无关的爱人，以及两个与你无关的孩子。曾经完整的父爱被分割，被削弱。那些曾经理所当然完全属于你的爱如今却使你感觉到自己像在乞讨。你知道这不是父亲的错，不是继母的错，更不是无辜弟弟妹妹们的错。你的母亲爱你，你的父亲也爱你，但他们不再相爱，所以父母分开也没有错。你没有理由怪罪任何人，于是你的痛苦无从消解，无从发泄。无尽的孤独感和消失的归属感将你抛在了无边的海浪里，你的安感消失的无影无踪。父母的爱在这无尽的大海里随着海浪的起伏在完全相反的方向发出声响。你确信他们都在，你挣扎着追寻着母亲的声音游去，但你越靠近母亲，对于父亲的思念就越是难以抑制，于是你又转身追寻父亲的声音游去。当你越是靠近父亲，母亲失落孤单的影像在你脑海里出现。你感到内疚，懊悔，自责….最终，你筋疲力尽，痛苦又迷茫。

父母离婚再婚，如同犯错的人纠正了自己的错误，而你发现，你的存在却是他们曾经犯错的直接证明。他们都在忙着纠正自己的错误，维护目前的正轨，他们的确都爱你，但他们的相互指责同时也撕裂了你的爱。和母亲在一起时，你必须表现出对母亲更多的爱以表忠心，与父亲在一起时亦然。你爱任何一方的时候都像是对另一方的背叛。这些所有的一切都令你陷入痛苦的无尽深渊，谁都没有错，但却只有你承受着无尽的孤独和折磨。并且，你无法寻求帮助，你甚至没有意识到自己需要帮助。父母依然爱你，从未改变，你只觉得是自己的问题。你的痛苦，不安，敏感，焦虑以及被剥离被孤立的感觉在你身体里四面八方的剧烈拉扯着，直到撕裂……

" 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."