A Different Man (A24, R)

Although it’s not a perfect film in my eyes, A Different Man is one of the most challenging and unforgettable films I’ve seen this year. Writer-director Aaron Schimberg takes what could have been a rote treatise on body image and, instead of giving us easy answers for complex questions, invests in exploring his deeply internally flawed main character. In a certain sense, aspiring actor Edward (Sebastian Stan) becomes a cypher for all of us. The facial disfigurement which he medically removes is a vector for much deeper self-esteem issues. When he meets Oswald (Adam Pearson), another actor with a facial disfigurement, he’s intimidated by that fact that Oswald is leading a fulfilling life without having changed his physical appearance.

Pearson is a British actor with a condition called neurofibromatosis, which results in non-cancerous tumors to the skin. You may have seen him in the 2014 sci-fi cult classic Under the Skin, or perhaps in Schimberg’s previous film, Chained for Life, which also deals directly with societal responses to those with facial deformities. In A Different Man, Stan as Edward is made to look as much like Pearson as possible through a terrific makeup mask. Stan’s acting with and without the mask is paramount: Edward never seems comfortable in his skin, both pre- and post-procedure. He approaches a romance with Ingrid (Renate Reinsve), the beautiful aspiring playwright who lives in the apartment next door, but his negative self-image gets the better of him. Post-procedure, he starts a whole new life as Guy, a real estate agent, convincing everyone else that Edward has died. As Guy, he auditions for a play written by Ingrid about her time with Edward. Not only does he get the part, but he finally gets the girl of his dreams. That is, until Oswald comes along.

Ingrid suggests that the part of Edward be split between the two actors, whereas “Guy” had been playing it using the remnants of his old face as a mask. This is where we see Edward’s psyche really start to crumble. Over the course of the rest of the film, we realize just how much Edward had had associated his face with his personality, especially since we see that personality contrasted with Oswald’s. Rather than constantly throwing a pity party for himself, Oswald is outgoing, free-spirited, witty, and charming. Edward’s jealousy over inner and outer qualities is what makes the film a fascinating examination of identity and self-worth.

Less fascinating is where the film ultimately goes with all of those rich thematic materials. Your mileage may vary, but there are a few increasingly unrealistic actions Edward takes in the film’s third act which make the overall narrative much more didactic my eyes. Reinsve, a critical darling since her turn in Joachim Trier’s excellent The Worst Person in the World, adds to the didacticism from the very beginning. She is unquestionably a very talented actress, but as Ingrid, she comes off stiff and hurriedly mannered, like a new cast member on Saturday Night Live trying to speed-read what’s on the cue cards. Due to her performance, Ingrid lacks depth as a character. Perhaps this was intentional on Schimberg’s part, but Ingrid’s lack of depth blunts Edward’s motivation in several scenes, making what is primarily a fable about self-esteem simply too fable-like. So many areas of this film are stunningly well-developed. Why couldn’t Ingrid have been?

In any event, A Different Man is still intellectually captivating, and it’s clearly exactly the film Schimberg wanted to make. It also may very well yield Stan and Pearson Academy Award nominations, which would be well-deserved. Though there are those elements in it which don’t hold up their end of the bargain, Schimberg has certainly created the next Adam Pearson cult classic, and done so while deeply and respectfully exploring the topics to which Pearson has dedicated so much philanthropic work. I’m very glad that this is a movie made for adults, because as we’re all sadly aware, there are still plenty of adults who have yet to accept a message of acceptance. | George Napper

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