美丽男孩

（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.

" 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."

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～）

（撸了生肉）

茶老师的演技真的太厉害 不得不说整个电影确实很乱很没有重点又冗长，bgm也 莫名其妙 但是茶老师的part真的让人看到心疼，literally心疼，把Nic的绝望和挣扎都表现的很真实，还有吸完毒的状态也拿捏的很到位 茶老师前途无量

—————————二刷分割线———————— •第一次看的时候感觉配乐简直是生硬到不可理喻，二刷反而觉得配乐有种戏谑的效果（比如David尝试病毒的时候以及歌词和剧情的对应）

•David口口声声说他想要understand Nic，但他想要了解的只是他想像的Nic（所谓的beautiful boy）

•David做了那么多的研究去了解毒品，但是却从来没有试着去了解他的儿子

•Nic有那么多次都向David发出了求救的信号但是David每次都迟钝到直接忽略这些，然后再把所有的事都怪在Nic身上，就像他是一个完全尽职尽责的家长。David确实像Nic所说的，有很强的控制欲，他一直去“努力”的很大原因也是出于他没能成功地掌控局面（掌控他的儿子）

•Nic太敏感了太脆弱了，他一直一直都想得到爸爸（家人）的爱和关心（"I want them to be proud of me."），一直都想要一个家一个safe place，David的新家庭对Nic来说并不是安慰而是刺激因为弟弟妹妹们的生活全是他不曾得到也不会再得到的，他也根本无法融入根本无法在任何地方找到归宿感（爸爸从来没有真正试着去理解他，房间被堆满杂物，"be invited"），所以他只能把自己藏起来，自己去填补他一直渴望但是又得不到的东西（因为没有能力改变现实所以干脆逃离现实）

•这部电影其实说仅仅是关于毒瘾也许不太准确，我觉得更多的是Nic的心理疾病（抑郁症甚至是躁郁症），家庭是诱因，吸毒是结果（茶老师说过why不是重点但是我觉得why才是真的重点）

•二刷之后看懂了很多，不知道真实世界里的Nic怎么样了，但是希望他是真的填补了自己心里的big black hole（虽然觉得很不可能……）

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!

色调很美的片子，艺术性大于故事性。不知道导演本意还想拍出什么更深的立意，但在我看来这部片子的核心立意就是毒品对家庭的危害以及为孩子操碎心的父爱。 甜茶演的Nic这个人设是个漂亮但性格有点绿茶的失足男孩，最后Laura被救护车拉走后Nic哭着给爸爸打电话请求他让他回家的那点把“装可怜”三个字演绎得很好很好，虽然他吸毒并总爱干一些作死的事，但完全让人恨不起来。电影有个镜头后劲很大，就是Nic少年时期爸爸唱“beautiful boy”的歌哄他睡觉的那一段，看的时候内心平静，看完之后回想起来，真的很想让我掉眼泪，我想不管是Nic还是爸爸，都宁愿时间永远停留在那一刻，一个希望自己永远不会长大，令一个希望自己永远不会老去。“如果仅仅到这里就是结局该有多好，如果后面那些事情都不要发生就好了。” 在这部片里完全get到了甜茶的美，我首先就很喜欢很喜欢他的气质，他能完全不矫揉造作地把“娇”的感觉表现出来，嘴上不说，一举一动里却都透露着“虽然我总是让父母为我操心，但这不能完全算我的错，我也很可怜，我也很脆弱，我想借你的肩膀哭一会，我想要你抱抱我”的感觉。但他的“漂亮”同时也是这部片子的嘈点，导演没有把握好文艺片和现实片之间的度，导致我看起来感觉有些美化吸毒者。瘾君子犯毒瘾是非常可怕的，这点小李子的《边缘日记》珠玉在前，主角犯毒瘾时歇斯底里，六亲不认，攻击性强，折磨家人折磨自己，像怪物一样的形象才正常。但甜茶把犯毒瘾时候的Nic完全演成了一个病弱美少年，只有“美”而不见“毒瘾”了，因此我看外网有人评论说“这个片子应该所有中小学强制播放，向他们宣传毒品的危害”的时候，我是不以为然的，当个甜茶颜值安利片还差不多，戒毒宣传片还是差了点。如果抛开以上都不谈，甜茶真的是可以用“美”来形容的男孩子，大眼长发冷白皮，身材比例优越，又瘦又高，真的会爱死帅哥。（而且在这部片子里他穿的衣服都好好看，把他原本就好的气质衬得更好了，四年前的他还不是如今这个穿个孙答应的赤色鸳鸯肚兜就上红毯结果被群嘲的笑料，好莱坞的风水不养人呜呜呜） 更新一下 看了一些豆瓣影评，把我内心隐隐感受出来但没能用语言很好的表达出来的内容说了出来，这部片子还有更深的立意。我们带着一身棱角来到这个世界上，高傲地看不起一切，将安宁与和平视为软弱者的精神寄托，但在日子的洪流中，我们彼此推搡着，慢慢发现曾经总以为与众不同的自己也和他们没有什么区别。某种程度上来说，我们都在为不同的东西而“上瘾”，逃避着一切我们不愿意面对的现实。可惜导演没有把这个立意拍深，不然就该八分往上了绝对不会只有6.2分。

再更新下

看完七百多条的高赞影评后我突然狠狠地共情起了Nic，我也有个看起来很美好的家庭，外人都羡慕，我父母也很爱很爱我。可惜，关系网是由个体组成，个体的问题对关系网的影响牵一发而动全身，在这个世界上，没有人是完美的，每个人都是普通人，在我看似美好的家庭中，也已经积攒了许多问题，这些问题让我在很多个深夜辗转反侧时都忍不住偷偷落泪，爱与恨的关系就如同善与恶，随意强行剥夺哪一方，另一方也会自然消失。我常常在这种环境下也告诫自己“我已经比很多人都幸福了，我不该这样矫情”，但结果只会让我越来越痛苦，越来越崩溃窒息，这简直是环境pua我后我又自我pua的后果。 虽然我不至于像Nic那样因为成长中受到的伤害去吸毒，但被伤害的人表现出的情绪是多种多样的，索性我意识到了“我在这之中受到了伤害，我应该去面对而不是逃避”这一点，我愿意努力疗愈自己。

最后感谢甜茶把Nic这个角色演绎得活灵活现，感谢原著作者愿意揭开伤口把他的故事呈现给我们，希望类似的悲剧不要再发生