Two things can be true: Pretty people have an easier time getting by in this world AND no matter how ugly you are there are few things more attractive than self-confidence. In A Different Man, Sebastian Stan plays Edward, a troubled guy who finds himself in the middle of this very conundrum. You wouldn’t recognize Stan at the outset, as his Edward suffers from neurofibromatosis, a genetic condition that can manifest in notable physical deformity. In Edward’s case, it has affected his head and face, the deformity here depicted through the use of prosthetic makeup.
This leaves the star unrecognizable, at least until Edward partakes in an experimental therapy that has the potential to not just reduce the symptoms of his condition, but to cure it entirely. Edward jumps at the chance to partake on account of the meager life he currently lives. He’s a man of little confidence — a man who wishes for the world to see past his exterior, but who also struggles with doing so himself. His impossibly attractive new neighbor Ingrid (Renate Reinsve) seems friendly enough, but it’s hard for Edward to take her kindness as anything more than pity. He wishes to be an actor, but the only roles he can book focus directly on his disability rather than on any aptitude he may have for the craft.
When the experimental therapy proves to be a success, Edward, now looking very Sebastian Stanny, quickly shies away from his old life and assumes a new identity. Rather than being post-therapy Edward, he chooses to become someone new entirely. He tells everyone, including Ingrid, that Edward is dead and he’s a family member here to tie up some loose strings. But when Oswald, a man suffering from the same condition, enters Edward’s life and social circle, things get complicated. Oswald (Adam Pearson) is friendly, outgoing, and not at all socially inhibited by his appearance, and when his glowing personality raises him above Edward’s social ranking, as handsome as he may now be, the latter enters a state of prolonged crisis.
A Different Man feels tonally adjacent to something like Sick of Myself or Dream Scenario. The thematic material focuses on identity and how damaging it can be to base one’s identity on the perceptions of others. It’s also similar in the way it doesn’t lay blame on the protagonist for his shortcomings. Sure, Edward is a confused man, capable of many reprehensible behaviors, but his lack of strategies through which he can excel socially have been limited by a life spent as an outsider (or less charitably, a freak, per Edward’s own self-assessment). He has no clue how to behave as a physically attractive person, nor does he know how to reconcile his previous face with the uninhibited, fun social life led by Oswald. Watching Edward fail to navigate his circumstances with any sort of tact is as pitiable as it is frustrating, much the same way it was difficult to watch Nic Cage’s Dream Scenario character get the popularity he craved, but without any of the legwork it should’ve taken to get him there. In terms of his condition, Edward a miracle of science, but in terms of his growth as a human, he might as well be a teenager.
A surprising aspect of A Different Man is how good of a “New York movie” it is. The depiction of the Big Apple is one without the glitz and glamour of Times Square, or even a distinct borough-based identity. Both the extreme highs and lows of New York’s image are swapped out for a more lived-in, daily grind sort of feel that citizens of any city will recognize once the luster of city life dulls with time. Where this version of New York succeeds in depicting its inherent uniqueness is in size. Through the entirety of the film we can feel how big of a civic presence the setting has, and how conversely small even the most recognizable face can be amidst a sea of people. Comedian David Cross has a great joke about New York in which he states that at all times a person walking the streets must face a very specific dilemma: the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen and the craziest person you’ve ever seen are going in opposite directions and you only have time to look at one of them. It’s a brilliant bit, and it rings true for every trip I’ve ever taken to the city. What Cross doesn’t cover is that the decision ultimately doesn’t matter. There will be another beautiful person and another crazy person on the next block, and you can always choose again. In Edward’s head there’s no one as physically ugly as he is. This assumption proves incorrect when Oswald enters the picture. Plenty of folks are unattractive to look at. Edward and Oswald are hardly unique. And after Edward’s successful therapy he could be a model…just like literally tens of thousands of other New Yorkers.
A Different Man also has an identity issue, albeit a positive one. Namely, that the movie it looks to be is far from the movie it actually is. First and foremost, it’s a very funny movie. The laughs are earnest and consistent, based more in character than in situation. I had expected a moving drama about an odd medical condition, not a hilarious fable about a guy who manages to kill his acting career by becoming more attractive. I also didn’t expect it to be so relatable. Surely it would be tough, as someone without a facial deformity, to step into the shoes of a man who feels trapped by one, but the material ultimately proves universal. We all put on some sort of drag to help us get through the day, and we reserve our true selves to a handful of people (if we’re lucky).
The closing twenty minutes or so go to places that no one could predict, even after the film has fully embraced its inherent (and delightful) darkness. It’s in the film’s final moments, up to its brilliant closing line, that it becomes clear how thoroughly textured the performances are. Stan, Pearson, and Reinsve have built a feature length love triangle, for lack of better term, that plays out organically while exhibiting the all too human contradictions that live inside of them (and all of us).
Directed by Aaron Schimberg
Written by Aaron Schimberg
Starring Sebastian Stan, Adam Pearson, Renate Reinsve, Corey R. Taylor
Rated R, 112 minutes
