Feeling The Forever Shapes of Fear in BEAU IS AFRAID. (Patreon)

1. A Litany For Survival

“For those of us who live at the shoreline

standing upon the constant edges of decision

crucial and alone

for those of us who cannot indulge

the passing dreams of choice

who love in doorways coming and going

in the hours between dawns

looking inward and outward

at once before and after

seeking a now that can breed

futures

like bread in our children’s mouths

so their dreams will not reflect

the death of ours;

For those of us

who were imprinted with fear

like a faint line in the center of our foreheads

learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk

for by this weapon

this illusion of some safety to be found

the heavy-footed hoped to silence us

For all of us

this instant and this triumph

We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid

it might not remain

when the sun sets we are afraid

it might not rise in the morning

when our stomachs are full we are afraid

of indigestion

when our stomachs are empty we are afraid

we may never eat again

when we are loved we are afraid

love will vanish

when we are alone we are afraid

love will never return

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

nor welcomed

but when we are silent

we are still afraid

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive.”

-Audrey Lorde

2. On the Stereo(type)

I’m talking about a part of this movie up front because I want to get it out of the way. Because it’s potentially hard to discuss a subject when a film ends up treading in the waters of a cultural stereotype. And cultural stereotypes, both positive and negative, are obviously an insipid bane on existence. Yet, they persist in and persevere in this constant state of both evolution and recycling that is both exhausting and harmful. But there is something that goes beyond the harm of the outward viewing of a person and pigeonholing them. There is also a further harm of how one views one’s selfhood within the prism of their own cultural stereotype. Sometimes the individual starts bargaining with it to find their own power in the way those stereotypes are used, sometimes with humor, but it can often go into this deep sense of internalized racism. But people write about the subject in far more eloquent and important ways than I can, especially academically. The point is that there was this insidious way it can take up mental real estate and even physical enactment.

For instance, growing up among Boston Catholic culture there are the two popular stereotypes that “Irish people drink!” and “Italians are horny passionate people!” Which, again, is stupid. But I happened to go to school in a town with westside middle school skewed Irish. And the east side middle school that skewed Italian. And these popular beliefs resulted in the “fact” that kids in the west school started drinking and doing drugs much earlier. And in the other middle school, they did “more sex stuff.” When put into words you can realize that this, of course, is stupid and probably not true at all. Everything likely flew in every direction. But kids believed it. Which also meant kids acted on it, which turns it all into a self-fulfilling prophecy. So it all got reinforced in a way that made  it FEEL true. And what we definitely failed to realize was all the harmful things and histories to alcoholism and hypocritical behaviors of active permission that went far beyond it. We just simplified it to “that’s how it is.”

I bring up these examples because I always feel weird when I talk about my relationship to Jewish culture. I was raised catholic, but I also grew up with one foot constantly in it, not just with step-family, but close family friends, seders, holidays, a later long term relationship, etc. Which just meant I was surrounded by a lot of people who had to constantly talk about their relationship with their own jewish identity (because the crappy world demands it of them). In this particular experience I got to see the way some people in the community dealt with stereotypes, sometimes in a constant joking way, along with the stereotypes that were rightfully treated with vehemence, along with some ones that had this ineffable air of “this is just what we do!” without a hint of introspection. But to the entire point, no one ever had the same take. And within the spectrum of stereotypes there is the one about “the relationship between jewish mother and son.” Again, there are people who can write about this subject more acutely, personally, and tying into history of anti-semitism, but the modern stereotype would be that the oldest son was the apple of the mother’s eye, and they would often embark on a close and overbearing relationship, where they were oft guilting for not reciprocating closeness. Again, a shitty stereotype. One that New York Stories turned into a big joke in the last segment “Oedpius Wrecks,” where his mother became a big floating head in the sky. Similarly, I knew people made jokes about it while also exacerbating much of the same dynamics in their own relationships. But the whole point is not about trying to fit oneself into broad, stupid things. It is looking deeper at the psychological pains and things that drive behaviors. This is a small anecdote, but for instance I once was with someone who was terrified to answer the door when someone knocked. When I inquired why, the answer was because their mother did it. Soon enough, we talked to said mother about it and they also said it’s because their mother did it, too. But from there we suddenly realized how quickly it traced back to a grandmother’s trauma from the holocaust, in other words it was “because it was someone there to get you.” The point is, the pain behind these so-called simple behaviors are often deeper and trapped in something radically complex. Meaning permissive stereotypes are of no help on any level.

I bring this up because  after I saw Hereditary I was having a conversation with a Jewish friend and eventually it turned to Aster and he said something like, “I don’t know how to explain this, but why does it feel like it’s about the pressure of being a jewish son?” He was mostly talking about his own relationship to the subject and don’t worry, I won’t get into a big analysis of that film, but you can vaguely see something there with the notion of King Paimon and needing a male heir and what traumatic things have to be passed down, etc. But the big reason I wont get into it is because whatever is cooking there is a mere amuse bouche for the larger discussion that is Beau is Afraid. Because this movie is perhaps one of the most blatant examples of classic “overbearing / unhappy mommy issues” that you can imagine. And to be clear, there is nothing about this depiction that is different from, say, the great Livia Soprano or the camp of Mommie Dearest, or even the strains of, gulp, Psycho. This is written for universal language (especially because Patti Lupone is the Patron Saint of Long Island Italian Catholics). But the notion of jewish cultural influence is not outside the language of the film either.

Aster’s not ever trying to ever turn into it, but there is a kind of playfulness about it. Not just in the stereotype of the guilting phone call / “failed visit” as an instigating event, but more specifically the first middle section of the film where Beau is staying the household that could not be more coded as the experience of “bing trapped with All-American Gentiles” and how strange the feels. And it all cascades into a crucial part of Beau’s journey in that existential question of how does one find their place in the world? Especially when so much of “how he’s supposed to relate to the world” is through the very family he is trying to move on from? Which is all to say that Aster is playing with essential cultural dynamics of the Jewish diaspora (and I want to read from people who can write about that much more insightfully), but also he knows that the important part goes so much deeper than that.

It’s after the radically complex thing underneath.

3. Once More With Feeling

This is the second Ari Aster film in a row where I had quiet panic attacks in my seat. Guess this will be a thing going forward??? Huzzuh! Anyway, I’m normally pretty good with horror, but the problem is that he’s so outrageously good at capturing not how things are, but how things feel. Specifically how he’s always employing this brilliant use of paranoia and suspicion to evoke a physically unsettling feeling in one's gut. Which is all part of my ongoing belief that our best abstract art filmmakers tend to be the ones who make intensely visceral art (instead of merely ponderous). Yes, both Hereditary and Midsommar ARE technically horror films, but the larger cinematic language of semiotics is all there. Which is why the work feels much more in line with his older contemporaries like Lynch, Glazer, Cunningham, etc. It’s the kind of work that made me excited to see what he’d do if really got to dive into those ambitious waters.

The answer is a 3 hour satirical-yet-violent epic that dives right into the heart of aforementioned mommy issues without a single lingering care if it’s “going too hard.” On paper it seems about as not audience-friendly as possible. Many have even joked that it's the kind of film that is actively going for F Cinemascore. And while I get what they’re saying, I think the very reason it turns to that with rebellious purpose is the same reason it might do a little bit better than one expects? Once again, it is a deeply visceral experience. There are constant staggering dangers and threats and men with guns. Beau is afraid for very good reasons as it turns out.  But where his prior work skews a tad horror with funny elements, he turns the dial ever so slightly more into the humor, specifically a lot of nervous laughter. Which is why I found myself laughing-yet-also-kinda overwhelmed. It’s the kind of film that rides its balance so succinctly and will likely have different reactions because of that.

But I’ll admit, when I heard about the nature of the film I thought I could maybe end up doing one of those deep-dive semiotic analysis pieces a la Mulholland Drive or Under The Skin where I analyze every scene in the film and talk about its meaning. And while I’ll certainly connect some big picture stuff, instead Beau Is Afraid is pretty damn obvious about what represents what in a given moment. I mean (and I’m going to be casually dropping SPOILERS throughout this piece and there’s no real way to organize it otherwise), when he goes up to the attic to discover “his real father” it turns out it is a literal giant penis monster. These exaggerations are just evoking the literal nature to every point being made. It’s not supposed to be clever. It’s supposed to be funny. And yet, many keep thinking all films have to be a puzzle. And as I walked out of the theater there were some high schoolers still arguing about which parts of the end “were all in his mind” and I wanted to quickly jump in and be like “for the love of god, don’t go down that path. It’s all in our minds. It’s a big literal metaphor and it is telling you exactly what it is.” Which sort of brings us to the odd thing about making a big, brazen art film like this that doesn’t need the audience to do calculus, let alone add 2 + 2 to make it work. The text is the text. You simply have to accept the experience. And understand “the how” it’s coming about “the what” is where you will find all the emotional meaning behind it.

But perhaps that’s harder than I’m imagining. Because I’ve seen a couple reactions from folks I love that threw me a bit. Namely in piggybacking on the now familiar joke format the Aster would “rather make this 3 hour movie than go to therapy” and… I almost don’t know what to say? Because I can’t think of a response that just more flatly ignores the text of what’s being presented. Namely that this is clearly the kind of work from someone (or at least has a central character) who has implied that they 1. Have already spent decades in therapy and have long been using necessary medication 2. The film uses established therapeutic language constantly. And 3. The meaningful breakthroughs in therapy actually just become fuel for the mother to see them as “insults” and more excuses for his ungratefulness. In short, it is textbook boomer animosity to therapy, but in a way that goes deeper. Because it’s also about a child who has been put in that therapy for their care by said parent, but it’s about how the parent is often trying to use that as an added wedge for control (hence the big third act reveal that mom and therapist are in cahoots). The film even implies her financial stake in many of the drugs he’s been prescribed in his life (and used as an advert model for). This so beautifully gets at the idea that therapy does give the right advice and help, but it is not some magic cure all. And there are so many added complications of how hard it is to put into real life use, along with the ways it can be wielded like a weapon in both directions. If anything, it’s showing off a full range of understanding about the subject in so many different ways. Thus to imagine anyone seeing that and brushing it aside? It just feels so bewildering to see it get reduced like that.

However! I do agree the larger question that I think the statement is weirdly getting at, which is “why subject an audience to a big story that does all this?” I mean, it’s clearly a personal subject. And it’s clearly going after something specific. But it’s undoubtedly a work of an artist’s deep fixations. In other words, even if it's aware of a lot of dynamics, is the movie still just up its own butt? I mean, what use do *I* get in watching a three hour epic about a man baby with mommy issues? I’d argue that what is refreshing is not how much the movie DOESN’T want to rally your anger and commiseration through an empathy-driving narrative (which is weirdly what Joker was trying to do). No, as scary and sometimes gruesome as it is, what Beau Is Afraid is really saying is that it's okay to laugh at said fixation. It’s the point even. Because it’s looking at the litany of things to fear and saying…

Ain’t it just a gas?

4. Open Manholes

“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall down and open manhole and die.”

I’ve used this Mel Brooks quote before, but it’s so damn perfect at getting to the essence of how comedy actually functions, specifically when it comes to the use of empathy. Because the quote centers on the personal effect vs. the effect on the other. Simply put, if something hits close and personal, we feel like victims because it’s happening to us. Even the little paper cut can send us into a wounded state. But when something (admittedly goofy) happens to a rando, it doesn’t matter how severe the consequence, it seems hilarious (the beat in the Guardians 3 trailer where Drax laughs at Peter getting hit and then yells after HE gets hit shows this simplicity). Now, because comedy gets into all this business about us vs. others and the victimhood of a joke, it also gets into that issue of punching and up and down. But honestly, I don’t like those terms either because, especially in America, people love to invert the imagined rungs of power to suit their own (often conservative) narratives. Which is why I love W. Kamau Bell’s version of it. Every joke is about: “Who do you want to include? Who do you not want to include?” Which speaks infinitely more volumes about one’s intentionality. And this matters a lot when you look at  the portrayals of the world around Beau.

Let’s take the film’s first act, where Beau lives in a city and it tries to capture the paranoid feeling of being (let's face it, a gentrifying-white kid) in that scenario with a hugely exaggerated scenario. Anyone who has lived in a city, especially somewhere like New York, knows there’s a way you kinda just operate and go about your business, even if you see some crazy shit, or if a random vagrant throws a beer bottle at you or something. Point is, no one’s fucking calling the cops. But given that this is a story about fear the question is how is that fear getting expressed. Could this be read as some coded, urban fear mongering? Mayyyyybe. But I think it’s important to remember when it comes to demonizing portrayals of urban life we KNOW what that version looks like. It looks like the revenge-soaked, racism-tinged films like Death Wish. But instead, we get the satirical cartoon that mostly centers on Beau’s goofy fears. In essence, this is what the Fox News’ of the world are telling you modern cities are like. Note the way it’s always showing the news and what to fear, which is why we get characters like the already classic “Birthday Boy Stab Man.” In other words, this isn’t meant to be a reactionary flourish in any form (especially given the scene with the cop who instantly reverts to shooting). Instead, the real joke is about capturing the cavernous difference between how Beau feels in this environment vs the “safety” of the house at the end of the film (the one he grew up in). It’s a metaphor about his own incapabilities with the modern outside, along with what his environment has MADE him to be afraid of. And more importantly, the movie is going to very pointedly draw lines about “what’s responsible” for the decaying urban conditions because when he gets to the house we actually see the pictures of his building being developed, implying that she bought it and others like as part of her business, which is a very very straight line of gentrification commentary and whose class benefits off poverty. You could probably accuse the film of having its cake and eating it, too, but is incredibly mindful of what it’s ultimately saying.

Same goes for the aforementioned juxtaposition between Beau and the gentile-coded family. Which is most visible Nathan Lane’s cartoonish dad whose “hey there sport!” energy could not be more out of line with the chaos around him (he’s amazing in this by the way). We see the house draped in Americana, completely with blue and pink bedrooms for a nice old gender binary. And, of course, there is the tragedy of their son who died in war that hangs over all of it. This choice is very, very direct. It invokes this soldier, this pinnacle of bravery and the opposite of Beau, and yet seeming ignorance of a country that charges into battle without realizing (or admitting) the most innate danger. You can see the same method of ignorance in the way the parents are not quite dealing with their grief and anger, keeping his room as is, finding surrogate sons to take in, finding solace in sedating medications, and constantly downplaying the danger around them (including in the adoption of Jeeves, who is constantly threatening and not getting the actual treatment he needs). To be clear, there is a loving instinct under so much of this. They are genuinely “nice.” They leave loving notes. They show affection. There is a way that this feels so nice as a comparison for Beau. But what it really shows is that they’re not equipped to really understand the complexity of this situation, nor willing to get to the depths of their pain. They instead relish in the facade.

We see the way this all manifests in the relationship with their rebellious daughter, whose outbursts are far more about getting them to face the terrible, terrible simplicity of her brother’s death. Which culminates in her suicide of drinking the blue paint (the color coded with him instead of her). But the second this happens, rather than finally deal with it, the mother finally lets out her anger by turning on Beau and blames him - as if he brought this poison into their lives. And they send Jeeves after him for revenge. Once again, this is all a metaphor of comparison. It’s this commentary on traditional masculinity and who and what we are supposed to be. Particularly, how Beau doesn’t feel suited for those norms, nor the larger world of “Americana” around him. But it’s a world the film treats with equal parts anger, empathy, insight, and scathing satire, which isn’t exactly trying to tell you what to think about it - it’s trying to tell us how it feels for someone like Beau, which is what all these segments are really about.

Because even though the movie is constantly using “the absurd outside threat” of the genuinely cartoonish world bearing down on him, it’s really about him. Because Beau is a barely-functional adult manchild who sees the world in terms of constant fears. And despite being in his late 40’s, Phoenix plays the sheepish Beau with this perfect slouched posture and an innate boyishness. It is a remarkable choice for Aster to choose as a quasi-surrogate, commenting on the fact that so many “young men” still feel like boys even though they are basically middle aged. And just because Beau’s fears are “real” in the world of the movie doesn’t mean the movie itself shares them. Because it’s all about how Beau’s internal fears reinforce the way he seems he’s irrevocably trapped in his harmful cycle with his mother, along how she informs and shapes just about all of this (which we’ll come back to). But the most important thing is that he’s trying to find a way out… He yearns to be more.

5. Daydream Believers

Anytime there’s a big section of a film that may seem “unnecessary,” that means it’s usually important to sit with it and ask questions about what its inclusion may indeed really be about, because often it’s a big thematic thing (or a quiet character growth moment). I say this because the middle of this film has a massive digression where Beau stumbles into a forest of artists and begins watching a play. Almost immediately, he begins imagining himself in the play and that imagination goes on a long, long time - all before the soldier Jeeves finally comes back and all hell breaks loose once again. Thus leaving you to ask “what the heck was that about?” And like most in the film, it tells you.

On one level, this sequence captures the beautiful, almost magical feeling of what happens when someone comes into a world of artists / artistry that feels productive and safe from the harms of the outside world. Especially when Beau starts watching the work itself unfold. It feels so powerful that Beau disappears into the play, seeing himself in a narrative. Note that it starts as a broad, archetypal story about going out into the world, working hard, and finding a life and a family. It’s a little like the hero’s journey, but no, not quite. This is more the set narrative of Americana. And it’s the idea of what he COULD BE in the world of bright, beautiful, simple, and productive life. The kind of thing that he wants deep down (as do most people when they start their journey into the world). But then it turns into a tale of tragedy. He loses his family in a storm and walks the waste lands for decades, ever searching. Once again, we get an archetypal story of how the transition from childhood ideals to adult hardship is just that, a great hardship, that makes you feel like you could end up searching for your happiness forever. But when the lost three boys finally appear on stage (in a story within a story within a story), Beau stands up and shouts “This is his my life!” He hugs the characters on stage, evoking the personal way we relate to art and what we so desperately want to be true. But slowly Beau begins to remember the crucial difference of his own narrative, that he’s never had sex and this could never be real. Thus, it all comes crashing down and the play in his head seems to be rather different from even the one on stage (which implies A LOT about how we can sometimes project ourselves into art). There’s no more time for abstract dreams, he has to return to the comedy horror movie of his own life. And what’s remarkable about this sequence is that there’s a meta layer going on around it. Because yes, it reflects Beau’s own wants and dreams, but it’s also a commentary on how this film happening around him CAN’T be like other traditional narratives. And the difference plays out in a really clear way.

Beau’s quest for his “family” is on a deeper level, the idea of finally belonging to something that feels good, safe, and true. AKA “not the mama.” And the main obstacle is the intense nature of his repression (which is literally “if you cum you’ll die”). This, of course, gets wrapped up in the Elaine character, who would be the curt, funny girl from youth who propelled him into the idea that he could have something more. She is, of course, wrapped up in her own mysterious demons and their youthful promise of waiting for each other is part of this idealized view of teen romance, which is also partly responsible for the stunting of Beau’s maturation. So when he comes back and meets her as an adult, it implies she basically forgot, but she STILL tells Beau she hasn’t been waiting for him, too. We’re not exactly sure how to read it, especially given the fact that his mom EMPLOYS her and seemingly wants this temptation to be a trap, but again, it’s not about realism. Elaine is a purposeful cipher. She’s fast-talking, curt, and an in-command woman who is everything Beau is not. And she’s so down for banging that it all leads to the funniest sex scene I’ve seen in years, all set to Mariah Carey’s “Always Be My Baby” (with just one extended scene Parker Posey absolutely kills her performance - her annunciation of “blowing through that bag” had the audience dying). And it all leads to this amazing, cathartic elation. He came and he didn’t die! His mother’s controlling, body shaming tactic was a manipulation! And then once again it turns dark.

The moment where Elaine turns statuesque and dead is horrifying. And it may also seem bewildering. On one level, it’s part of the larger trap with his mother. But really, the entire point is that it’s an “opposite consequence” where you think YOU will be the person who will be hurt, but the other is the one gotten instead (note that Hereditary does this in two different ways). But the psychology behind it is “I hurt THEM because I allowed them to get close to me.” And that’s what all the fear is really about. The reason they got hurt is because of who YOU are.

And the things that made you…

6. The Play Is (Not) The Thing

A small part of me can’t stop thinking if Ari Aster’s mom has seen this movie. I mean, you could also ask if she’s seen Heredity. But really this theme stuff goes back to Aster’s 2013 short “Munchausen,” which I just watched, as can you in it its entirety here and hoo boy. So really you’re left to question, uhhhhh what’s going on here? Are Aster and his mother okay!? Because they don’t seem okay. You’re even left to wonder if these films are part of a rebellious act of artistry as communication, thinking back to Hamlet’s infamous plan where he stages a murder as an attempt to see his own Mother / Uncle’s reaction. He tells us “the play’s the thing to trap the conscience of the king.” And thus, we’re left to wonder if Aster is playing some big game of gotcha.

But no, I do not think that’s what’s happening. Like, at all.

Before I start I want to say that there is a part of me that loathes the direct 1:1 application of an artist's biography when analyzing fictional works. Yes, we are a product of influences. Yes, stories are personal. Yes, there are some stories certain artists have more of a right to tell, especially when it comes to cultural experiences. And yes, sometimes it's fun to know if a real life person even inspired a given role. But the second you start doing hyper-comparison or 1:1 you get into this troubling area because you’re missing two crucial points. The first is that often “it’s not even like that.” Even Aster goes to clarify his relationship with his family in a recent interview, "I will say, I have an amazing relationship with my parents and with my younger brother. I have incredibly supportive parents who are both artists," Ari told Vox. "One reason I'm able to work on as dark a register as I often do is because I've never been made to question anything I was making by them. They were always incredibly supportive.” Which gets at the idea they all know and understand the exaggeration that’s happening. The second reason highlights the main thing about art, which is that the text is the text and all arguments about “what it’s about” should be limited to said text. That’s because the whole point of fiction is that it’s a tool for talking about something in an exaggerated, dramatic, often genre-laden space. Meaning it’s a space to deal with the feelings, not to, you know, document the story of one’s life with the lines they wish they said.

Sometimes I feel like this understanding is getting a little lost these days? To be clear, In one way, I’m ecstatic that in the last ten years we’ve shifted on a popular and we’re constantly thinking about theme and what movies are saying, offering far more solutions than we used to, along with important understanding that “depiction does not mean endorsement” is not a blanket cure all (because sometimes, it really do be endorsing). But to split the hair here, there’s something about the way all that can still get flattened. Like when people equalize the taking in an unsavory film as an unsavory act. Or view what we purchase a ticket for as a moral barometer (when we already know there’s no ethical purchase under capitalism). Not to mention the way some take art as prescriptive literalness (which allows me to invoke everyone’s favorite letterboxd review of Uncut Gems, “If I were him I wouldn’t have done any of that”). I don’t really get too hung up on these things individually as subjects. But all of this seems to skew into the hard-and-fast view that some people think art is just about telling people what to do - which means these same people want to make art as, you know, an act of telling people what to do. And as much as I endlessly talk about theme and making work about something, art is not the prescription of what to do. Especially because it shows more lessons through failure and vulnerability. In short, it’s about process.

I admit that I qualifying all this because this movie sent me down the rabbit hole of reading the work of Aster’s mother (the poet Bobbi Laurie) http://www.bobbilurie.com/  and… well… let’s just say you can probably see where a lot of things in Aster’s work are coming from. Sometimes it's as if she’s writing the exact prose from creepier scenes of his horror films. But seeing her viewpoint of the nature of the care and sickness, being along with dark, and painful feelings of loving are something that can especially seen in the following work, “My Son Works At The Museum of Intolerance” (and to be clear, she seems to be speaking of her other son, not Ari). But I will quote the entire work below:

“Oct / Nov 2012

My son works in The Museum of Intolerance. His job is to get people to sign a sheet of paper when they walk through the door. The sign-in sheet makes them "official" and helps justify the museum's existence.

Once they sign in, my son offers to show them around the exhibits of human atrocities, made up mostly of photos. My son has become an expert on human cruelty. "Why are people such creeps?" he often asks.

"Why don't you ever come and visit the museum?" he asks today.

"Because I can't bear to learn anything more about The Holocaust," I tell him. He knows our family history. He knows about my life in Israel.

"It's more than The Holocaust, Ma," he says. "It isn't just about Hitler, Ma. They killed people faster in Rwanda." My son is on the autism spectrum. What this means, to me, not "them," is that my son cannot comprehend human cruelty. It makes no sense to him.

"Why was I ever born, Ma?" he asks me, as he always does. "Don't you think the world would be better off if there were no people?"

"Yes." He knows my answer.

"Why did you have me anyway?"

"Because you taught me what love is," I say, as I always do.

"But isn't that selfish?"

"Yes," I say. I always say "yes."

A long pause as usual and then, as expected, I pose the question, "Will you eat tonight?"

We are fighting anorexia. "We," meaning any doctor who has ever met my 96-pound son. "We," meaning me, not him.

"The anesthesia makes eating hard. I need to stop eating," says my son, one up on me. He has an excuse these past few days. The surgery in Miami. The surgeon from China, the genius who gave him back his one good eye after Stevens Johnson TEN and an injection of prednisone, inserted into the wrong part of the eyeball, blinded him in his left eye. The doctors said he would soon go completely blind in his right eye as well. His eyelids, after Stevens Johnson TEN attacked his entire body, turned to a texture like sandpaper, scratching his corneas every time he blinked. The surface of the cornea grew thinner and thinner; he could not bear the light; his head was always down; blood vessels were growing into the cornea, and if they reached deep enough into his remaining eye, he would be blinded forever.

The destruction wrought by Stevens Johnson TEN keeps progressing. He can no longer make tears. The type of severe dry eye he has causes blindness.

I decide not to push him to eat. He's alive. He can see. We found a doctor who surgically altered the eyelids in his right eye, smoothing them out with the skin from inside his mouth, allowing him to look into the light for the first time in two years, allowing the blood vessels in his right eye to retreat for the time being.

"Did you take your drops?" I pray he did. An infection would destroy everything.

He hems and haws. My eyes must have been shut. I did not see him go. I hear the front door close. He is gone. We live in the middle of nowhere. I pray he can see well enough. It is dusk.

After surgery he tore the bandages off his eyes. The day before the surgery he said, "I don't care if I go blind." Instincts took over after surgery. I thought I could see his heart pounding through his chest. I begged the anesthesiologist to give him something to calm him down. I've heard anorexics die of heart attacks.

Where did he go? Where is he now? It's getting dark. Can he see?

I take a Xanax. I have lost count of how many I have taken so far today. I've been taking them for years. I don't think they work anymore, but doctors have warned me that going off them can create a nightmarish situation. The backlash of medications is familiar to me. My son's disease was caused by a severe reaction to pharmaceuticals.

An hour later he walks back inside.

"Where were you?" I know he won't answer. I decide not to ask about food. I decide not to ask if he will take the drops.

"Do you want to watch a comedy?" I pull out Curb Your Enthusiasm.

"I gave that to you, you know."

"Yes, I know." I pull him close to me.

"Why did you have me?" I say nothing. I pull him closer still.

Because without you, I would not know what love is.”

* * *

There are so many ways you can read that poem, from the vulnerable, to the literal, to the uh oh. But it’s not literal - it’s about the ideas. To wit, there’s also a second poem that I think echoes some other things about family dynamics…

“PERCEPTION IS THE MASK THAT HINDERS TRUTH. – BOBBI LURIE

MARCH 19, 2020

My memories are clumped together into a bundle of constantly interacting fibers growing increasingly nebulous as they reach out to an outside view exchanging fluids with the atmospheric pressures the slightest breeze gets caught in my throat if you were me interacting exchanging rearranging you would know … don’t ask me to talk about the past my memories disgust me they are filled with futile feelings they are accompanied by my exhaustion living in a culture triggered by nothing in particular but self-importance and so I will not bring up this past in case it lasts too long and thrusts you into a dark place even though I long for your company, dear reader, I do not want to put you in my place – i seek to erase parts of me to free you from my past which lasts too long when I put it into words (just in case you wonder why I’m quiet.)”

* * *

There is a way this poem cuts two multiple ways once again. It shows the way one does not want to bore or preoccupy anyone with their sins, but it so radically cuts another way, namely the way a lot of parents from that generation simply don’t want to deal with things they did in the past, particularly in raising children. And meanwhile, there is a generation of kids (often now in therapy) who are trying to talk about them. Seemingly, much like Aster does in the very clear thematic nature of his work. There is a disconnect here.

On every level, Beau is Afraid is about that disconnect. Everything is about breakdowns of communication. Beau can’t clarify, or explain, or get someone to understand him at every single point of conflict. Because he can’t articulate, he is steamrolled. And even when he really does his best - at almost every second he’s constantly being misunderstood as he gets poked, prodded, stabbed, and shot at. It’s the tower of Babel. And in the end, it's a larger argument with “god” AKA his mother AKA the one who not only shapes everything, but continues to shape everything. He wants to escape the problems of relationship. To draw boundaries. To find a life of his own. But all the attempts fall flat. Nothing escapes her grasp and control. It’s all part of the forever shapes of fear that stalk him. Even the tools and solutions that will supposedly get him out. The therapy gets twisted into attacks and note the way she even owns all the drugs he’s being prescribed (which she uses Beau as the model for). This is not a slight against those things, it’s all the exasperated desperation of a manchild who feels unequipped to do almost anything… and has no idea how to find a way out of the fear all around him…

Except perhaps by making fun of it.

Which is what Aster really seems to be doing here. Whatever we can say, they’re both using art as a tool - one both blunt and sharp - to talk about these issues with abject clarity. And it seems the whole criticism if a viewer is invoking the 1:1 biography and asking is “why don’t they talk to each other instead of making this?” and I’m like what makes us think they aren’t? What makes us think they aren’t done in concert? Because again, I am not here to diagnose. Nor am I here to talk about who should or shouldn’t be doing what. I linked the entirety of those because you can read into whatever you want. But even then, as fascinating as it could be to project, it’s not about them. It’s about looking at the larger dynamics of the ideas at play and seeing how they shape our world - and specifically, yours. Because with all art, you are creating a reflection pool. As part of that, we understand that we are going to emotionally connect to certain pieces that hit closer home. And not connect as much with others. I’ve seen reactions that look at this movie and have been like “oof, this did nothing because I have good relationship with mom!” The whole point is that some do not. Maybe it only needs your sympathy, not empathy. For whether it’s metaphorical or autobiographical, it’s an artist who simply understands the dynamic and is working from that place. Aster is trying to communicate what this dynamic FEELS like - even if it goes beyond his personal feelings, too. Because in the end…

The relationship is between us.

7. Under The Overturned Boat

What is the intrinsic value of Beau is Afraid? Especially if you view it as this is some grand bit of absurdism that you cannot connect to on any level? Well, in the movie going culture of 2023, I think that it’s incredibly important that it exists. If only because this is a silly business that’s already up its own butt trying to make money through the relative inanity of “sure things” in a business that has none. It is important we make, and keep making these kinds of movies regardless of function. Not just because you may get your random masterpiece like Mulholland Drive or Sorry To Bother You or Holy Motors. But because making these films, putting them into the world, having them seen, by their very act, gets people to engage the notion of a piece of art in a way that goes beyond mere comfort. For it is often in this space that art can be of its greatest use.

Because it allows us to sit back, to have distance, and in its exaggeration, recognize the kernels of behaviors and ideas that are beyond the set conception of our life as we think we know it. I don’t know if the following was a serious statement, but one person on twitter responded and said this film made them think about going to therapy, as it likely struck a painful nerve. This and this alone is worth whatever the movie cost. And as “solution-less” as it can feel as a document, it is so desperately trying to communicate what it's like when you’re trapped in a closed loop of a painful family dynamic like this, one where all the “solutions” the world gives them just become ammo for the aggrieved other. It’s telling us what it feels like. And more importantly, it is telling us what it feels like to then put it all up on display for us, too.

For it is that very ending, where Beau sails into an arena and discovers a waiting audience watching around him. I’ll tell ya this, if you ever see a film ending with a crowd looking on at the subject (like Wolf of Wall Street), you can probably go “oh hey, that’s us” to make the connection clear. Because Aster is doubling down on telling us what it’s like to make a film like this. It’s all “the trial of one’s life,” with every frame and embarrassment and judgment and vulnerability and deep pain, as even the mother watches along in cold fury, along with a waiting, possibly unamused audience. It feels like a nightmare as your little engine stalls out, explodes, flips you over, and lets you slowly drown. All as everyone judges from our sets, gets up, murmurs a few thoughts, and slowly leaves him there, dead under the overturned boat… But hey, that’s filmmaking, baby. As the damn poem says “It is better to speak, remembering we were never meant to survive.”

Ain’t it just a gas?

<3HULK