“Be present” is Melanie’s last advice to Brad as he takes son Troy to Boston for a college tour. Melanie knows Brad needs this advice. Of course, he doesn’t follow it.
Indeed most of the film is Brad’s absent-mindedness, the memories and fantasies that form his interior monologue about his “status.” He’s so tied to this tormenting reverie that he’s not “present.” He misses out on the pleasure he should be getting from his son’s adventure. That’s what Melanie regrets having to miss. Worse, the more nervous and aggressive Brad gets the more he disturbs Troy, whose rigorous schedule would be better served by Brad’s quiet support.
Brad’s decision to establish a philanthropic organization has cost him the kind of successful career his college buddies had. Their fame, fortune, celebrity and flash make Brad feel invisible. He wasn’t even invited to buddy Nick’s gay marriage.
Brad also gets sage advice from the young student he drinks with, the reminder of his former self: “You have enough.” Enough Brad certainly has: the satisfaction of his idealistic career project; the beautiful, wise still idealistic wife; the impressively poised, sensitive, mature son; a comfortable home and lifestyle. What he thinks he lacks is the false values promoted by Trump materialism. Brad’s status is quite solid, until he judges his “status” from the current shallows by which Trump would consider Brad “a loser.”
Brad also gets sage advice from the young student he drinks with, the reminder of his former self: “You have enough.” Enough Brad certainly has: the satisfaction of his idealistic career project; the beautiful, wise still idealistic wife; the impressively poised, sensitive, mature son; a comfortable home and lifestyle. What he thinks he lacks is the false values promoted by Trump materialism. Brad’s status is quite solid, until he judges his “status” from the current shallows by which Trump would consider Brad “a loser.”
This film is a defence of the Trump “loser.” It reverses Trump’s reversal of American values. That’s the theme this film shares with writer/director Mike White’s earlier script for Beatriz at Dinner. (See separate blog.)
By assuming the Trump values Brad sinks into a larger problem in Trump’s America: the insularity, arrogance and selfishness of white male privilege. That’s what appals the idealistic student with whom he’s drinking and to whom he tries to justify himself, digging his hole ever deeper.
Brad’s self-flagellation starts to pivot on his dinner date with the media success Craig Fisher. It starts with Brad being reminded of his place. The star immediately wins them a better table. Brad is unsettled to learn that Fisher spoke at the memorial for Brad’s university mentor; Brad hadn’t even heard of his demise.
Then the mood shifts. Fisher dispels Brad's illusions about their old pals, less in kindness than in one-upmanship. Their wealthiest success has been exposed as a thief (adding to the man’s fear for his infant daughter’s spinal condition). The rich buddy living the idyllic beach life is a lost druggie and alcoholic. Hey, so money doesn’t buy happiness? Who knew.
Fisher reports that their gay friend Nick has since his marriage turned him even more flaming. Fisher means this as a put-down, but it rather supports the value Brad needs to remember: the importance of freely and openly being oneself. The Nick character gains emphasis from director White’s playing it.
The conversation crumbles when Brad tries to get personal with Fisher. Brad tells him he’s proud of his friend’s success. But Fisher doesn’t remember the friendly competition Brad remembers they had. There’s a reflexive condescension in Fisher’s “Why would I feel competitive with you?” Rather than court more condescension and self-doubt Brad leaves.
Brad moves toward two emotional resolutions. The first is the intense pleasure of the concert, seeing and hearing the beautiful performance, holding his son’s hand. That pleasure moves Brad to tears his pains couldn’t. The second is his new candour with Troy. After Brad confesses his insecurity, Troy simply says he loves him. Pure and simple, like Austin Abrams’ marvellously suggestive, controlled performance.
Fortunately, we're not told whether Troy gets into or goes to Harvard. Or Tufts. That doesn't matter. The story is complete as it shows Brad growing into his son's already achieved self-acceptance. The last image -- amid the end credits -- is of Troy performing as a street singer, a replay of Brad's fear that's all his son might amount to as a musician. But that would be ok too. For whatever happens, Troy's status like Brad’s status would be quite enough, thank you, so long as he doesn’t get caught up in “status.”
Brad moves toward two emotional resolutions. The first is the intense pleasure of the concert, seeing and hearing the beautiful performance, holding his son’s hand. That pleasure moves Brad to tears his pains couldn’t. The second is his new candour with Troy. After Brad confesses his insecurity, Troy simply says he loves him. Pure and simple, like Austin Abrams’ marvellously suggestive, controlled performance.
Fortunately, we're not told whether Troy gets into or goes to Harvard. Or Tufts. That doesn't matter. The story is complete as it shows Brad growing into his son's already achieved self-acceptance. The last image -- amid the end credits -- is of Troy performing as a street singer, a replay of Brad's fear that's all his son might amount to as a musician. But that would be ok too. For whatever happens, Troy's status like Brad’s status would be quite enough, thank you, so long as he doesn’t get caught up in “status.”
No comments:
Post a Comment