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Being John Malkovich, Directed by Spike Jonze
Gramercy Pictures, September 2, 1999 (US)
Screenplay: Charlie Kaufman
Starring: John Cusack, Cameron Diaz, Catherine Keener, Mary Kay Place, Orson Bean, and John Malkovich
True story. I was standing on the EL platform at the Davis Street stop in Evanston when some woman comes up to me and says with delight, “You’re John Malkovich!”
Maxine Lund (Catherine Keener): Sounds great! Who the fuck is John Malkovich?
I smiled (maybe even giggled) before revealing the disappointing news. No, I was not John Malkovich. The end.
Not so fast there, Sugar. Nope. She was sure of it. Absolutely certain, perturbed at my refusal to acknowledge the secret of my identity. “Yes you are.” Victorious and smug, the wretch had revealed the real me.
Craig Schwartz (John Cusack): It raises all sorts of philosophical questions about the nature of self, about the existence of the soul. Am I me?
I guess I could be coaxed into agreeing that, back then (so many pounds ago, in a brain cell far far away), there was a rather distant resemblance between the actor and that version of me, but certainly not enough for a stranger to swear by. And yet, there I was, outside of myself, exposed as a fraud. A liar. For a fleeting and rather bizarre moment, I was suddenly forced into the persona of actor who apparently did not want to be outed in public. Didn’t want the commotion. It was strange. Not only was I no longer myself (as she insisted) but there I also was, flat out refusing to admit who I really was (John Malkovich).
It was many years later that a funny little film about getting in the head of John Malkovich would come out, and years later still, I would come upon a tangent again—this world of strange dimensions and mistaken identities—as I watched John Malkovich play the real life Alan Conway, who as it was, duped people into thinking that he was the reclusive film director, Stanley Kubrick.
But I digress.
What fascinates me about the film Being John Malkovich is not how it reminds me of my own few seconds of fame, but rather, the mistaken identity of the film itself. On the surface, it is a comedy. Theatre d’absurd. Life on floor 7 1/2. A portal to John Malkovich’s brain. And yet, it is not a comedy. There is no way to avoid the sadness of these characters that is permeates the sheer madness of it all.
The obsession of need. Greed and self-centeredness that is inherent to human nature. The willingness to exploit others for our own gain. It is alive, inside of us all. That we do not act on such weakness does not mean it does not exist. We are all capable of good just as we are all capable of not so good. And since our own true identities are often hidden from even ourselves, who’s to really know when we will give in or just what it will take.
Craig: You don’t know how lucky you are being a monkey. Because consciousness is a terrible curse. I think. I feel. I suffer. And all I ask in return is the opportunity to do my work. And they won’t allow it …
because I raise issues.
To watch Schwartz live out his fantasies inside the world of puppets is, on the surface, comedic and fun, even magical in a screwball way. But it’s incredibly sad as well. And it gets worse. In his plight, we watch a man abandon his dreams. Bills need to be paid. (Who hasn’t been there?) The colorful absurdity of the Charlie Kaufman world can mask the deep pain of abandoned hope for only so long. And here, inside the sadness, the film within a film bobs to the surface time and time again. The tragedy inside the comedy.
Maxine: I think the world is divided into those who go after what they want and those who don’t. The passionate ones, the ones who go after what they want, they may not get what they want but at least they remain vital, you know? So when they lie on their deathbeds, they have few regrets.
The portal into John Malkovich’s head is a fascinating plot device. But it isn’t just the skull of John Malkovich that we are penetrating. We travel inside the heads of multiple minds and hearts of other characters as well as they give themselves up completely and willingly in order to quench their desperate thirsts.
John Malkovich (John Malkovich): Did you call me Lotte?
Maxine: Yeah, do you mind?
John: No, not really.
It is here where the adventure that leaves fun seekers muddied in a ditch next to the New Jersey turnpike becomes less and less a comedic fantasy and more and more a trip into painful self-awareness. To feel the burn and power of a crocodile’s jaws slamming into our savory flesh. Locked in the unbreakable grip. Obsession steals our souls. We need love. We need to be loved. Some crave fame. Power. For others still, fill in the blanks. There is an invisible pull that renders each and every one of us helpless as we line up in droves, put on blinders, and fall into the black hole where we are ready to sacrifice nothing short of ourselves.
Maxine: Meet you in Malkovich in one hour.
-G
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