The Man Without A Face: a cautious recommendation . . .

For the longest time, I used to say that my favorite movie - for personal reasons (I always added) - was The Man Without A Face, starring and directed by Mel Gibson, his directorial debut. This has changed somewhat, but there’s no denying that parts of it still have an impact.

It’s sort of hard to show other people, because, while it has strong scenes, the overall feel of the movie has a kind of cheapness. There’s some editing and continuity problems I’ve noticed through the years, but nothing major. Some scenes I feel are overacted and sometimes the sappy melodrama is too much to handle.

But there is no denying that Mel Gibson’s character - Justin McLeod - has had and continues to have a big influence on my life. I can trace my love of poetry back to this very movie. I can even trace certain characteristics of my personality back to McLeod, and even back to some of the quirkiness of the kid, Charles Norstadt.

And there’s something about McLeod’s house. I know that’s strange to say, but all the scenes from within the house stir something in me that I can’t really put my finger on. You hear the cry of seagulls and the crashing waves from the lake outside.

The house is literally filled with interesting stuff. I’m assuming McLeod was into nautical themes, because the house is strewn with model ships, model ships in glass jars, maps (do they really lead to treasure?), a antique set of binoculars.

And there are books everywhere: books on the floor, books on the shelves along the walls, books in every room, old books, textbooks, books from every subject, antique books, the books we buy for the antique spine we’d show off to our friends.

He is an artist, he paints; we find out later he paints pictures that are put on the covers of magazines, and he even points out how a couple of his pictures were chosen to be on Time Magazine.

Before I get into more scenes, I guess I’ll tell you a little about the plot, which is so-so. The strength of the movie is the relationship that builds and grows between Mr. McLeod and Charles; but mainly for me, it is the commanding presence of McLeod.

Charles is part of a very dysfunctional family with two sisters, and all three of them have different fathers. Charles’ dad - unbeknownst to him - died in a mental institute and had severe drinking problems. Throughout the movie, he doesn’t really know, but makes up stories about how his dad was an expert pilot for a spy plane that was shot down in a blaze of glory.

Charles wants to follow in his lost dad’s footsteps, enter military school, and eventually be a pilot. One problem: he isn’t naturally gifted intellectually and lacks a teacher to coach him on how to do good on the entrance exams.

But Charles is an outcast, with a meddling little sister, and a sinister bigger sister, and a mother who means well, but is somewhat of a narcissist.

Enter McLeod, a retired teacher with a tortured past, a recluse with a strict schedule - you can time your watch with his trips to the grocery store. He has horrible scars from dreadful burns over half his body. We find out later it’s from a car crash - his fault - where a boy burned to death, one of his students, the reason why he’s given up teaching. There’s a ho-hum side story about a sexual abuse scandal surrounding his relationship with the boy, but I didn’t care much about it.

On one fateful night, Charles and McLeod meet, and the seeds are sown for a relationship after Charles asks for McLeod’s help and teaching for the entrance exams. After a rough beginning, the virtues of the movie start to shine!

Here are some of my favorite scenes.

1. The Aeneid: In a fit of loneliness, McLeod sits shiftless in his chair as soft opera plays in the background. The light is dim. He reads the opening lines of The Aeneid by Virgil. Arms, I sing! And the Man. Who burst forth from the shores of Troy. Much buffeted he on land and sea. Oh, to sate Juno’s unrelenting wrath! He holds a mirror up to his scarred face. For a brief moment, it looks like his face is normal, the mirror reflecting only the good part. As the opera gets louder, he moves the mirror over to reveal the scars and he is revolted as the opera ends.

2. Charles is reading poetry pretty badly. “It’s not a cereal box you’re reading”, says McLeod. Why can’t I read it silently?, asks Charles. Because it’s a play! You perform it! 'I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano, A stage where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one (From The Merchant of Venice).' And then they start performing actual Shakespeare plays in McLeod’s living room.

3. There is a very sublime scene with Charles in his bathroom reading the poem High Flight, the most moving scene for me.

I cautiously recommend it. Like I said, I felt compelled to blog on it just because it’s meant so much to me. I’m not exactly sure why, though. I relate to McLeod’s reclusiveness, his love of books and poetry, and his love for teaching, and his scars have since become a symbol for my own past crap that’s happened to me. Charles has an innocence about him I used to relate to a lot better than I do now.

There’s a scene where’s he is making his way up to McLeod’s home, the camera is behind him, moving with him, the music by James Horner is brooding, filled with anticipation and sort of a fairy-tale aura. That whole scene has been a metaphor for so many things in my life I’ve felt a mysterious longing for.