摘要：一部为妥瑞氏症去污名化的传记片，为何既让人泪目又令人翻白眼？《纽约客》影评人犀利指出：《妥瑞氏与我》作为教育工具效果显著，作为剧情片却机械得如同节拍器。更戏剧性的是，影片上映前夕，真实主人公在BAFTA颁奖礼上喊出种族歧视词语，让电影的“精心励志”瞬间陷入尴尬
有趣灵魂说
一部为妥瑞氏症去污名化的传记片，为何既让人泪目又令人翻白眼？《纽约客》影评人犀利指出：《妥瑞氏与我》作为教育工具效果显著，作为剧情片却机械得如同节拍器。更戏剧性的是，影片上映前夕，真实主人公在BAFTA颁奖礼上喊出种族歧视词语，让电影的“精心励志”瞬间陷入尴尬——这究竟是教育的胜利，还是娱乐的失算？
译文为原创，仅供个人学习使用
The New Yorker ｜The Current Cinema
纽约客｜当下电影
The Calculated Uplift of “I Swear”
《妥瑞氏与我》精心策划的励志效果
Kirk Jones’s bio-pic of the activist John Davidson, who has worked to destigmatize Tourette’s syndrome, is effective as an educational tool but mechanical as a drama.
柯克·琼斯执导的关于活动家约翰·戴维森的传记片，讲述了其为消除妥瑞氏症的污名化所做的工作——作为教育工具效果显著，作为剧情片则略显机械。
By Justin Chang
“I Swear” isn’t just an account of John Davidson’s life but a direct extension of his activism.Illustration by Anuj Shrestha
《妥瑞氏与我》不仅仅是约翰·戴维森生平的故事，更是其行动主义的直接延伸。插图：阿努吉·施雷斯塔
与许多积极向上的传记剧情片一样，《妥瑞氏与我》从结局开始。一个高潮性的胜利时刻被巧妙地逆向设计成了序幕：2019年，苏格兰活动家约翰·戴维森（罗伯特·阿拉马约饰）因其为提高人们对妥瑞氏症认识所做的开创性工作而受到表彰。约翰很紧张，原因很充分。他患有严重的秽语症——妥瑞氏症的一种症状，导致他不可预测地脱口而出脏话——总而言之，对于一个即将见到伊丽莎白二世女王的人来说，这并非理想情况。果然，约翰制造了一场骚乱，大喊道：“去他*的女王！”当房间里的最初震惊平息后——女王本人似乎并不在意——约翰说：“对不起，陛下”，然后安静地找到了自己的座位。仪式开始了，信息很明确：如果女王陛下能从容应对这样的侮辱，那么世界上其他人还有什么借口呢？
这是一个有趣的切入点，然而，作为一个喜剧性的平反场景，它可以说让整部电影失去了悬念。这里呈现了戴维森粗话连篇的典型形象：真诚、自谦，并且容易说出令人尴尬的感叹词——即使经历了多年的痛苦个人奋斗和值得称赞的公共倡导，他仍然无力阻止这些言语。影片的标题明显指代脏话，同时也指代稍后戏剧化呈现的一个事件：约翰在无意中引发了一场酒吧斗殴后受审，必须在法庭上宣誓作证。（他连誓言都念不完，就骂了法官一句“贱人”——这一评价虽是无意的，却出奇地精准。）当一个人努力要说出全部真相，且唯有真相，而他最真诚的努力却被误解为相反时，他该怎么办？
《妥瑞氏与我》为这个问题提供了一个讨喜的答案。影片由英国电影人柯克·琼斯编剧并执导，他是一位可靠的励志片提供者；只有与他早期的作品（包括《乐透天》（1998）、《魔法保姆麦克菲》（2006）和《我盛大的希腊婚礼2》（2016））相比，他的新片才勉强算得上有些尖锐。在确立了大致圆满的结局后，影片闪回到1983年，当时十几岁的约翰（由斯科特·埃利斯·沃森动人饰演）与父母和兄弟姐妹住在苏格兰加拉希尔斯镇，开始出现他的第一个妥瑞氏症状。他的身体抽搐毁掉了前景光明的足球生涯，他的言语爆发常常在学校惹上麻烦，在那里，无论是同学还是校长，都无法理解他对那些冒犯性的言行毫无控制力。即使对妥瑞氏症有更深入的了解，也不能保证理解。当约翰开始吐食物时，他的母亲希瑟（雪莉·亨德森饰）因疲惫和愤怒而筋疲力尽，把他赶下了餐桌——这是永无止境的一系列母亲拒绝中的第一次。（他父亲的拒绝更为彻底；在约翰病情恶化后不久，他就抛弃了家庭。）多年后，只有约翰（现在由阿拉马约饰演）和希瑟留在家里，靠药物被压制到半顺从状态，几乎没有独立或充实生活的希望。
在过去的几十年里，约翰·戴维森的故事已经在几部电视纪录片中被讲述过，从1988年BBC系列节目《Q.E.D.》的一集开始，标题为《约翰没疯》，该集被认为对教育英国公众了解妥瑞氏症做出了很大贡献。（奥利弗·萨克斯是该集中突出的人物之一，他对约翰的症状提供了精确而富有同情心的分析。）也许是因为它聚焦于约翰的青少年时期，当时妥瑞氏症的治疗方法少之又少，这部纪录片对其主人公及其前景的看法比电影更为悲观。在《妥瑞氏与我》中，约翰的社交康复是由多蒂·阿肯巴赫（玛克辛·皮克饰）发起的，她是一位老同学的母亲，将约翰置于她的庇护之下。在相对较短的时间内，她把约翰搬进她家，让他停药，并鼓励他申请在当地社区中心工作，在那里，他的老板汤米·特罗特（彼得·穆兰饰）和多蒂一样圣洁。正是汤米促使约翰意识到，问题不在于他的病症，而在于社会对它的无知。一场提高公众意识的活动启动了，约翰英勇地带头。
因此，《妥瑞氏与我》不仅仅是戴维森生平的故事。它直接延伸了他的行动主义，而它作为教育工具的有效性正是使其作为剧情片毫无摩擦感且可预见的原因。在叙事过程中，随着约翰被朋友接纳、被陌生人攻击，琼斯的叙事在突破与挫折之间切换，其节奏如此机械，几乎像节拍器一样精准。然而，这部电影是一部 slick 且经过精心算计的作品，它甚至考虑到了最本能的怀疑论者；你可能会含着眼泪、翻着白眼走出影院。唯一稍微复杂的人物是他的母亲希瑟——按照电影的逻辑，她本是一个准反派，但亨德森赋予了她更复杂和悲剧的色彩，她擅长演绎阴郁的微妙差别。引人注目的是，在《约翰没疯》中，现实生活中的希瑟给人的印象是全心全意奉献且富有同情心的。你不需要成为一个痴迷于传记片真实性的狂热分子，也会想知道琼斯的处理离现实有多近——又有多少可能是为了效果而被人为地甜化或苦化了。
阿拉马约的角色引发了其他问题。有些人可能对非妥瑞氏症患者演绎该病症伴随的抽搐和动作的伦理问题有强烈的感受；碰巧的是，我被阿拉马约友好的微笑翘起和他举止中温和的小丑式表演所打动。他以一种惊人的笨拙与优雅兼具的混合体在影片中大步前行：那种轻快的自信，属于一个已经学会预判——并可能过度纠正——异常动作的人。
对我来说，可能的失谐之处不在于阿拉马约的表演，而在于剧本。有时，琼斯的电影似乎远非严格诊断性的，实际上可能为了我们的娱乐，怂恿约翰走向乖张的言语发明新高度。在为汤米泡了一杯茶后，约翰脱口而出：“我用精液当牛奶”——而精液，更多是精神意义上的而非肉体意义上的，正是这部电影所拥有的丰富资源。它的幽默如此执着，几乎到了不得体的地步，将《妥瑞氏与我》变成了一种奇特的错位突触喜剧——在基调和意图上，似乎与1988年纪录片发出的严肃警告背道而驰：“约翰的脏话永远是一颗言语定时炸弹，随时准备在公共场合爆炸。”
这个严峻的预言在2月22日的英国电影学院奖颁奖典礼上应验了——而且是以一种极其戏剧化的方式。在那天，《妥瑞氏与我》经历了一次荣耀与灾难独一无二的交织。令许多人震惊的是，阿拉马约赢得了最佳男主角奖，战胜了包括奥斯卡提名者蒂莫西·柴勒梅德、莱昂纳多·迪卡普里奥、伊桑·霍克和迈克尔·B·乔丹在内的竞争者。戴维森也在人群中，正如观众被告知的那样，公告中说他们可能听到的任何他的爆发都是非自愿的，并不代表他的观点或信仰。当戴维森向两位黑人演员——均来自《罪人》的乔丹和德尔罗伊·林多——在台上颁奖时大喊了一个种族歧视词语时，这个警告被证明是微不足道的安慰。英国广播公司莫名其妙地未能在其延时播出的颁奖典礼转播中删去这一事件，在丑陋的后果中，有很多关于该广播公司和英国电影学院奖未能尽到对所有相关方的照顾义务的报道。更具分歧性的是最终谁才是更受委屈的一方的问题：是遭受了不可原谅羞辱的乔丹和林多，还是戴维森——他被无数不了解或不同情其病症的网民在网上指责为种族主义者。
当《妥瑞氏与我》本月在美国影院上映时，让这一事件值得重新审视的原因是，它似乎在一个噩梦般的瞬间同时摧毁并证实了这部电影——既暴露了其美好励志机器中的空洞，同时也证明了它关于公众中那么多报复性无知的更大论点。具有特别可怕讽刺意味的是，这部描绘虚构的戴维森克服了他一些最严重焦虑的电影，最终却将真实的戴维森推入了人生中最公开的尴尬境地。多么恐怖！但仅就教育和娱乐价值而言，这又是一个多么大的机遇。如果电影制作人倾向于在最后一刻调整他们的作品，他们本可以以游击式的方式重新拍摄他们的序幕，赶在电影美国上映之前。与英国电影学院奖舞台上那棘手得多的国际丑闻相比，谁还需要一个温和的反君主主义爆发呢？去他*的女王，确实如此。♦
Like many upbeat biographical dramas, “I Swear” begins at the end. A culminating moment of triumph is neatly reverse engineered into a prologue: it’s 2019, and the Scottish activist John Davidson (Robert Aramayo) is being honored for his groundbreaking work to raise awareness of Tourette’s syndrome. John is nervous, for good reason. He has severe coprolalia, a symptom of Tourette’s that causes him to blurt out obscenities unpredictably—all in all, not an ideal situation for a man about to meet Queen Elizabeth II. Sure enough, John causes a scene, yelling, “Fuck the Queen!” Once the initial shock in the room has subsided—the Queen herself seems unperturbed—John says, “Sorry, Ma’am,” and quietly finds his seat. The ceremony begins, and the message is clear: if Her Majesty could take such an indignity in stride, what’s the rest of the world’s excuse?
It’s an amusing point of entry, although, as a scene of comic vindication, it arguably renders the movie moot. Here is Davidson in a foul-mouthed nutshell: sincere, self-effacing, and prone to embarrassing exclamations that—even after years of anguished personal struggle and laudable public advocacy—he remains powerless to prevent. The film’s title, an obvious reference to profanity, also alludes to an incident dramatized later on, when John, on trial after inadvertently triggering a pub brawl, must give sworn testimony in court. (He can’t get through the oath without calling the judge a cunt—an assessment as unintentional as it is hilariously spot-on.) What’s a man to do when, in striving to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, his best-faith efforts are mistaken for the opposite?
“I Swear” serves up an ingratiating answer to that question. It was written and directed by the British filmmaker Kirk Jones, a reliable purveyor of uplift; only in comparison with his earlier work, which includes “Waking Ned Devine” (1998), “Nanny McPhee” (2006), and “My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2” (2016), could his new movie be construed as remotely hard-hitting. With its mostly happy ending established, it flashes back to 1983, when the teen-age John (played movingly by Scott Ellis Watson), who lives with his parents and siblings in the Scottish town of Galashiels, begins to experience his first Tourette’s symptoms. His physical tics derail a promising football career, and his verbal eruptions frequently land him in trouble at school, where neither his peers nor his headmaster grasp that he has no control over his offending words and deeds. Even a deeper knowledge of Tourette’s is not a guarantee of understanding. When John begins spitting out his food, his mother, Heather (Shirley Henderson), worn down by exhaustion and anger, banishes him from the dinner table—the first in an unceasing series of maternal rejections. (His father’s rejection is more final; he abandons the family not long after John’s condition worsens.) Years later, only John (now played by Aramayo) remains with Heather at home, medicated into semi-submission, with little hope of a life of independence or fulfillment.
John Davidson’s story has been told in several TV documentaries over the past few decades, starting with a 1988 episode of the BBC series “Q.E.D.,” titled “John’s Not Mad,” which has been credited with doing much to educate the British public about Tourette’s. (Oliver Sacks, one of the episode’s prominent voices, offers a precise, sympathetic analysis of John’s symptoms.) Perhaps because it focussed on John’s teen-age years, when Tourette’s treatments and therapies were fewer and farther between, the documentary took a more downbeat view of its subject and his prospects than the movie does. In “I Swear,” John’s social rehabilitation is set in motion by Dottie Achenbach (Maxine Peake), the mother of an old school friend, who takes John under her wing. In relatively short order, she moves John into her house, gets him off his meds, and encourages him to apply for a job at a local community center, where his boss, Tommy Trotter (Peter Mullan), proves as saintly as Dottie is. It’s Tommy who nudges John toward the realization that the problem lies not with his condition but with society’s ignorance of it. A public-awareness campaign is launched, with John heroically leading the way.
“I Swear,” then, isn’t just an account of Davidson’s life. It’s a direct extension of his activism, and its effectiveness as an educational tool is what renders it frictionless and predictable as a drama. In the course of the narrative, as John is embraced by friends and assaulted by strangers, Jones’s storytelling veers between breakthroughs and setbacks with a rhythm so mechanical as to verge on metronomic. Yet the movie is a slick and expertly calculated piece of work, and it has taken even the most reflexive skepticism into account; you may emerge from the theatre blinking back tears and rolling your eyes. The only remotely complicated figure is his mother, Heather—a would-be villain in the logic of the film, made more complex and tragic by Henderson, who has a gift for gloomy nuance. Strikingly, in “John’s Not Mad,” the real-life Heather came across as entirely devoted and sympathetic. You needn’t be a bio-pic truth fetishist to wonder how close to reality Jones’s treatment gets—and how much may have been artificially sweetened, or embittered, for effect.
Aramayo’s role raises other questions. Some people may have strong feelings about the ethics of an actor who does not have Tourette’s performing the tics and gestures that accompany the condition; as it happens, I was disarmed by the friendly jut of Aramayo’s smile and the gentle clownery of his carriage. He strides through the movie with a startling mix of awkwardness and grace: the light-footed assurance of someone who has learned to anticipate—and perhaps overcorrect for—errant movements.
For me, the possible false note lay not in Aramayo’s performance but in the script. At times, it seems that Jones’s film, far from being strictly diagnostic, might in fact be egging John on, for the sake of our entertainment, toward perverse new heights of verbal invention. After brewing a cup of tea for Tommy, John blurts out, “I use spunk for milk”—and spunk, more in the spiritual than the bodily sense, is what the movie has in spades. Its humor is so insistent that it’s almost unseemly, transforming “I Swear” into a curious kind of misfired-synapses comedy—one that, in tone and intent, seems to fly in the face of the sombre warning issued by the 1988 documentary: “John’s obscenities will always be a verbal time bomb, waiting to go off in public.”
That grim prophecy was fulfilled—and how—on February 22nd, at the BAFTAs, where “I Swear” experienced a one-of-a-kind commingling of glory and disaster. To the shock of many, Aramayo won Best Actor, triumphing over a field that included the Oscar nominees Timothée Chalamet, Leonardo DiCaprio, Ethan Hawke, and Michael B. Jordan. Davidson was in the crowd, too, as the audience had been informed, with an announcement that any outbursts they might hear from him were involuntary and not representative of his views or beliefs. The warning proved scant consolation when Davidson shouted a racial slur at two Black actors—Jordan and Delroy Lindo, both from “Sinners”—who were presenting an award onstage. The BBC inexplicably neglected to excise the incident from its tape-delayed broadcast of the ceremony, and, amid the ugly fallout, much was written about the failures of the network and of BAFTAin their duty of care to all involved. More divisive has been the question of who, in the end, was the more aggrieved party: Jordan and Lindo, who were subjected to unconscionable humiliation, or Davidson, who was accused of racism online by countless individuals with no understanding of or empathy for his condition.
What makes the episode worth considering anew, as “I Swear” arrives in American theatres this month, is how it seemed to both destroy and affirm the film in one nightmarish breath—to expose the hollowness of its feel-good machinery while also proving its larger point about the vindictive ignorance of so much of the public. There’s a particularly hideous irony in the fact that “I Swear,” which depicts a fictional Davidson prevailing through some of his gravest anxieties, wound up thrusting the real Davidson into the most public embarrassment of his life. What horror! But also, for sheer educational and entertainment value, what an opportunity. Had the filmmakers been inclined to tweak their work at the last minute, they might have reshot their prologue, guerrilla-style, ahead of the film’s U.S. release. Who needs a mild anti-monarchist outburst, given the far thornier international debacle on the BAFTAs stage? Fuck the Queen, indeed. ♦
来源：百事通一点号