“But whether or not the bullet hits you in the head or nicks the top of your right ear…it’s how boldly and bravely you respond to that bloody ear-piercing! As long as you have your shoes on…just don’t forget your shoes.”

The Perfect President Donald J. Trump Campaign Ad Now Exists. pic.twitter.com/yV6Uftc7hI

— (@FMarinoJr) July 15, 2024

The last time I watched a film about a man suffering from neurofibromatosis was 44 years ago, when I saw David Lynch‘s The Elephant Man (’80). I went through a similar dramatic experience five years later when I saw Peter Bogdanovich‘s Mask (’85), although Eric Stoltz‘s Rocky Dennis character was a victim of craniodiaphyseal dysplasia, “an extremely rare sclerotic bone disorder”.

In The Elephant Man, the cruelty that poor John Merrick (John Hurt) endured at the hands of Mr. Bytes (Freddie Jones) and others was ugly, and the kindness and compassion that Merrick received from Dr. Frederick Treves (Anthony Hopkins), Madge Kendal (Anne Bancroft), Frances Gomm (John Gielgud) and Mrs. Mothershead (Wendy Hiller) was heartwarming.

I naturally imagined that I was in league with the good guys in this film, and that made me feel good about myself.

But of course, Hurt’s Merrick wasn’t really suffering from this horrid disease — his appearance was a demonstration of masterful, tour de force technique from makeup guy Christopher Tucker. Audience members naturally knew that from the get-go.

Now I’m obliged to sit through Aaron Schimberg‘s A Different Man (A24, 9.20), a black comedy about three characters — (a) Edward (Sebastian Stan), a neurofibromatosis guy who is surgically transformed into a normal-looking dude, (b) an actual neurofibromatosis sufferer named Oswald (Adam Pearson) who isn’t saved by surgery, and (c) Ingrid (Renate Reinsve) who comes to know both Edward and Oswald.

I’m sorry but the trailer for Schimberg’s film, which debuted at Sundance ’24, suggests hard work. Makeup is one thing, but I find it uncomfortable and difficult to spend time with people who are actually grotesque and deformed. You can call me an insensitive brute, but I don’t particularly want to see A Different Man because of this. Put another way, I’ll see it but not without duress.

If you’re a neurofibromatosis wokey, however, you’ll not only condemn people like me but also bend over backwards to show the world what a kind and tolerant person you are. And that’s fine.

But there’s a scene in A Different Man in which a normal-looking woman takes Oswald’s head in her hands and kisses him, and there’s no way that’s tolerable for an average audience member. Forget it.

In a 7.14 Atlantic essay titled “The Gunman and the Would–Be Dictator,” David Frum wrote the following:

I would be lying if I said that for a few brief seconds last Saturday my heart didn’t skip a beat when I heard that Trump had been shot (i.e., ear–pierced).

The truth is that a feeling of mixed adrenaline (shocked by the implications of chaos and hate but at the same time thinking “does this mean no more Trump toxicity?”) rifled through my system.

Anyone from the sensible, semi-thoughtful, non-MAGA crowd who claims they were only horrified by the sight of blood and the whizzing of AR-15 bullets is (be honest) a bit of a coward and a liar.

One of those cowardly liars is Jack Black, who has just cancelled Tenacious D’s tour because Kyle Glass briefly confessed to having succumbed to calloused, knee-jerk thinking and to being a harsh judge of the bumblefuck social cancer that The Beast unleashed eight years ago.

Another liar is Late Show host Stephen Colbert, who shared the following during last night’s broadcast:

I don’t doubt that Colbert was, like everyone else, alarmed by the shooting and grief-struck for that poor fireman and family man, Corey Comperatore, who was killed by one of Thomas Matthew Crooks’ bullets.

But I don’t believe for a second that Colbert was relieved that Trump’s mustard gas wasn’t removed from social influence. Colbert said that because he had to — what Glass admitted to can never be even half-acknowledged by a big-time network TV talk-show guy.

I’m not proud of my pulse having quickened oh-so-briefly last Saturday afternoon. I feel chagrined by that ugly gut-feeling moment. But I can’t lie and say I didn’t taste it.

When I read about Crooks, I muttered to myself that the trans community is undoubtedly breathing a huge sigh of relief that the shooter wasn’t from their ranks. A friend with several POC pallies confessed that “there’s great relief that the shooter wasn’t black. Otherwise it would’ve been hunting season.”