Jamie Foxx is a flaming douchebag

Oh, man, I’m going to swear up a storm in this post.

For those of you who somehow haven’t yet heard of the film The Soloist, here’s a summary yanked from MTV.com:

Academy Award-nominated Atonement director Joe Wright teams with screenwriter Susannah Grant to tell the true life story of Nathaniel Ayers, a former violin prodigy whose bouts with schizophrenia landed him on the streets after two years of schooling at Juilliard. Steve Lopez (Robert Downey, Jr.) is… a disenchanted journalist stuck in a dead-end job. His marriage to a fellow journalist having recently come to an end, Steve is wandering through Los Angeles’ Skid Row when he notices a bedraggled figure playing a two-stringed violin. The figure in question is Ayers (Jamie Foxx), a man whose promising career in music was cut short due to a debilitating bout with mental illness. The more Lopez learns about Ayers, the greater is respect grows for the troubled soul. How could a man with such remarkable talent wind up living on the streets, and not be performing on stage with a symphony orchestra? Later, as Lopez embarks on a quixotic quest to help Ayers pull his life together and launch a career in music, he gradually comes to realize that it is not Ayers whose life is being transformed, but his own.

“[...] it is not Ayers whose life is being transformed, but his own.”

HAHA. SERIOUSLY? All right, so I’m nitpicking the summary only here, but come on. What the hell is this bullshit. It might as well say some crap like, “The quirky adventures of a homeless, schizophrenic musician and his helpful journalist pal as they work together to make the magician’s dreams come true. Join them as they travel through the zany inner world of mental illness and take from it lessons of compassion, love, and purple rainbow kitty cereal cloud. Music by Hilary Duff.”

Everyone reading this, go out and pick yourself up a schizophrenic! We’re like puppies! We’ll improve your life!

I’m digressing, though. I’m sure I’m far from done bitching about this film in this blog, but I’ll save that for another time, as my main issue at the moment is with Jamie Foxx.

From MTV News:

Oscar-winning actor, singer, comedian and radio-show host Jamie Foxx found it hard to disconnect from his role as a homeless schizophrenic in the new movie “The Soloist.” The part was so emotionally taxing that Foxx started therapy to help him cope with the role and keep himself separate from the character.

“It was something that I enjoyed, but it shredded me. I went to places that I never thought I would ever go,” he said, according to Bossip. “I just remember being in my bathroom broke down, talking to my manager, like, ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish this.’ ”

For the movie, in which he co-stars with Robert Downey Jr., Foxx found that even when he wasn’t on set, he was still consumed by the role of Nathanial Ayers, a Juilliard-trained musician who suffers from schizophrenia and wound up living on the streets of Los Angeles. “You had to lose your mind every day you’re on set, and sometimes you didn’t have enough time to get your mind back before the weekend.”

Wait, wait. Back the fuck up. Let’s take baby steps through this, shall we?

01. He’s pretending to be a schizophrenic.

This is where the most emphasis needs to be placed, obviously. Especially to Jamie Foxx himself. So allow me to drill this point home:

He’s pretending to be a schizophrenic.
He’s pretending to be a schizophrenic.
He’s pretending to be a schizophrenic.

We’re clear on that now, right? Okay, moving on then.

02. Pretending to be a schizophrenic apparently made him suffer some kind of breakdown and seek therapy.

LOL

I suppose it’s flattering in some roundabout way to find out that what I deal with daily sent some jackass actor off crying and seeking therapy. But, still, LOL. Just. fucking. L-O-L.

Continuing on.

Everyone knows what sadness feels like, so I could KIND OF see this logic working if he were portraying someone with an emotional disorder like depression or maybe even bipolar disorder. Not everyone has those illnesses, but one is able to empathize to an extent with how those really suffering might feel because they deal with pretty universal emotions (for the most part) (p.s. I hope you understand my point. I’m not trying to offend anyone suffering from depression or bipolar disorder!)

There is no way in hell that anyone can imagine what schizophrenia is like and have it be anywhere near what the reality is like. Unless you suffer from it yourself, you have no idea. “Pretending” to be schizophrenic means that you still have a grip entirely on what’s real or not. No matter how much you want to say you got caught up in your stupid fantasy world, it’s a ton of crap. It’s comparable to an actor who portrays someone dying of AIDS making a statement that he totally understands that world after the performance he gave. No, you don’t, you dumbass motherfucker, because YOU’RE NOT REALLY DYING OF AIDS.

Goddamn.

I don’t think I can say any more on this matter tonight that isn’t just a string of obscenities, so I’ll leave you this with this article by avclub.com which nailed a lot of points (with far less swearing). Some of the comments also help restore my faith in humanity, especially the thread started by “wammer”:

I’m tired of actors trying to convince the wider world that their job is so difficult. “Boo hoo, I have to sit in a trailer all day and then pretend that I’m crazy for a few minutes.” The constant need for ego gratification really annoys the crap out of me.

And first reply, from “Werdsmiff”:

I don’t mind that they take their job seriously (when they can walk the walk, of course), but it is a little shabby to compare your experience of acting a role to someone who has to live with real mental health problems.

THANK YOU.

Btw, I totally love Robert Downey Jr., so it sucks that he’s wrapped up in something that I knew from the start would make me spew massive amounts of vitriol. At least he’s not the one spouting off stupid shit [that I know about, anyway]. Don’t fuck me over too, RDJ

Cancer blog

This post serves as an addendum to my post a few weeks ago informing you all of my brother’s current battle with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I just found out that he has started his own blog to document his experiences:

http://aseasoninhell.tumblr.com/

Check it out and pass it around to those who might find it helpful.

The Most Beautiful Suicide

A friend informed me about this photograph / story the other day, and it seemed like something readers of this blog might be interested in (it definitely interested me). I’m not condoning suicide at all, just merely passing on a story.

The following text is borrowed from this site.

On May 1, 1947, Evelyn McHale leapt to her death from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Photographer Robert Wiles took a photo of McHale a few minutes after her death.

The photo ran a couple of weeks later in Life magazine accompanied by the following caption:

On May Day, just after leaving her fiancé, 23-year-old Evelyn McHale wrote a note. ‘He is much better off without me … I wouldn’t make a good wife for anybody,’ … Then she crossed it out. She went to the observation platform of the Empire State Building. Through the mist she gazed at the street, 86 floors below. Then she jumped. In her desperate determination she leaped clear of the setbacks and hit a United Nations limousine parked at the curb. Across the street photography student Robert Wiles heard an explosive crash. Just four minutes after Evelyn McHale’s death Wiles got this picture of death’s violence and its composure.

From McHale’s NY Times obituary, Empire State Ends Life of Girl, 20:

At 10:40 A. M., Patrolman John Morrissey of Traffic C, directing traffic at Thirty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue, noticed a swirling white scarf floating down from the upper floors of the Empire State. A moment later he heard a crash that sounded like an explosion. He saw a crowd converge in Thirty-third Street.

Two hundred feet west of Fifth Avenue, Miss McHale’s body landed atop the car. The impact stove in the metal roof and shattered the car’s windows. The driver was in a near-by drug store, thereby escaping death or serious injury.

On the observation deck, Detective Frank Murray of the West Thirtieth Street station, found Miss McHale’s gray cloth coat, her pocketbook with several dollars and the note, and a make-up kit filled with family pictures.

The serenity of McHale’s body amidst the crumpled wreckage it caused is astounding. Years later, Andy Warhol appropriated Wiles’ photography for a print called Suicide (Fallen Body).

Taking a break from talking about myself for a moment

I’ve meant to keep this blog updated more than I’ve done, but things have been a bit hectic lately.

I’ve been doing fine lately. I fell out of going to the gym for the past few months due to various things, but I’m hoping to get back to it tomorrow. I’ve been doing fine with my meds lately and nothing really crazy has been going on with me. I plan to return to school and take a class during the upcoming summer session.

Things haven’t been going so well for other members of my family though. After months of tests, last week we found out that my brother has cancer. Thankfully, it’s a cancer that has a high survival rate, so after a few months of treatment, he should be able to beat it. Unfortunately, we got the news right around his 21st birthday, and he’s had to go through a load of shit in the past week in order to prepare for treatment (loads of tests and surgery to place a port in his chest so he can receive chemo meds).  He’s got a lot of crap ahead of him that he’ll have to deal with and we’re all gathering around him to show our support and help him out when he needs it.

Anyway, that’s a really quick summary of what has been going on lately.

I know I have unanswered comments that I need to reply to, so if I haven’t done it yet then I will soon. I’m not ignoring anyone, I promise!