A DIFFERENT MAN? Not When Edward Lives in Shame & Misses Red Flags

People can be cruel. Even worse is having a voice of shame inside that makes you hang your head low and believe every word they say. That’s Edward in Aaron Schimberg’s A Different Man. He tries to change himself. The problem is you also have to change on the inside and grow your confidence. Changing only on the outside doesn’t stop or heal the torment of shame. That becomes clear in A Different Man. Compare Edward to Oswald. Is Oswald a “better man?” A more confident man? Even though Edward thinks so? No. 

Edward in A Different Man

What Oswald has is not genuine confidence. Real confidence makes you kind to others. Oswald has an inflated ego. To maintain it, he one-ups people and takes whatever he wants. That’s greedy and cruel. Ingrid does too. She tosses men away, saying, “So many jilted lovers. I leave a trail of tragedy in my wake.” She tells Edward this with the sadistic pride of someone as empty as he is. She makes him feel bad so she can feel “better.” 

Sadly, Edward misses these red flags. (The color red figures heavily in A Different Man. It’s a sign of the many things that make Edward’s life a living hell he can’t escape.)

Red = Shame 

Red equals Edward’s (Sebastian Stan) shame. From years of mistreatment and pain. He hangs his head low. Avoids people’s gaze that (to him) reveals his “ugliness.” He wears a red plaid shirt and red pants. The Maintenance man says: “Hey brother, be a confident man. All unhappiness in life comes from not accepting what is.” But Edward can’t accept himself. Not even when he’s a “changed man.” There’s a red lamp over Edward’s dining room table. But Edward’s shame colors his vision. Of himself and other people.

Oswald (Edward’s alter ego, his wished-for self) looks people straight in the eye. Showing them he’s no different (better, really.) That’s Oswald’s way. He’ll get beautiful women; he’ll have the most. Oswald (Adam Pearson) wins any contest, even when only in his mind. 

Not Edward. He’ll barely open his eyes when anyone’s around. That’s why he’s in grave danger when he opens the door to his new neighbor, Ingrid (Renate Reinsve). He has a red, bloody cut on his hand after he slashed it with a knife cutting onions. Onions that could make you cry the tears you’ve never cried. Ingrid sees the blood and quickly offers to get her first aid kit, saying she’s no expert. Red flag: she’s not a person to let in; not someone you trust to help with your deepest wounds. Ingrid isn’t safe in A Different Man. 

Later, Edward’s handsome face doesn’t make him feel more lovable than he’s felt all of his life. He lives as he’s always felt; as Ingrid saw, written on his typewriter: “they taunt me and beg me to show my face only so that when I do, they can turn away in horror.” 

Red = Fear

Ingrid isn’t safe, but Edward is so hungry for kindness that he forgets his fear and opens his door. Fear can help you see red flags if you use it well. Not Edward. His fear almost always makes him wary. Reticent. On guard. Living by his original mantra: “When in doubt, live in fear.” Really, Edward has no doubt. He’s certain he’ll see cruelty everywhere he shows his face. That, deep inside, never changes. Yet, with Ingrid, he isn’t careful enough.

Much later, after her betrayal, he thumbs his nose at fear. He turns the tables, wearing the mask of his old face. As if, now, he has no fear. And, as rage overcomes him, Edward intentionally terrifies others, as they still frighten him. Not caring, as no one cared about him. For a little girl. Her father. As he shows them a new apartment. He’s gone “crazy” with hurt. But that’s when rage has gotten the better of him, destroying a life he might have had because he can’t tell the good from the bad. That’s Edward, in A Different Man. He leaves work, and the coworkers who actually like him, yelling things like, “I harbor no ill feelings.” “Let us keep our hatred for the common enemy.” “Fear is a reaction.” 

Yes, fear is a reaction. To humiliation. Mistreatment. Being misunderstood. But it is also confusing. It makes you miss the good things that are there. Retreating in fear may feel safer, but it leaves you with terrible longing for something you don’t believe you can get.

Red = Longing

Longing is a normal feeling. Everyone has it. But when you live in shame, you don’t reach out, you keep to yourself, and feel certain you’ll never have what you want. You don’t try. 

So, when Ingrid gets close of her own volition, doesn’t shun him or turn away in disgust, he lets down his guard. Edward lets Ingrid in, in more ways than one, in A Different Man. 

She’s curious about him. Seems kind. Gets the first aid kit. Dresses his cut. But when she touches him and his hand lingers on hers, a touch he’s never felt from a woman, she quickly rushes out. Soon, his door, broken from Ingrid’s moving in, is painted red. 

Red = Edward’s longing, a longing that isn’t safe. Splatters of red paint reach from his door to Ingrid’s apartment, like blood. A warning? Yes. A red flag. Can Edward listen? He can’t. A rat falls in the dark water from the drippings in his ceiling. Is the rat Ingrid? It’s a warning that even being handsome won’t solve the trauma Edward’s been through.

But when you’re lonely and hungry, longing can eat away at you. You watch what others have, and you don’t get. For a time, Edward’s longing and Ingrid’s seductive friendliness get the best of him. No, he doesn’t see the red flags. Edward almost forgets his fear.

Red = Seduction

Ingrid will have what Ingrid wants. (She and Oswald are two peas in a pod.) She sends a box of cherry chocolate cordials with red writing on the outside. A “sorry” for damaging his door when she moved in. Red = danger. But he’s hungry for something sweet. He takes a bite. Like poison, Edward spits it out. Red cherry goo oozes all over his white bandage. 

Shame lives on. Memories of people staring at him; a female doctor who couldn’t look him in the eye, who should have been “trained” to be sensitive. Humiliation after humiliation. People on the subway. A man at the bar, after the play, talks insensitively about disfigured faces, as Edward sits sullen and shut down, in A Different Man.

Having a handsome face does nothing for Edward. He’s the same Edward on the inside, so filled with shame that he feigned suicide to “put his old life behind him.” As if he could. But hoping you can “be someone else” never works. Edward’s still starving inside.

So, Ingrid’s seductiveness gets the best of him. Why wouldn’t it? He’s understandably hungry for kindness. She makes him hope for something he’s never had. Yet, we see her real colors. When she thinks Edward’s died of suicide, she does what she wants “with his remains.” Ingrid, who “looked like” she was giving, takes and takes and takes, in the end. 

But Edward isn’t dead, though he calls himself “Guy.” He isn’t stone, as hard as he tries to feel nothing. Not dead, Edward feels something when he follows Ingrid, looks at the theater billboard, “Edward,” and sees how Ingrid wheedled her way in and stole his life. 

Red = Greed

It’s pure greed to take someone’s life and call it your own creation. As if Edward never existed at all. Ingrid has her own insecurities (she clearly does not know the many great plays in the world). But insecure people can use cruel defenses, not just disappear as Edward has. Edward takes nothing and expects nothing. Ingrid’s the exact opposite. 

So, here’s the handsome Edward in his new identity as “Guy Morantz” walking along, when he happens upon the small theater advertising auditions for a play called “Edward” by Ingrid Vold. He stops short. How could this be? He decides he must audition. 

No surprise, Edward is convincing, and he’s cast in the role of “Edward” – the role of himself, unbeknownst to Ingrid, who believes he’s dead. He even has the mask of his old face ... the one the doctor made as a prototype to show his progress. 

Of course, he’s held a torch for Ingrid since his days as Edward. And, everything seems to be going so well; he’s even having a loving relationship with her (it seems). Although she insists that he wear his mask during sex, and laughs at him. More humiliation for Edward.

Everything’s going so well (?), until Oswald, with a face so similar to Edwards’ old one, arrives at the theater, holding court. Wanting Edward’s role. Yes, Oswald intrudes and takes over Ingrid and the play, thinking he knows better about Edward than Edward does. 

Soon, Oswald inserts himself into every aspect of the play, Edward’s life, and Ingrid’s in A Different Man. He hijacks the play, grandiosely flaunting all that he “is.” Oswald won’t leave Edward alone until he gets what he wants…the part of Edward.  And, Ingrid herself.

Having everything taken away from you, hurts.

Red = Hurt

There’s a red bowl collecting water from the leak in Edward’s ceiling, the apartment next door to where Ingrid moved in. All the unshed tears from the ways Edward’s been hurt. He ignores the leaking water, just as he ignores the sadness he lives with, day after day. 

Now, after Edward is “Guy,” Edward, the play, is modeled after Beauty and the Beast (per Oswald’s assertion). Ingrid begs Oswald to take the part of Edward, and creates a new part for “Guy,” making him “the prince.” They both show Edward up and push him out. 

This, sadly, isn’t foreign to Edward. 

Ignored sadness piles up until it explodes. Angry, jealous, hurt, and confused about why Oswald commands so much attention and he’s still invisible, “Guy,” is dismissed from the  play. Oswald takes over his role and his identity, moving into his old apartment. And, after Ingrid summarily rejects him (another jilted lover), Edward pokes a hole where the old hole was, in Oswald’s ceiling, with a broom. Handing the broom to the troubled Handyman, he mimics Oswald, “Oh well, I happen to be Edward now…”

Edward has always been Edward. You can’t take on a new name and change who you are. When he’s discharged from the role of the prince (Oswald says the character, Edward, can’t be that attractive), Edward tries to convince himself: “Edward is not a beast.” 

But the hurt Edward feels screams otherwise: “Stay out of ballrooms or crowded places. Be nice to people. Be deferential. Argue if I must, but I mustn’t really, only at a safe distance or under the protection of some powerful friend if I even had one.” He doesn’t. He can’t tell who’s a friend and who isn’t. That’s sad. Plus, ignoring sadness turns to rage.

Red = Rage

Flippantly taking leave of his office mates – who perhaps he might have trusted ... Edward goes to the set of the rehearsal, continuing to go crazy. “This is my red door.” He pushes Oswald, yells at Ingrid, “You stole my life, I’m Edward. I’m Edward.” Oswald says, “Sit down, we can talk.” Instead, Edward grabs at Oswald’s face, screaming: “Take yours off. Take yours off.” Oswald does wear a mask. The mask of a generous and kind man. He isn’t.

Edward is Edward. The sad thing is, he can’t accept himself, heal his shame, and feel like a real changed man on the inside. So, as always, Edward’s rage turns against himself.

The set falls on top of him, just like the ceiling in his old apartment did, the leak as neglected as Edward has neglected his own needs. As “Guy,” Edward ends up in a body cast, immobilized, staring at Ingrid, Oswald, and Michael Shannon, having dinner at a table in front of him, discussing a movie version of “Edward.” Here’s more humiliation heaped upon hurt, in the way Michael talks about his difficulties wrapping his mind around “Edward.” And how unbelievable it actually is for someone to look like that. 

Edward sits and takes it, as they hand feed him “a bunch of crap.” Humiliation hurts. It also leads to rage. His insensitive physical therapist is the last straw. Edward stabs him and goes to prison. But, let’s not forget, as A Different Man shows: Edward’s been in such a prison of shame his whole life that he misses way, way, too many red flags.

Missing Red Flags 

Red flags are those signs that something is off. “Fishy,” as they say. Seeing red flags – those people you can’t trust, the ones that shame and mistreat you - and taking heed can save you a lot of heartache. But if you’re hungry and desperate, you’ll take any crumb. As Edward does with Ingrid, missing all the evidence that she is a user, only out for herself. That’s Oswald, too. Posing as “friends,” they, piece after piece, take every ounce of his life. 

No one should have to grovel for crumbs out of shame, just because you’ve told yourself that, really, you need no one. You can get by on your own. Friends, who wants them?

Years later, upon getting out of prison, Edward runs into Ingrid and Oswald, “successful, happily married, a dynamic duo with kids,” who have joined a cult. They wine and dine him, regaling him with their happiness and their many successes, (flaunting it, as is their way.) They call him “old friend.” That’s seductive. Edward, starving, goes along with it. 

But, come on, really? “Friends?” What about the facts? Friends aren’t cruel, feigning benevolence. They don’t use you. Or, show you up to flaunt how much more they have. Friends don’t exhibit a lack of caring about how Edward is after years of being locked up. 

Edward doesn’t see these red flags. Because when you’re used to feeling on the bottom, like Edward does, with everyone else “better than you are,” you believe it. It’s hard to see that running off to join a cult means that Ingrid and Oswald are just as lost as he is.