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The New You: Aaron Schimberg on A Different Man
Adam Pearson in A Different Man Aaron Schimberg has always had a personal interest in facial disfigurement. The New York–based writer-director was born with a bilateral cleft lip and palate, along with other medical issues, and has spent the majority of his filmmaking career grappling with people’s perception of him. Much of that has manifested into his bold and sharp-witted filmography, which has considered questions about his place in the world and the ways cinema has shaped prejudice and attitudes toward disfigurement.
“I write these films as therapy in some sense,” Schimberg tells Filmmaker. “It’s an ineffective form of therapy because I get done with them and I’ve learned nothing. I’m just left with the same questions I started with.”
Schimberg’s latest, A Different Man, raises even more questions. The follow-up to his critically acclaimed 2018 sophomore feature Chained For Life is a feverish and unsettlingly strong cocktail of multiple genres—from dark satire to grotesque horror—that negotiates an array of uncomfortable and insightful truths. Sebastian Stan stars as Edward, an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis (a condition in which non-cancerous tumors grow on the face) who lives inside a slowly collapsing New York City apartment. After meeting a friendly playwright (Renate Reinsve) next door and taking part in an experimental surgical procedure that changes his face, Edward finally seizes the opportunities he’s always dreamed of—that is, until Oswald (Adam Pearson), a charming, magnanimous and similarly disfigured man, enters his life and threatens to upend his creative ambitions and distort his previous sense of normalcy.
A portrait of an existential spiral that pulls thematic and aesthetic strands from The Elephant Man, Cronenberg’s body horror Beauty and the Beast, A Different Man hit the festival circuit following its Sundance premiere, sparking debate throughout Hollywood about representation, identity and other thorny questions that come with holding a mirror up to a beauty-obsessed industry. Ahead of the film’s opening, I spoke with Schimberg about this project’s impetus, his ongoing relationship with Pearson, bringing New York City to vivid, grimy life and plenty more. A Different Man is out in theatrical release beginning September 20 from A24.
Filmmaker: You’ve mentioned your medical history previously and interest in writing about facial disfigurement. I was curious what sparked this specific story. Was this a long-gestating project for you?
Schimberg: Obviously, I get asked this question a lot, and I cycle through various answers, all of which are true but none of which tell the whole story. They all feel reductive in some way. So many things have to come together. But, to start, like you said, my films are personal. I’m usually embarrassed to talk about it, but I do have this cleft palate, as well as a host of other medical issues, and for better or worse—mostly for the worse—they shaped my perception of myself and the way others see me. I’m still dealing with that, even as a middle-aged man, so that’s the foundation of all the films I make.
Then, I met Adam Pearson, who I worked with on Chained for Life, who is disfigured in a way that is even more visible, but who doesn’t seem to let that define him. I’m in awe of that, but it also makes me question myself. What have I been doing wrong? Could I have done everything differently? But I’m also aware that Adam’s charisma is not the whole story, that our experiences are different, that all of us respond to our circumstances the only way we know how. But that leads to the question, can we change the way we’ve always been? And do we want to? Those questions had been on my mind when I saw this girl that I knew, who was the shyest person I’ve ever met, take some kind of class to learn to be more assertive. I heard that, and then years later, I saw her and literally did not recognize her. Even for the first few moments we were talking, she was assertive and brash, maybe even a little rude. She was a different person, and I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to think. I respected it. I was happy that she did what she needed to do and impressed by the work she must have put in, which I guess paid off, but I was also unnerved by it. I didn’t really like her and preferred the older her, but why did I prefer that? Because she was shy, and I was sympathetic because she reminded me of myself. Which version was the real her? Is there a real her? Could I change to what I want to? Why wouldn’t I if I don’t like myself? Does this mean I like myself more than I realize? These were some of the starting points of the film.
Filmmaker: When you have questions like that, does that naturally spark a writing process?
Schimberg: It’s always some question that I can’t answer, so I’m dealing with emotions, and it’s an exploration into something that maybe doesn’t even have an answer, and those questions are what I want to explore. That’s always that thing that sparks an idea, knowing that wherever I go with it, I’m not going to come out with any kind of conclusion. I think of them more as explorations. One of the questions in the film is just how much our self-definition is influenced by the way others define us. Can we carve out a definition of ourselves that isn’t dependent on the way others define us, or even at odds with it, and how do you maintain your dignity when other people have denied it to you? I don’t know that there are answers to these questions, but it’s an interesting starting point.
Filmmaker: It reminds me of the scene at the afterparty, when there’s an audience member that comes up to Edward and starts saying, “I didn’t really have plans to go see this play, but it’s now provoking all these questions. And now I’m really thinking about this for the first time.” That seems like a definition of success, and maybe that’s the same for you.
Schimberg: Part of that scene is really inspired by some of the feedback I got from Chained for Life and anticipating some of the feedback I would get for this. When you’re dealing with disfigurement, it seems to bring up questions and feelings that aren’t usually present, so I just wanted to put those questions out there, like “I know what you’re thinking.”
Filmmaker: How much did some of these questions in your previous fillm, Chained for Life, about whether disfigurement is a punishment or perhaps a liberator, help you ruminate and clarify some ideas for A Different Man?
Schimberg: Maybe I’m paranoid, but I had a sense that Chained for Life was marginalized for its subject matter. I think that people didn’t really know what to do with that film and didn’t know how to perceive it. And it was difficult to program, even for basic reasons like, what is the language that you use if you’re writing a synopsis of this film? You’re not only dealing with disfigurement, but with films about disfigurement. People have preconceptions about films about disfigurement as well, and Chained for Life didn’t really fall into an obvious category. So, after I was done with it, I said to my wife, “Make me promise that I won’t make another film about this next. It’s just box office poison; it’s not working. Maybe down the line I can revisit the subject.” But I’m stubborn and thought, “I want to prove myself wrong. How can I make the subject palatable and still ask these questions?” And a very basic idea was, “Well, we’re going to need some kind of Hollywood star.” But what does that mean? I’ve always wanted to cast people with disfigurements playing people with disfigurement, but I was criticized for that as well. It’s damned if you do, damned if you don’t. In terms of this conversation about representation that people are having, it seems suspect to cast somebody in makeup or in prosthetics. But if you also can’t cast somebody with an actual disfigurement, it’s really saying to me, this is a subject people want to avoid. This is just something you can’t really portray in any way. So, I thought, “I’m going to do both in this movie, and let these two ideas battle it out.”
Filmmaker: This movie also bounces around so many genres—horror, the grotesque, existential comedy. There’re so many moods, so many touch points. What was the writing process for you like as you started to navigate so many different ideas?
Schimberg: It’s funny, I agonize and agonize before I ever start writing: What is this film going to look like? What is the genre? Should this be funny? Should this be tragic? And then I start writing, and it’s out of my control. It just is what it is, and that’s always been the case, and I try to keep that in mind. A lot of people have said it cycles through so many genres, but I’m not conscious of that. I’m never conscious of, “Now we’re going into psychological thriller, and now it’s turning into more of a comedy.” I just let it happen, and it works itself out. That being said, in terms of the transformation sequence, I think that an earlier me in an earlier film may have avoided that sequence completely. I would have said, “I’ll be disfigured, then I’ll cut to later and have been cured.” And maybe it was a commercial decision in a way, or almost a compromise, in terms of, “I’m going to let this moment play out.” I was uncomfortable with it because this is not exactly how this would happen. But I settled on this idea that it’s really makeup coming off. The scene is really about an actor under prosthetics shedding these prosthetics, but it’s not that. We got one take of that, and it was amazing. That was just good luck in a way.
Filmmaker: You’re talking about not being able to distinguish yourself from all these genres that you’re touching on. How difficult is it, then, to sell a screenplay like this to producers? It doesn’t feel like this is a very natural elevator pitch.
Schimberg: No, and I was always concerned with that. It was a tough sell. I really have to give credit to Sebastian. It started as all my films do. My partner, Vanessa McDonnell, has produced all my films. We took it out there, but then Killer [Films] came on. That certainly helped us start to get it out to various people, financiers and actors, but I think there was still a sense that nobody wanted to touch this film, and I was prepared for that. Then, Sebastian read it and said, “This is the next film I want to make.” And with him on board, suddenly people were interested. That’s how movies are—fine, and it’s not unusual—but certainly a lot of people I had talked to said, “it’s interesting, but this film is never going to be made,” or “It’s interesting, but I don’t see any commercial potential.” I’ve always operated under the assumption that these things are out of my control anyway. I don’t know how to make something commercial or noncommercial.
Filmmaker: You hadn’t had a star of his magnitude attached to a project of yours before. What is it like to watch the process play out when you’re in a room and all of a sudden Sebastian Stan is really going to bat for it?
Schimberg: Well, this came together so quickly. He basically said, “I want to do this now. I have time now, I have commitments down the line.” So, I spoke to him; the next day this film was happening, and then in a matter of weeks, six or eight or something, we were shooting. We went from nothing to shooting the movie, so I didn’t really have time to think. We had to cast the whole movie, find all our locations, assemble a crew from scratch. My only thought, really, was, “This is going to fall apart. Sebastian will walk away, or someone won’t like what we’re doing, and they’ll pull the funding. It is all going to fall apart for some reason.” There was that anxiety the whole time. Other than that, I didn’t have time to really think about it. We were doing work very quickly, and that was stressful. But it’s also a nice way to do things, and the way all my films have happened in a way: It gets momentum and it happens. And it didn’t sit there for years, as many films do. I’m grateful for that.
Filmmaker: What kind of conversations did you have with Sebastian about the ethics of representation and exploitation? Did he, or even you, have trepidation about him wearing prosthetics and creating this version of Edward?
Schimberg: Ethically, I felt that I was on solid footing because I felt that I was in control of the story, that I had a purpose and reason for doing this and that it was all leading from one form of representation into another. I knew I might be criticized for it, but because I’m writing about my own experiences, I felt that the film was ethically sound. But I didn’t really have conversations with Sebastian about the ethics; I know that Sebastian and Adam had their own conversations, but I didn’t feel a need to explain myself. I did have a lot of concern about how we were actually going to do it, and that, too, I owe to Sebastian. Sebastian knew [makeup designer] Mike Marino and said, “This is the guy to pull it off.” And again, this happened in a matter of weeks; we didn’t see the makeup on Sebastian until two days before shooting. The whole film would have been altered, if not failed completely, if the prosthetics had been horrible or unconvincing. Mike sort of did it as a favor to Sebastian—although Mike also said that The Elephant Man was why he got into this business. So, he was fully on board but working below his usual rate as a favor to Sebastian.
Filmmaker: Maybe subconsciously, did you have a different relationship with Sebastian when he was in prosthetics or wearing a mask on set versus when he didn’t have them on?
Schimberg: I can’t say I had a different relationship with him, but I remember somebody saying, “Sebastian’s not a method actor, but when he has the prosthetics on, he becomes a method actor.” It was like when he had the prosthetics on, not only did people respond to him differently, but he seemed to behave differently. I don’t know if this was him gearing up to perform, or the way people were responding to him, or the weight of the prosthetics on his face or just our perception of what was happening, but he certainly carried himself differently, even when he was not being filmed, which I think is unusual for Sebastian.
Filmmaker: That dynamic on set made me think about making a movie within a movie, which is a narrative technique that you like to employ, and you do it a bit here with the stage play. I’m curious why that narrative device is so enticing to you and what it helps elucidate in your stories.
Schimberg: I can’t say specifically, but I think that when you’re dealing with this subject, you have to devise strategies to disarm people, to circumvent the layers of prejudice, so that you can explore the subject more sensibly. Because you’re also dealing with, as I said, not only the prejudices about disfigurement, but about films about disfigurement. It’s almost like I have to bring the ideas of films about disfigurement into the movie in order to circumvent these prejudices or deal with them in some way. I don’t have a conscious reason why I do it. In fact, I think that it’s something I actually try to avoid. But it’s almost like something that I’m stuck with.
Filmmaker: I want to ask about Adam Pearson. He’s such a dynamo in this movie. How did your relationship start with him, and how has it evolved as you’ve worked together?
Schimberg: Well, for Chained for Life, I wrote the role not knowing who he was, but I did describe the character as having neurofibromatosis and a British accent. Then, by chance, while in the middle of the script, I saw him in Under the Skin and thought, “I’m going to offer the role to him.” But I didn’t know if he was truly an actor. I mean, he’s great in that movie, but it’s improvised, and it’s one scene. And in Chained for Life, we did have a lot of dialogue, and I like to shoot in long takes that often go from beginning to end, and I didn’t know if he was capable of that or would deliver a good performance.
Then, when he got on set, I realized, “This person is a great actor, a real talent.” I also thought his performance was underappreciated because people seem to conflate him and the character he was playing. They seem to think, “He’s just playing a version of himself, this shy person.” And I knew that wasn’t true. I knew that he was playing exactly who I had asked him to play, and it was the farthest thing from his personality. So, that alone inspired me to want to write a character that was more like him, that would not only show off his range but was almost an homage to him. It’s the only role that I’ve written specifically for someone. You know, I did do that in my first film, Go Down Death. I wrote a role for Mike Tyson, and he didn’t do it, so I vowed never to write a role for somebody that I didn’t know again. But certainly Adam is a major inspiration on this film. It couldn’t have been made without him. I told him from the beginning, “If you don’t want to do this, I’m not going to write it, I’m not going to make it.” But he was fully on board. We’ve discussed these issues to some extent, and our shared experiences, but that’s not something we dwell on. We have other interests, and also we have a professional relationship—you know, we talk about character.
Filmmaker: Oswald, Adam’s character, really represents the power of being comfortable in your own skin, but he also has that natural charisma that draws people to him. Knowing his personality, how much fun was it for you to come up with a variety of skills, talents and attributes for him to play around with—and for Sebastian to gawk at?
Schimberg: I don’t know why I specifically chose something like yodeling, although his yodeling in the movie is not actually the greatest. Adam does have a lot of random talents: he can do magic tricks and accents—a lot of party tricks, which I have none, so I’m always fascinated by that.
Filmmaker: But can he actually play saxophone?
Schimberg: He cannot play saxophone. I don’t know if he can play an instrument, actually. I don’t know why I made that his instrument of choice.
Filmmaker: You mentioned this briefly, but you do have this interest in long, extended takes. You have one at the end of Chained for Life that’s very unsettling and very illuminating. There’s several similar moments in A Different Man. What draws you to that technique? What does it allow you to do as a filmmaker that a regular cutting scheme might not?
Schimberg: Well, I think it can be inherently dynamic, and I also think actors like it. But the real reason behind it is that my films have been very low budget. We’ve had very limited time to do things, and I have these scenes that go on for five minutes. And when you’re in that situation, we have time to do four, five, six setups, but they’re going to have to be easy and static. There’s only so much you can do to shoot a scene, and with a five-page scene, one or two shots is as few as is necessary. You get four or five takes of it, and we’re done. So, for me, it’s expedient in a way. It’s complicated, and it requires everybody to bring their best to it. It’s been my good fortune that we shoot a five-page scene and everybody knows the lines and the crew is hitting their marks because if something fell through, I wouldn’t be able to get away with this style of shooting.
Filmmaker: What was the most unique aspect of having a larger, or at least a more comprehensive, budget and apparatus?
Schimberg: There were obviously many benefits, but previously, I had set my films essentially in one or two locations by design: Chained for Life, we took over a hospital. How can I create these worlds in one, two or three spaces? And for the first time, I wrote a script that takes place in the city, where there’s 25 locations or whatever. We’re renting out bars and restaurants, and we’re shooting on the New York streets and in the subway. I never would have been able to do that previously. So, even though the general feel of the shoot was not so different from my previous films—we had the same number of days as I’ve had in the past—we were able to realize things that would have been way out of reach for me previously.
Filmmaker: I’m wondering how you decided to approach shooting the city. Did you change your style depending on where Edward was in the narrative?
Schimberg: Well, it’s funny because I am always concerned about budget when I’m writing my scripts—how am I going to do this and how much is it going to cost? So, even though I was trying to not let those kinds of anxieties stop me, I really was thinking, “There’s no way I’m going to be able to shoot this in New York. New York’s one of the most expensive places to shoot, so even if I get more money than I had in the past, the first thing that some producer is going to say is that we have to shoot in Toronto or Albuquerque or something.” So, in a way, I was writing New York in a stylized way, so that when that bomb eventually dropped I would be prepared for that. And then the producers said, “No, this is New York. We’re going to have to shoot it here, and the budget is going to have to accommodate that.” And on the first day of shooting, the first thing that we shot in the whole movie is when he’s walking under the elevated train. There’s blaring cars and sirens and horns and the train rumbling overhead, and I realized, I must have been crazy to think that I could have shot this anywhere else. I also realized, “OK, I have to just go with this. This is going to be noisy. I’m going to make this film noisy and use what the city is giving to me.”
I also realized that what I thought was a stylized, unrealistic version of New York that I had been writing actually seemed strangely accurate. A lot of it just comes from my ambivalent feelings about New York. For instance, there’s the hole in the ceiling. I almost took it out because it does seem to have metaphorical qualities which, to me, are blunt and obvious, but I didn’t put it in there [because of that]. To me, it was completely literal. It came from a hole that we had in our ceiling that was actually worse than the one in the film. It was so bad that it created a hole in the floor and then created a hole in the ceiling of the apartment below us. This was, I think, an early disillusionment I had with the city when this happened in my first apartment in New York, and I realized anywhere else I lived, this would be fixed immediately. Some superintendent would come in and declare this a health hazard. But in New York, it was like, you know, “Fuck you. You don’t like it? We have a security deposit, just try to sue us.” It was just this accumulation of experiences like this. You know, I love New York, it’s my home, but it’s certainly a complicated relationship.
Filmmaker: I think my favorite New York moment in this movie is the overhead shot of the ice cream truck trying to move around an ambulance as paramedics are preparing to load in a deceased body.
Schimberg: I went to college in Los Angeles, and there everybody would always pull over on the freeway for ambulances to get by. And in New York, you see an ambulance and nobody moves. I think this is not a place that I want to have a heart attack. I’d die in the ambulance, stuck behind a double-parked car.
