說弗蘭克之前，先要說梵高。梵高是個天才，或者說，梵高最終被炒作成了天才。但是，大部分藝術(shù)史學(xué)者都會告訴你，梵高的心理疾病阻礙了他的藝術(shù)創(chuàng)作。換句話說，梵高的繪畫能力和他的心理問題沒有因果關(guān)系。不是說，因為梵高得了焦躁抑郁癥（或者癲癇，或者美尼爾。。?？茨阆嘈拍姆N理論），才成就了他的繪畫天賦。恰恰相反，梵高本來就對色彩表現(xiàn)很有靈感，心理疾病讓他無法專注創(chuàng)作，甚至英年早逝（自殺）。

弗蘭克跟梵高的處境差不多，唯一不同的是，我并不認為他是一個梵高級別的天才（如果梵高真的是天才的話。。。這一點上我有所保留）。說實話，電影也根本沒有把他當(dāng)成一個天才來表現(xiàn)。電影里有些人物把他當(dāng)成天才，但是他本身到底是不是天才，其實電影本身并沒有定論。但是很多人在看完弗蘭克之后，理所應(yīng)當(dāng)?shù)木桶堰@個電影理解成“不被世俗理解充滿童真的天才，改變自我去迎合世俗，最終返璞歸真”的文青故事。而在我看來，這其實是一個“本來有希望成為天才的人如何被心理疾病毀掉音樂前途，最終只能自得其樂，但其實也不錯”的故事。

我沒看之前也一直以為這是一個“不被世俗理解的天才”的故事，一個神經(jīng)質(zhì)，不愿意長大的彼得潘，不愿意承擔(dān)責(zé)任，卻以一種童真吸引周圍失去童真的人，在他身上獲得一種滿足感。電影前半段也的確是這樣一個故事，一群不用工作，神奇的有吃有穿，整天被一些形而上的“first world problem”折磨的hipster 的故事。但是電影后半段慢慢開始把這個只存在于樂隊視角中的獨立王國跟現(xiàn)實世界結(jié)合在一起。

我想大部分人會同情特立獨行的弗蘭克和他同伴，也有人會對喬恩心懷怨念。但是喬恩又有何過錯？弗蘭克的伙伴們以不知所以然的弗蘭克為中心搭建了一個虛構(gòu)世界，而外來的喬恩不過是捅破了這層含情脈脈的窗戶紙而已。

于是摘掉頭套的弗蘭克只能投奔父母，失去弗蘭克的樂團只能在空無一人的酒吧演唱，喬恩則面對真正的弗蘭克，一個家庭幸福的精神病人，一個本來很有前途但是卻被精神病拖累的偽天才。大家都從喬恩的鏡子里看到了真正的自己：沒有才華，毛病大把，根本沒有獨立生存能力，對自己的價值存在不切實際幻想的幾個音樂票友。

最終，弗蘭克和伙伴們又回到了自己建造的空中樓閣。但是，如果不考慮生計問題（電影人物大多不會考慮這些），只要自己過得開心又有什么不好呢？

===

我忍不住要冒天下之大不諱說一句：這個電影的音樂真的是非常難聽。不好意思，說我是俗人也好，不懂獨立音樂的精神也好，我當(dāng)真是無法欣賞這種連調(diào)子都沒有的音樂，配樂也各種吱哇亂叫。。。拜托，并不是說把風(fēng)馬牛不相及的音效混在一起就叫天才的好嗎。

網(wǎng)太挫好不容易啃完Frank的生肉，來寫寫。從開頭男配的腦內(nèi)獨唱+獨白就見識了配樂的強大（里邊所有被角色不齒的調(diào)調(diào)我覺得都挺好聽的啊...），并且奠定了全片魔性的風(fēng)格（并不，是黑色幽默）。

一說片子里兩個對立方面，男配是個失敗卻想成功的人，無時無刻不在找靈感寫曲子盡管結(jié)果不好，這一點跟Frank他們樂隊（SORONPRFBS簡稱SORO好了）很像很像，這也許是為什么一開始那個鍵盤手招了男配到gig來。但同時男配和SORO從一開始也不一樣，男配需要twitter跟外界交流、牢騷日常，反正就是對自己音樂人的身份十分認同并且因為不成功不出名整天喪氣竄天；SORO干脆是純粹地下，完全不苦于出不出名，gig也是自己不滿意就內(nèi)訌不演了，后來想出專輯大概也是希望做個成品把自己的概念傳播出去，甚至為此在森林里呆了一年，所以那對法國男女說男配disgusting，大家根本就不是一個追求嘛。

二說Frank，實際上是Frank把對立兩方融合起來了，可以看出來樂隊里他跟男配關(guān)系最好。其實一開始是鍵盤手找男配入伙的啊，但鍵盤后來說過他很想成為Frank*，這是從配角角度對主角人格性格的肯定吧，同時也說明了主角會在配角身上有一定映射。Frank帶著大家尋找、制造和錄制各種聲音（在這想說一下這才是我所認知的音樂的真諦?。?！不只有旋律，還有各種經(jīng)過奇妙混合的聲音加入到歌曲里面，旋律所表達的一切情感才被真正充實——因為旋律本身并不能讓人感同身受，而音效帶出的質(zhì)感和情景才真正接地氣有靈魂啊。順便這里推首歌，Muse的Animal一定聽到最后），他能輕易把人逗開心，就他身上有的那種積極個性陽光完全不能被頭套限制，雖然說肯定是因為自閉之類的原因才會戴頭套，但這樣一來自閉小伙就直面人生了嘛，帶給人的靈感鼓勵溫暖肯定是他自己也想感受到的所以這種力量其他人遠遠不及。然后要引出歸屬感的概念啦，F(xiàn)rank屬于SORO，而SORO歸于地下——不是那種埋沒、隱晦的地下，更多是種自娛自樂和對自己優(yōu)秀個性風(fēng)格的保持，同時男配屬于大眾社會，從Frank的角度來講男配甚至不屬于音樂，加入SORO從一開始的尋找機會發(fā)光發(fā)熱到后來的利用，男配跟SORO群體跟Frank的矛盾越來越突出；其間Frank還想迎矛盾而上，這跟他的自閉和男配的影響都脫不了關(guān)系，自閉久了容易被外面的世界吸引從而變得極端想要迎合上去，最后本來說好的big gig失敗因為樂隊分崩離析，就剩Frank一點點的不甘心（或者說是因為男配的忽悠）追趕著微弱的成功的可能性。男配一心為了成名完全不顧其他成員的勸阻最后傷害到Frank導(dǎo)致他消失，后來Frank頭套沒了（鯊鯊上線）讓人心疼得想抱抱他根本就沒想好該怎么如此面對以前熟悉的環(huán)境吧，之后哭著給SORO大家唱的I love you all實在感動感動感動（從特別羞怯的沒話找話到自然而然大家一起和出調(diào)調(diào)節(jié)奏和效果器來嗚嗚嗚嗚嗚，而且還有不常見的法鯊眼淚煽氣氛我的麻麻...）本來追求這么一致愛好品味這么統(tǒng)一的大家湊在一起就很棒了啊根本不用出名不是嗎?？傊^套給了Frank歸屬感于是他安安心心地生活了十幾年并且把自己的天分鍛煉的超級棒；森林給了SORO歸屬感所以他們能夠沉著氣隱居一整年每天都醉心于創(chuàng)作；音樂對男配而言沒有歸屬感他要的不過是出名，前后twitter界面上follower數(shù)量變化的細節(jié)也體現(xiàn)了這點。
以上，F(xiàn)rank，大概這樣。前邊的那個*是想說鍵盤手曾經(jīng)說自己想成為Frank，可惜Frank只有一個，后來自殺的時候戴著Frank的頭套，大概是“die as Frank”，是從作品內(nèi)部對角色的肯定也是對Frank自身的另一面的另一種詮釋吧，如果他不是這么talented如果他內(nèi)心并不單純不積極如果他不快樂那Frank就也不會存在了啊。

三說SORONPRFBS，樂隊名字沒法念隱喻他們沒法成功，這里用周國平的話說就是在精神領(lǐng)域的追求中，不必說世俗的成功，即便是精神追求本身的成功也不是主要的目標(biāo)，目標(biāo)即寓于過程之中，對精神價值的追求本身成了生存方式。比較喜歡的是生存方式的概念，把追求作為生活方式不就是SORO他們在木屋里錄歌時候的精神支柱嗎，出不出名究竟又有什么必要。這樣說來好像男配很可惡進來摻和一腳整壞了又走了，但其實他逼得Frank本體示人同時SORO經(jīng)歷這番一定能走上更明白的路至少對自己追求什么一清二楚了。男配在找出走的Frank的時候意外得知網(wǎng)上的點擊率大多數(shù)其實是在看他們的笑話（媽蛋根本是編劇在自黑自己的逗比設(shè)定吧），他意識到自己對Frank和樂隊的破壞有多大（重復(fù)了好幾遍I ruined everything），感覺挺好笑實際挺悲傷的啊，做一些不能被理解的實驗音樂（實際超級好聽好么）被當(dāng)成逗比這簡直是藝術(shù)的悲哀，知我者謂我心憂，不知者謂我何求。其實不被人理解是藝術(shù)的悲哀也是幸運，要相信啊開拓者總是少的。片子在對實驗音樂的價值進行探討的同時可能也有著對電影行當(dāng)?shù)膽n慮吧，也許，我瞎說的。

結(jié)束的太突兀算了最后來安利??！首先對于腦殘粉（就我吧），頭套Frank萌得令人發(fā)指，裸臉Frank心酸得讓人嗷嗷叫不敢直視對方不給正臉什么的嗚嗚嗚（其實主要因為法鯊的顏////////），F(xiàn)rank身材全程高能，腰身還有好看的胳膊和手////////法鯊講話唱歌什么的根本把持不住?。。?！【對于路人來說】，全員逗比的同時帶著分量十足的內(nèi)心戲，BGM全部給42個贊，各種小細節(jié)的黑色幽默都妙不可言，色調(diào)有種大森林水汪汪涼爽自在的感覺，樂隊音樂全部現(xiàn)場演唱錄制反正我覺得每首都好聽QAQ（包括被除了SORO全員都唾棄的女配的茲茲電音好好好好聽），哦不過警告全片無女主（。
片尾放了三首鯊鯊唱的歌，之后還會出專輯，天地良心?。。?！

就這樣

電影一開始的時候第二任Keyboard自殺。
我們不知道第二任keybord為什么自殺，但是DON為什么自殺導(dǎo)演卻給了我們完整的過程。
DON最開始在天臺上問JON覺得弗蘭克如何的時候，DON的眼睛是閃閃發(fā)亮的，他真心的崇拜弗蘭克，覺得弗蘭克是天才，弗蘭克的才華讓人無可企及。
后來他和JON散步的時候，他又一次感嘆弗蘭克的天才。
然后是JON作曲的時候，DON覺得JON的曲子不行，說他特別明白想作出好曲子結(jié)果卻作出shit的心情，然后彈了自己的曲子。JON說他覺得自己的曲子和DON的曲子都很棒，但是DON說很糟，他們都無法成為弗蘭克。
DON想成為弗蘭克那樣天才的人，但是他知道自己永遠無法成為弗蘭克。

我覺得這個樂隊在電影一開始就有四類人。
弗蘭克，Clara。
DON和第二任鍵盤手
鼓手和貝斯
JON

弗蘭克和Clara是不同尋常的天才，他們有著讓人驚艷的才華，卻也有著致命的缺陷——他們無法迎合世界，無法融于普通的世界。區(qū)別是Clara明白他們就是如此不再強求與世界對接，而弗蘭克努力想要讓世界接受他們喜愛他們。
DON和第二任鍵盤手，他們能夠觸及天才的世界，也有著自己的缺陷，能夠融入天才的世界里，也能在偽裝之后融于普通人的世界（電影里弗蘭克有說，DON現(xiàn)在和普通人談戀愛，只是得想辦法讓他的那些戀人不要動），但是正因為能游走于兩個世界，所以更明白弗蘭克這些人的驚才絕艷和與眾不同，也更清楚他自己永遠無法成為弗蘭克那樣的人。
鼓手和貝斯，其實感覺這兩個才是看的最清楚的人。
JON，就是normal。在普通人的眼里這些天才是因為有著各種各樣的原因才會成為天才——我不像他那樣genius，是因為我不曾經(jīng)歷過那些痛苦。我們自視甚高自以為是總認為自己無法出名是因為沒有機會，但其實內(nèi)心里很清楚，并不是如此，我們默默無聞，不是因為不努力，其實就是因為自己沒有足夠的才能。

JON從一開始就想尋求在樂隊里的地位，但是他慢慢便明白了DON的話，弗蘭克是天才；但是他不認同DON的“我們無法成為弗蘭克”，因為他從一開始就沒想成為弗蘭克而是想讓自己成功——這也是他與DON的不同，他和DON看到的不同，追求的也不同。DON在弗蘭克身上看到的是難以企及的才能；而作為普通人的JON，他也愛音樂，想要得到別人的認同，但他同時也看到了由這才華可以在普通社會里得到的東西。他發(fā)推特，發(fā)YouTube，極力鼓動大家去參加音樂節(jié)，都是因為如此。他想要樂隊出名，但是他想要的與弗蘭克想要的不同。JON的眼里YouTube播放量和弗蘭克眼里的YouTube播放量本身就代表這兩種東西，JON眼里播放量代表著知名，而弗蘭克眼里這代表著“有多少人喜歡他們的音樂，愛著他們”——他們從一開始，就不在一個世界里。
在最后音樂節(jié)上臺的時候JON很激動的唱了自己的歌，直到這個時刻他追求的依舊是自己能夠被眾人承認，能夠被眾人看到，借著因由弗蘭克而得到機會……JON從Clara手里搶奪弗蘭克，大概是他自己心里一直清楚，沒有弗蘭克，他走不了那么遠，到不了這里。他始終不明白，弗蘭克和他不同，就像他一直在意弗蘭克的頭套，想摘掉弗蘭克的頭套，而不是像Clara和DON一樣不在意弗蘭究竟如何，與弗蘭克普通的相處。
電影里在臺上弗蘭克倒下，JON停止唱歌時，有一個細節(jié)，弗蘭克說這個真的太爛了，而JON在他們搞砸一切后，回頭看了一眼后臺的他覺得心儀的女生。他們關(guān)心的、所處的世界，從來不同。


但是，弗蘭克所代表的天才們并不是真的不想融于這個世界，他們并非沒有嘗試過，但他們與生俱來就是不同于常人。不是不想，而是無法。
弗蘭克試過，然后失敗了。

隨手搜的，先摘過來，有空翻一下。
以下節(jié)選自Frank: The True Story that Inspired the Movie該書，書的作者Jon Ronson是劇本的Co-writer，也即電影中Jon的原型。
--------
更新，大概是不會翻譯了，其實單詞很簡單很好理解，而且和電影里的對話非常像呢，可見改編之忠實。

In 1987 I was 20 and the student union entertainments officer for the Polytechnic of Central London. One day I was sitting in the office when the telephone rang. I picked it up.

"So Frank's playing tonight and our keyboard player can't make it and so we're going to have to cancel unless you know any keyboard players," said a frantic voice.

I cleared my throat. "I play keyboards," I said.

"Well you're in!" the man shouted.

"But I don't know any of your songs," I said.

"Wait a minute," the man said.

I heard muffled voices. He came back to the phone. "Can you play C, F and G?" he said.

The man on the phone said I should meet them at the soundcheck at 5pm. He added that his name was Mike, and Frank Sidebottom's real name was Chris. Then he hung up.

When I got to the bar it was empty except for a few men fiddling with equipment.

"Hello?" I called.

The men turned. I scrutinised their faces. In the three hours since the phone call I'd learned a little about Frank Sidebottom – how he wore a big, fake head and there was much speculation about his real identity. Some thought he might be the alter ego of a celebrity, possibly Midge Ure, the lead singer of Ultravox, who was known to be a big Frank Sidebottom fan. Which of these men might be Frank? If I looked closely would there be some kind of facial clue?

Then I became aware of another figure kneeling in the shadows, his back to me. He began to turn. I let out a gasp. Two huge eyes were staring at me, painted onto a great, imposing fake head, lips slightly parted as if mildly surprised. Why was he wearing the head when there was nobody there to see it except for his own band? Did he never take it off?

"Hello, Chris," I said. "I'm Jon."

Silence.

"Hello ... Chris?"

Nothing.

"Hello ... Frank?" I tried.

"HELLO!" he yelled.

Another of the men came bounding over to me. "You're Jon," he said. "I'm Mike Doherty. Thank you for standing in at such short notice."

"So," I said. "Maybe we could run through the songs? Or ... ?"

Frank's face stared at me.

"Frank?" Mike said.

"OH YES?"

"Can you teach Jon the songs?"

At this Frank raised his hands to his head and began to prise it off, turning slightly away, like he was shyly undressing. I thought I saw a flash of something under there, some contraption attached to his face.

"Hello, Jon," said the man underneath. He had a nice, ordinary face. He gave me a sheepish smile, as if to say he was sorry that I had to endure all the weirdness of the past few minutes but it was out of his hands.

Before I knew it we were onstage. As we played I watched it all – the band assiduously emulating the tinny pre-programmed sounds of a cheap, children's keyboard, the enraptured audience, and Frank, the eerie cartoon-character frontman, his facial expression immobile, his singing voice a high-pitched nasal twang.

After that night – the greatest of my life – a year passed. Life went back to normal. Then Mike phoned and asked if I wanted to be in Frank's band full time. So I quit college and moved to Manchester.

And there I was, in the passenger seat of a Transit van flying down the M6 in the middle of the night, squeezed between the door and Frank Sidebottom. Those were my happiest times – when Chris would mysteriously decide to just carry on being Frank. Nothing makes a young man feel more alive and on an adventure than speeding down a motorway at 2am next to a man wearing a big fake head. I'd watch him furtively as the lights made his cartoon face glow yellow and then black and then yellow again.

I am writing this 26 years later. The music journalist Mick Middles recently sent me his not-yet-published biography Frank Sidebottom: Out of His Head. His book captures perfectly that "rarest of journeys" when an onlooker got to see the man born Chris Sievey turn into Frank. "The moment the head is placed the change occurs. Not merely a change in attitude or outlook but a journey from one person to the other. I completely believe that Chris was born as two people." Middles likens Chris to transgender people, trapped in the wrong body.

I never understood why Chris sometimes kept Frank's head on for hours, even when it was only us in the van. Under the head Chris would wear a swimmer's nose clip. Chris would be Frank for such long periods the clip had deformed him slightly, flattened his nose out of shape. When he'd remove the peg after a long stint I'd see him wince in pain.

Frank's character was of a child in a northern town remaining assiduously immature in the face of adulthood. He was a paean to ordinariness. But Chris wasn't ordinary. He was chaotic. Sometimes, on the way back from some gig, I'd become aware that we were taking a detour to some house somewhere with some women we somehow met along the way. There would be partying while I sat outside on the sofa.

In the van I'd listen to Chris's stories, trying to understand him. He reminded me of George Bernard Shaw's unreasonable man: "The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." Chris was the unreasonable man, except the world never did adapt to him and he never made any progress. Like when Frank was asked to support the boy band Bros at Wembley. There were 50,000 people in the crowd. This was a huge stage for Frank – his biggest ever, by about 49,500 people. It was his chance to break through to the mainstream. But instead he chose to perform a series of terrible Bros cover versions for five minutes and was bottled off. The show's promoter, Harvey Goldsmith, was glaring at him from the wings. Frank sauntered over to him and said, "I'm thinking of putting on a gig at the Timperley Labour Club. Do you have any tips?"

We crisscrossed Leeds and Bury and Sheffield and Liverpool playing the same venues over and over again. Time passed and the audiences grew to 750 and sometimes even 1,000. It was consequently baffling for me to become aware of a growing sense of discontent in the van. Chris had been asking friends to perform cameos between the songs on his records. In this spirit he had asked his brother-in-law's friend Caroline Aherne to voice the part of Frank's neighbour, Mrs Merton. Afterwards, Caroline decided to keep Mrs Merton going. She somehow got her own TV show, The Mrs Merton Show. She won a Bafta. Her followup series, The Royle Family, won about seven. The Royle Family Christmas specials attracted audiences of 12 million. And meanwhile we were crisscrossing Manchester and Bury and Leeds and Sheffield and Liverpool in our Transit van.

The band's guitarist Patrick Gallagher told Middles: "It wasn't Caroline's fault. Chris was totally out of control. Whereas, say, Caroline Aherne had a single vision and could just pursue that, Chris might have a fantastic idea, and then, just as the point where it might actually get somewhere, he would spin off onto something completely different. That's OK for a while but it tended to piss people off because they never knew where they stood."

Suddenly everyone around us was becoming famous. My next-door neighbour Mani had a band. They became The Stone Roses. Our driver, Chris Evans, left us to try and make it in radio. By 2000 he was earning ￡35m in a year, making him Britain's highest-paid entertainer.

There is always a moment failure begins. A single decision that starts everything lumbering down the wrong path, speeding up, careering wildly, before lurching to a terrible stop in a place where nobody is interested in hearing your songs any more.

With Frank I can pinpoint that moment exactly.

"Chris wants to have a rehearsal," Mike told me one day.

"Why would Chris want to rehearse?" I said.

"To take things up a level," Mike said.

Chris's house was in a normal, nice, modern cul-de-sac. His children were playing outside. His wife, Paula, answered the door and told me to go to the spare bedroom. I walked up, passing the bathroom and glanced in. Staring back at me from the sink was Frank's head.

"In here, Jon," I heard Chris shout.

I opened the bedroom door. And stopped. A man was standing there, maroon shirt tucked smartly into neat black jeans. As I walked in he started playing a tight soul-funk riff with seeming nonchalance, but I understood it to be an act of aggression.

"Who ... are you?" I said.

"I'm Richard," he said. "From the Desert Wolves."

I'd like to say that during the years since Richard the bass player took an instant dislike to me – a dislike that only intensified during the months that followed before the band imploded, and climaxed in him yelling that he'd like to break my "keyboard-playing fingers" – he went on to have a disappointing life. But he didn't. He became one of the world's most successful tour managers, looking after Woody Allen and the Spice Girls. He currently manages the Pixies.

Richard was not the only proper musician Chris brought in. A skilful guitarist and a saxophone player turned up in the spare bedroom too. We began to sound like an excellent 1980s wedding band.

Chris told me to book us the biggest tour we'd ever undertaken. He choreographed it so I would begin the show. I'd walk on stage, alone, into a spotlight, and play a powerful C with my left forefinger. The synth brass tone – the most stirring of all the Casio tones.

We hired a people-carrier instead of a Transit van and set off to our first venue. The mood was pumped. The old band members had a certain avant-garde loucheness. But this new band: I felt like I was in a college sports team. We soundchecked. The place was packed. And then I walked out into the spotlight. And in the space of that first song – our classic Born in Timperley (to the tune of Springsteen's Born in the USA) – the audience veered from fevered anticipation into hoping we were playing a weird joke on them into realising with regret that we were not. The NME savaged us. By the end of the tour we were playing to almost-empty houses.

Chris returned to Manchester to a court summons. He owed ￡30,000 in back taxes. On the day of his court appearance the judge told him it was a very serious matter and had he considered a payment plan?

"Would a pound a week suffice, m'lud?" he asked.

"No it would not!" the judge shouted.

Chris never actually said to me: "You're fired." But I began to notice in the listings magazines that he was doing solo shows – just him and a keyboard. They were in the same venues we used to play, then in smaller venues, and then eventually there were no shows at all.

I moved back to London.

Ten years later I was in the park with my son when the phone rang.

"HELLO!" said Frank Sidebottom.

"It's been so long. How are you?" I said.

"Oh I'm very well actually, Mr Ronson," Frank said.

"Frank," I said. "Will you put Chris on?"

Chris filled me in on the past 10 years. Now divorced from Paula, he was an animator on the children's claymation series Pingu. He loved the work but missed Frank and wanted to bring him back from retirement. He was wondering if I'd write something about my time in the band to help him with the comeback. My story was published in the Guardian. My friend, the screenwriter Peter Straughan, asked me if I thought the story could be adapted into a film.

Not long after that, Frank was playing at a pub near my flat. I found Chris in a dressing room at the back, Frank's head in a bin bag at his feet.

"How did you lose so much weight?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, looking pleased.

"Well, whatever you're doing," I said, "you look great."

We walked across Kentish Town Road so Chris could buy some cigarettes. He'd already given us his approval on the film and I told him the latest news. FilmFour wanted to fund its development. But – and Chris and I shuffled awkwardly around the question – what would the film actually be about? Specifically, Chris wondered, would Chris be in it? Chris had always said we could do what we wanted with the story. But he was worried that however the film might depict Chris, any reality would surely damage Frank.

I had similar concerns. Chris portrayed himself as untroubled. While a total dearth of anxiety was a fantastically enviable character trait in real life, how could we write a film about a man who just didn't care when everything went wrong and in fact found disaster funny? And if Chris was secretly more obsessive about Frank than he let on, how would he feel if the film reflected that? But there was a solution. What if we fictionalised the whole thing? It could be a fable instead of a biopic – a tribute to people like Frank who were just too fantastically strange to make it in the mainstream.

I set off for America to research other great musicians who'd ended up on the margins – Daniel Johnston, Captain Beefheart, the Shaggs. A week after I returned, I saw Frank Sidebottom's name trending on Twitter. I clicked on the link and it said "Frank Sidebottom dead". I wondered why Chris had decided to kill off Frank. So I clicked another link:

Stars lead tributes as Frank Sidebottom comic dies at 54
Chris Sievey, famous as his alter ego Frank Sidebottom, was found collapsed at his home in Hale early yesterday. It is understood that his girlfriend called an ambulance and he was taken to Wythenshawe Hospital, where his death was confirmed.
Manchester Evening News, 22 June 2010

When I'd told Chris at our last meeting how thin he looked – he didn't know it then, but it had been throat cancer.

Frank Sidebottom comic faces pauper's funeral
The comic genius behind Mancunian legend Frank Sidebottom is facing a pauper's funeral after dying virtually penniless. Chris Sievey had no assets and little money in the bank, his family have revealed.
Manchester Evening News, 23 June 2010

A pauper's funeral? What did that involve? A journey back in time 200 years? I sent out a tweet. Within an hour 554 people had donated ￡6,950.03. By the end of the day it was 1,632 donors raising a total of ￡21,631.55. The donations never stopped. We had to stop them.

A Timperley village councillor, Neil Taylor, started his own fund-raising campaign for a memorial statue – Frank cast in bronze. He sent me photographs of its journey from the foundry in the Czech Republic to its final resting place outside Johnson's the dry cleaners in Timperley. In the photographs, Frank looked like he'd been kidnapped but was fine with it.

And now our Frank film – directed by Lenny Abrahamson and starring Michael Fassbender, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Domhnall Gleeson, is going to be premiered at the Sundance film festival. As I prepare to go to it, I remember something Chris once said to me. It was late one night, and we were in the van, reminiscing about a show we'd played a few weeks earlier at JB's nightclub in Dudley. It was very poorly attended. There can't have been more than 15 people in the audience. One of them produced a ball, the audience split into teams and, ignoring us, played a game. In the van, Chris smiled wistfully.

"That Dudley gig," he said.

"Ah ha?" I said.

"Best show we ever played," he said.

今天去電影節(jié)看了，對世博館區(qū)域人生地不熟，小伙伴們沒頭蒼蠅一樣亂撞，結(jié)果就是沖進影院電影已經(jīng)開場了。jon小哥在熒幕上邊走著邊做著曲， 回到家記錄靈感卻又產(chǎn)生了不如意的懊惱。短短幾個鏡頭就勾勒出了這個生活渾渾噩噩，有夢想又達不到的形象，閑來有事無事在社交網(wǎng)絡(luò)上發(fā)個狀態(tài)，幾乎都跟你我一樣。

然后轉(zhuǎn)機出現(xiàn)了，大頭樂隊【】的鍵盤手去跳了海，jon臨時頂替上陣。雖然因為設(shè)備故障他的演出只進行了一會兒，不過他因此認識了Frank，大頭樂隊的靈魂人物。從此之后事情就都改變了。

Frank是個特別的人，就像don，那個和人形模特做愛的前鍵盤手說的，世界上只有一個Frank，古怪而友好，帶著孩童一樣的不諳世事，直指人心，最重要的是他媽的才華橫溢。他那種特殊的感染力很容易就成為了樂隊里的精神領(lǐng)袖。在山區(qū)里錄歌的日子大概是全片最歡樂的一段，笑聲那個叫此起彼伏。看的時候就感嘆英國網(wǎng)絡(luò)覆蓋真好，這種荒郊野外都有無線網(wǎng)絡(luò)。。。以及人人都是拖延癥患者，林中小屋租期都過了，jon只好自掏腰包?？删退氵@樣他依舊不討人喜歡，而討厭他的人以生猛的Clara大姐為首。話說這位大姐簡直就是俄羅斯戰(zhàn)斗種族，全片穿著一身vintage睡衣長裙晃來晃去，冷不防掏出來一把掏腎小刀分分鐘戳瞎你。jon小哥被她激的跳出浴缸大叫cunt那一幕簡直全場爆笑，按Clara下一秒就把小哥辦了的反應(yīng)看來小哥的小弟應(yīng)該不錯，不知道和法鯊比起來怎么樣【喂等等

然后終于，終于，在jon的胡子再不刮掉都能去演耶穌了的時候，他們開始錄專輯了。法鯊在此處展現(xiàn)了歐洲第一腰線的美妙肉體！附送nipple一枚！【喂 錄完專輯的那一段對話其實是個預(yù)兆。don 和done的發(fā)音很相似，而他喝慶功啤酒的樣子就像是再也沒有下一次。確實也再沒有下一次了，第二天的清晨他帶著Frank的頭罩吊死在了河邊的樹上。

之前他用jon的電子琴自彈自唱的那一段相當(dāng)?shù)暮谏哪?，?yōu)美哀傷的旋律唱的是和人形模特做愛，這明顯是沒治好啊你怎么放出來的！然后他就發(fā)表了那套一Frank論。從他的話里明顯能聽出對Frank的艷羨。jon和don一樣，窮盡一生或許都只是mediocre，而Frank則像是一個異教徒的膜拜對象。最終don帶著永遠都成不了Frank的抑郁憂憤自殺了，他離Frank最接近的距離也不過是死時戴在頭上的頭罩。

至于后面的船葬就坑爹了啊，燒木柴的火就能把人燒成灰了？船還好端端的飄回來了。。。導(dǎo)演文科生妥妥的【藝術(shù)創(chuàng)作就不要這么計較了好嗎

這部片子前面一個小時笑料都挺多，最后半個小時讓人鴉雀無聲。情節(jié)上的轉(zhuǎn)變不是急轉(zhuǎn)直下，而是矛盾一步步的爆發(fā)，如同溫水煮青蛙。Clara對于jon的厭惡不是毫無來由，這女人的嗅覺和保護欲像是一只母豹。因為這個外來者根本和樂隊成員是兩類人，而Frank偏偏還挺喜歡他，這簡直氣死人了。大頭樂隊的組成者都是音樂nerd，而jon不是，無論他多么努力地試圖融入這個集體，體驗他自以為的折磨和黑暗童年，就像梭羅住在艾默生借給他的小屋里躲避人頭稅。jon的夢想是站在舞臺中央接受所有人的掌聲，而Clara對此不削一顧，雖然按照馬斯洛的需求理論人人都渴望社會認同，不過Clara似乎是個例外。她不需要外人的認同，有Frank就夠了。但是Frank就像個小孩子，聽到他的音樂有人喜歡立刻欣然同意了演出的邀約，而知道真相的時候沮喪地都縮到了桌子下面。Frank到美國之后一路上明顯freak out了，而jon看不到這一切，或者說看到了，卻視若無睹。他的注意力在別的事情上。他想通過Frank來實現(xiàn)自己，可那是不可能的。Frank穿著裙子給頭盔花了大濃妝上臺是全片荒誕和諷刺的高潮。jon讓他迎合觀眾，于是他就用他的理解這么做了，最后的結(jié)果當(dāng)然是失敗。

失去頭盔以后Frank就像是變了個人，話說這段法鯊演得真好，一個大男人低著頭握著拳頭仿佛一個局促不安失去依靠的小孩，失去了音樂創(chuàng)造的動力和靈感。而jon也失望的發(fā)現(xiàn)了，他之前臆想的折磨和黑暗童年根本不存在。影片的結(jié)尾jon帶著Frank去找了Clara他們，然后Frank重新開始唱歌，流著淚水。而jon走出他們的生活，就像是熒幕前的觀眾在字幕結(jié)束后總還是要走出放映廳各回各家。the illusion is over。

說實話這片子的主題還是比較老的，一是借Frank的父母之口吐槽了文青“音樂靈感源于黑暗童年”的觀念，二是影片矛盾也很眼熟：一個局外人機緣巧合加入了他一直夢寐以求的XX團體，得到了這個小團體靈魂人物的賞識，和靈魂人物的原親友產(chǎn)生矛盾，最后發(fā)現(xiàn)現(xiàn)實和夢想的大相徑庭。這種套路可以拉出一個排。不過好在導(dǎo)演還是加了點新元素在里面的，例如社交網(wǎng)絡(luò)。jon從一開始就不是一個有強烈主見的人，他甚至聽從網(wǎng)絡(luò)視頻對于激發(fā)靈感的建議，而最后Frank父母的話算是徹底把他抽醒了：Frank的才華和靈感都是天生的。影片的結(jié)局早已在開頭的那個海報鏡頭中昭示了，jon的夢想是站在舞臺中央，而現(xiàn)實中他最后還是臺下諸多模糊身影中的一個。

好吧最后放任自己來花癡一下。這片的原聲是必須要下的，法鯊的歌聲必須當(dāng)voice porn循環(huán)播放。歐洲第一腰線穿背心簡直就是肉彈蘇的人找不著北，就是本來已經(jīng)頭大還戴了大頭盔更加五五身了哈哈哈哈【喂 摘下頭盔以后則讓人心疼，哪怕頭上化妝做了兩圈疤痕頭上斑禿【。也還是那么美！【。拉近景特寫就感覺底下的迷妹蘇倒了一片啊。。。然后往don的尸體旁邊放小海豚玩具還有迷妹喊了一聲Charles！這位迷妹你克制一下好嗎！

ps. 出來以后簡直不能直視電影院宣傳屏幕上dofp的老萬

pps. 我還有兩篇論文沒寫居然來寫這個，簡直作死，明天還要刷locke，活不成了_(:з」∠)_