As a man, I really don’t seem to get it. Try as I may I work really hard to be that which she expects me to be. How do men compete with contemporary pop magazine culture where the idealisation and pontification is clearly evident and available as to everything philosophical regarding managing the “Ideal Man”? We also find ourselves falling desperately short of the fairy tale tall, handsome hero who rescues the damsel in distress and they live together in unending bliss for ever after? You see, she wants a knight in shining armour to adore her, which I do – if she would let me.
She also wants (as part of the armour) an unarmoured man who will dare to show his spirit and heart, a gentleman or gentle man. She has dreamt a man who will talk and share deep into the night and talk of dreams and hopes and fears. This I would do – if she would let me.
Being blessed with way above average emotional intelligence is a blessing and a curse. The blessing lies in the capacity to recognise our emotions, recognise the other person’s and the ability to respond appropriately. The curse is found in having to be ever mindful and ever careful regarding the words and intonations that emanate from our mouths. I am a psychologist and it is my job to do this, but I don’t ever want to be a shrink in the relationship.
Yet the man who will (out of story land folk lore that has been deeply ingrained since diaper time) stand bravely in the face of certain death is not allowed to show fear! Men have emotions, we feel them but don’t often recognise them for what they are. Even if we do recognise them, we have been conditioned not to acknowledge them or deal with them constructively.
We mere mortal men have more chance of falling pregnant by wind pollination than coming anywhere close to the “Loving” and “The Bold and the Beautiful” square jawed, broad shouldered, whisk me away on your private jet and wine and dine me in Acapulco on a whim man. He has all the right words, but haven’t you got it yet, they were written for him by a bunch of “oh so creative” scriptwriters whose sole work is to elaborate and perpetuate a glittering soft light fantasy. He has the luxury of redoing the scene as many times as the director sees fit to get the “perfect” scene. The rest of us only get one shot at it, live TV if you would like, and if we screw it up there are no edits, no reshoots and certainly no second chances.
The villain in this false fantasy world, despite his evil intent and obvious treachery also gets the girl, and his charm is noted and admired. He can be evil, but his devilish charm shines through. If I behave in any mild way (even by inference) like this bad man, I am condemned forever and am told that my parents weren’t married! He has faults, so do I, so why are his acceptable and mine not?
Take a peek with me, if you will, at the Hollywood stereotypes. Granted the Hugh Grantish iconoclastic Hollywood hero shines through – and he usually survives (with an injury or two which makes him quaintly endearing). The question I need to ask in all sincerity is how many times can a hero dare to show his true heart without being impaled for the sake of love?
The same hero may die, yet he is raised from death to live again in another movie to fight another series of battles, raging on in the name of some earth saving ethical epic with a love interest thrown in – again. Blood and guts abound, bombs explode in the air, the time bomb has ten seconds to world destruction, and a woman appears and love is immediate. Amidst the acrid smoke with nuclear decimation fast looming, the hero has time to talk with, fall in love with and kiss the girl. To top this, he always seems to get the girl for good irrespective of any unkindness he may have shown either intentionally or unintentionally!
So do I, but I always seem to forget the last scene of the last movie where I died! Battered and bleeding I lay on the battlefield surrounded by smoke and guts and gore and said it was all worth it.
Having gone through what I did in the last production, you would have thought I may have learnt a thing or two, and that I would only accept a new role with a new leading lady where I changed the rules, to selfishly suite me for a change. But oh no, not me, the shining daring caring knight has to rise over and over, only to be slaughtered again and again. Strange how we accept the same old scripts as our ongoing reality.
For once, I would like to be the man who dares to be a sensitive hero in a world that allows doors to be opened graciously, and not have it slammed on my fingers. You can’t flip the bird if your fingers are dismembered!
So I don’t really get it do I, or perhaps it is better to say that I shouldn’t accept the part if I am not prepared to die for love. Dying is, however, overrated I have found, and good parts are few and far between. Any actor has to do his share of histrionic soap operas to get a shot at the really big roles.
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