弗兰克

喧鬧、怪誕、可愛、歡樂。

光看Frank的預告絕對會誤以為這是一部描寫叛逆創作者的歡鬧喜劇，但面具、頭套、奇裝異服卻是一首唱給自己聽的孤獨情歌。

拙作插圖: http://ww4.sinaimg.cn/mw1024/725f21d5gw1eh4t176gacj20rs0l7jyv.jpgFrank借用與Bob Dylan傳記電影"I'm Not There"類似的致敬手法，描述一個與Frank Sidebottom這個虛構喜劇人物類似的歌手與他的怪咖樂團，包括不露真面目的主唱、暴力的鍵盤手、心事重重的混音師。

透過一個渴望成名卻沒什麼音樂天份的普通年輕人，將這個怪異小樂團拉到社會大眾面前。

前半段電影保持著歡樂驚奇的趣味，多虧於Michael Fassbender的表演，讓這個單看有點creepy的大頭人充滿不可思議的可愛魅力。

看他們與世隔絕、如同修行般自在的探索創作音樂的樂趣，看身為普通人的主角努力的想要融入這個團隊，觀眾會忍不住想為他的笨拙加油。

但當隱藏在大頭面具中的真相暴露後，觀眾又會為主角的一意孤行感到焦躁。

作為一個功能型的主角，Domhnall Gleeson的角色後半段的轉折被寫得略缺乏層次，除了惹人厭以外沒能給這部片帶來什麼作為，算是本片主要的一個缺點。

好在電影的整體感是流暢的。

中段混音師對Frank的才華羨慕忌妒憾恨的情緒，與後半段主角與社會大眾對Frank的誤解達到了很好的連結，讓喜劇轉悲劇的過程不至於突兀。

描寫cult角色不容於社會的故事，Frank並非第一部，手法算不上特別。

但尾聲處呈現出的浪漫憂傷卻讓人印象深刻。

我想這很大部份必須歸功於演員。

Michael Fassbender很精準的掌握了演員在呈現喜劇與悲劇間相異的表演元素。

前半段他把握到喜劇人物常具有的笨拙單純，同時也表現出演員本身俱備的領導魅力。

後半段則切換到更為寫實的悲劇肢體語言，光是茫然無措的站著就能讓人鼻酸。

以小眾獨立片的完成度而言Frank可說是超越期待的交出亮眼的成績。

它有趣、幽默、反英雄，很好的提供觀眾一次從喜悅、興奮到感傷、反思的旅程，但又不至於過度沉重。

如同劇中他們表演的那些歌曲一般悅耳輕巧。

男主是一个普通职员，喜欢音乐，下班的时候搞搞创作，并没有什么完整的曲目，大概也就是如此了。

一个普普通通的人。

男主加入了一个独立乐队，完全没有名气但似乎却是一个真正的乐队。

乐队里充满了精神不正常的怪咖，他们要演出，他们要录专辑，多么诱人，一个普普通通的音乐爱好者将会一跃成成为传奇乐队的成员吗？

答案当然是不会，这是一个现实的故事。

男主痴迷于Frank，Frank是一个永远带着头套的怪人，精神病患者，这一切在音乐界，在男主的心里都意味着Frank是一个怪胎一个天才，他将会成名，他会被大众追捧。

然而Frank真的是隐世的天才吗，我却并不认为如此。

不带入观影者个人对于音乐的评价，只在电影的世界中，1. Frank的乐队出场就是在一个地下演出，几乎没有听众，也没有狂热的欢呼，演出草草收场。

2. 对Frank评价最高的人是乐队的成员们，男主，其他就没有了。

3. 男主上传的视频点击量确实还可以，但是他最终在饭店才真正认识到，大家都只是觉得他们的生活很搞笑。

4. 片尾Frank重新回到了乐队，看似重新找回灵感的演唱，其实酒吧里也没有任何人做出反应。

也许Frank做的是实验性的新潮音乐，但只是在影片中的社会大众无论专业或非专业的，都没有什么人评价过他。

除了乐队的成员以外，对他评价最高的男主，实际本身音乐的才能也是平凡至极，作曲其实只是门外汉。

而他的评价，就像前面说的那样，更多只是因为Frank是一个怪胎，怪胎就意味着才能，大众们都会这么想。

Frank的父母说出了很关键的话，精神疾病只会拖累他的才能而已。

所以我觉得，这部电影里并没有什么怪才，没有所谓的和社会隔绝的超前音乐，一个普通的乐队搞着自己喜欢的脱离社会的事情。

平凡的男主以为这就是音乐界，这就是圈儿内。

而可惜的是，这只是一个关于平凡人试图实现不切实际的梦想，最终又回归平凡生活的故事。

每个人都希望变成焦点，在关注门槛低下的互联网时代，大家都希望自己是独一无二的人，社交状态夸大其词，就像男主一样，做梦都想着自己能做出音乐，希望自己的生活被人关注，希望成为音乐圈的一员。

他无时无刻不在更新自己“音乐圈”的人生，哪怕是自己被刺也要发推。

但这一年经历过后，他还是会回到自己普通平凡的人生中。

成名有很多种，浮夸而又不付出努力最终只会是一个笑料。

我觉得其实是一个很简单的关于追寻的故事。

对这世界上大多数人来说，我们常常犯的错就是妄图追寻不属于或者不适合自己的东西。

你想要绚烂而璀璨的存在，却没有勇气承认那不属于你，所以你假装爱它，你为了得到成功试图改造它，耗尽了所有的力气才明白，有的东西天生就不属于你，而你只是回到你所在的世界就好了。

给这部电影写影评是一件很心塞的事，因为这部电影本身就心塞无比。

我已经记不清上一次在电影院里哭是什么时候了，当片尾开始滚字幕，I love you all响起，那一刻真的是，眼泪吧嗒吧嗒停不住地掉，想跟旁边的朋友开个自嘲的玩笑却连话都说不出来。

Frank虽然是在说一个独立乐队的故事，也以Frank作为电影名，但我觉得它其实不是一部”音乐电影“，也没有打算给一个特殊的音乐人作传，事实上，它的主题依然还是那老套的主题：人生的无可奈何，与必将清醒的梦想，只不过用了乐队这个载体来说这个故事——但该死的，它讲得真好。

——————电影的视角是以Jon这个普通青年展开的。

为什么由他展开，这一点之后再说。

总之这个一心向往音乐却只能被困在办公室里肖想的青年，机缘巧合下偶遇了一个古怪的乐队，他们一起生活、创作音乐。

也是透过他，让观众认识了一个拥有独特精神世界的Frank，从不以真面目示人，却拥有特殊的魅力，天真、善良、脆弱、才华横溢。

这个神经兮兮的乐队里，每一个人都看上去很不合常理，和人偶做爱的Don，暴躁的Clara，都怪诞一如Frank的头套，电影的前半部分时间，Jon这个代表正常社会的人反而在那个与世隔绝的木屋里成了格格不入的一方。

但他们一定程度上还是维持了相当的平衡，不正常的他们靠正常的Jon提供的资金维持了一年的自给自足，正常的Jon依靠不正常的他们在这一年里第一次看上去更接近了自己的音乐梦想。

可惜，这种平衡没有维系太久，故事很快在乐队因为Jon管理的网络媒介，而被给与在西北偏北音乐节表演机会的面前急转直下。

如果这是好莱坞，那也许电影会让这群怪异的人能够终于在机遇下发光发彩，完成一个”怪咖也能成功“的励志童话。

可惜它不是，事实上观者逐渐不安地意识到，影片越向音乐节这个高潮段落而去，就越加有一种失序脱轨的心慌。

而最后这种心慌，也终于被应证了。

在这里我们先讨论一个问题，在音乐节最后的那场演出，如果一切都如常，乐队没有人缺席，这次表演会成功吗？

答案就是，不会。

永远不会。

还有一个问题，这部关于音乐的电影，为什么在音乐节之前，从未完整呈现这个乐队的作品？

身为观众的我们，似乎无从得知他们耗费一年心血集体创作出的专辑里到底有什么样的歌曲。

我们只知道他们用了哪些怪异的元素，却不知道它们最后组合成了怎样的模样。

因为其实，它们的那张专辑并不重要，它必将堙没无闻，就像他们注定会在音乐节上失败一样，无论是他们自己，还是他们的音乐，本质上，就不属于那个地方，它们属于无名的山区，属于颓败的酒馆，属于没有回音和欢呼的死寂。

这是矛盾的根本所在，他们之所以是他们，Frank之所以是Frank，就是因为他们不属于正常的社会，他们就像能在真空里生存的鱼一样，在和寻常世界不一样的另一个领域里能够自由呼吸，而一旦上岸，就只能窒息死去。

身为一份子的Clara是深知这一点的，所以她才那么反对乐队去音乐节上台，反对乐队有任何成名的可能，因为她知道结局必将失败。

其余两个人其实也心知肚明，但是Frank，这个乐队的灵魂人物，只有他配合着本来就是普通人的Jon坚持到了最后，直到倒下之前，他才承认现实一般地对他和Jon试图迎合观众口味的曲子说，”这些音乐真糟。

“因为Frank，其实和Jon一样，都在试图当一个跨越界限的人。

Jon想要到水里去，Frank想要到空中来。

Jon想要从庸常的碌碌无为中摆脱，抓住自己真正热爱的梦想，而Frank，他咬牙坚持在这越加难熬的空气里，整个人已经如弦一般紧绷，但还是离开Clara去抓住Jon的手，还是在听到Jon说有七万人已经看过他们的视频后，勉力坐起身，留了下来。

他始终是个羞涩的孩童，他不愿意让人看到自己的样子，但他的梦想，一直很简单，他想要告诉更多人，他爱着这个世界，爱着所有他理解或者不理解的东西，有生命的人或者没有生命的板凳，他都愿意倾心以待。

这也是这个角色让人觉得很心痛的地方，他是一条为了想要和更多人说话，而努力游到岸上，最终搁浅的鱼。

他用全部的努力，想要去靠近那个世界，回应所有“期待他、爱他的人”。

告诉他们，I love you all.但在外人眼里呢？

就像Jon在餐厅里听到的那个小哥所评论的那样，啊你们是那群怪咖，啊你们真好笑啊。

虽然Jon的回应是，“I don't think it hilarious at all." 我一点都不觉得好笑。

（顺便一说这也是我对整部电影的想法）但即使是Jon，他也依然不是那个世界的人，他对音乐天才的创作源泉，总是和童年不幸、痛苦经历连在一起，他想象Frank来自不幸的家庭，想象Frank有一张残破的脸，直到后来他意识到，从来就没有什么痛苦意外什么家庭不幸。

Frank，就只是Frank而已，他的音乐才华，他的精神疾病，都是天赋，都是一开始就存在的客观事实，没有办法凭空而出，也没有办法被创造或者中断。

才华有就有，没有就没有。

你是这样的人，或是那样的人，都一样，都是早已定下的客观事实。

怪异的边缘分子如Frank或者Don，他们没办法融入社会的主流，不是因为他们选择如此，而是因为他们就是这样的人。

正常的人如Jon，没有办法融入那个他所梦想并为之不懈努力的世界，不是因为他没有苦难的经历，而是因为他就不是那样的人。

他们各自属于各自的世界，两个世界在那山里的一年，短暂地彼此融合妥协，但很快就会分崩离析，分道扬镳。

这也是为什么要以Jon的视角展开电影的原因，观众跟随着他，就是在经历和他一样，做梦和梦醒的过程。

所有现实里看上去似乎可以实现的梦想，终究不过是自欺欺人的一场幻觉，你以为抓住了它，其实它从来都不属于你。

就像Don说的，终有一天你会意识到，你成为不了Frank。

Jon成为不了Frank，Frank其实也成为不了Jon。

能怎么办呢？

不怎么办，Frank终于还是回到了伙伴们的身边，他没有戴面具，唱着I love you all。

他胸腔里那种纯真的对世界的爱，有这几个人能懂就已经够好，世界不必要知道。

而Jon离开了他的梦想，他对音乐的热诚，他自己明白就好，音乐不必要知道。

所以你们能懂这种心塞的感觉了吗？

因为这是一个再现实不过的故事，但没有什么结局可以比现实更让人无力，虽然这部电影有种种荒诞和冷幽默包裹着，但其实不过是绵里藏针，它带着笑容告诉你。

承认吧，一切就这样了。

到头来，对生活，对梦想，不过一场结局注定的单相思，I love you，and you don't care at all.——————8.16——————　好像出中字了……看到大家都很心塞，莫名有种奇怪的安慰感——啊终于有人陪我了【等等 其实回头来看这篇评论，也觉得太悲观抑郁了一点 当时写这篇的时候就这样自我驳斥过，所以才把标题和最后一句故意反过来写 （也不知道有没有人能get到）标题是我对自己写的最后一句的消极抗议，也是Frank最后在小酒馆里独唱时，电影想要传达给我们的尾音 ——这个世界不在乎，但那有什么关系，我还是爱着它所有的一切 　　 是啊，生活的结局虽注定，但这并不能否定它的过程 单相思虽无果，但心中有爱本身就是可贵的事，不是吗

一个月以前我在梵高艺术博物馆里转，没有租解说器，一切全凭一双毫无天赋的眼睛。

馆中熙熙攘攘的游客大多跟我一样：中年人推着眼镜凑到画前，几秒钟后探回头时还对四周露出一个愧赧的笑，少年女子握着男伴的手，在《麦田群鸦》或者画家的自画像前叹一口气。

大家都专注又怅然，于是我想起前段时间看到的一段话，大意是喜欢艺术的女孩子合上书，想象着自己生在19世纪的巴黎，她要去找到落魄的画家梵高，告诉他自己爱他，请他不要伤心，不要伤害自己，但是同时她知道，即使自己真的身处梵高的巴黎也永远不会爱上他，永远不会去找他，因为无论给人们多少机会，历史还是会重复原来的道路，梵高的色彩还是会被嗤笑为疯狂笨拙。

平民和天才艺术家间的错身而过大抵如此。

有些人生来就与众不同，他们站在云端，低处的人或许能仰望他们，或许一生中能有几个特定的时刻跟他们交汇，但是大部分情况下一生都跟其无缘。

他们就像星星，芸芸众生自然知道高高在上的地方有这些人物，但是大多数人不会耐心观察这些太远太陌生的“异类”，大家纵容他们在自己看不到的地方肆意恣睢，但是唯独到了星星爆炸或者陨落时，大家才会一同抬起头来，感叹着这其实已经过去了很久很久的奇迹。

L`artiste est mort, vive l`artiste! 艺术家死了，艺术家万岁！

那么艺术家对平民的态度呢？

《弗兰克》给出了一份相当浪漫又很经典的答案。

那是一个刚刚招进一名新键盘手的地下乐队，乐队主唱和核心人物Frank是个天才音乐家（当然不是所有人都认为他的音乐是艺术，虽说我还挺喜欢的），是个怪人，因为他从不摘下巨大的头套，为了不摘下来甚至开了医学证明，随时拿给各处安检看。

他无时无刻不在大声宣告给世界听：我是个怪人，你和我说话时只管看着这张假脸，随意给我贴怪人标签就好。

——仿佛他只想留在自己的云端，不愿接近有血有肉的世界似的。

他和怪异的一群人站在一起，其中唯一一个能跟平凡青年Jon说上话的Don也是个睡塑料模特的疯子，于是年轻又天真、没有天赋还不自知的Jon想象着头套下面是一张残缺的脸和一颗残缺的心，这个人的一切对于他都是谜，面罩下面或许是个疯子。

平凡的、连野心都很平凡的Jon大概不知道，自己到底是被那次合演中的音乐残缺的惊艳所吸引，还是被这群人的怪诞所吸引。

他和他们一起生活了一年，拍摄他们的生活并且放到网上，简直是个只身入丛林观察野兽生活的摄影师。

但是直到分道扬镳、乐队已经成了几亿年前爆炸的星星，他才在一个路人的话里看到自己：“你们牛，你们乐队里还有个带着大头套的家伙和一个疯疯癫癫的妞，哥们，你们完全火了啊！

”原来平凡人在乎的并不是艺术，而是特立独行本身，他们喜欢看到几个孤零零的怪物站在高高的舞台上面供他们欣赏取闹，看到无数个自己站在这些怪物对面，就像照镜子一样看到和自己完全相反的，从而短暂地认识到自己——大众是盲目的，是认不清自己的一个集合体。

试图接近Frank的Jon站在两岸之间，以为自己可以扮演调和者这样一个角色。

他被乐队的洒脱吸引，却误将洒脱看做疯狂，并且试图以疯狂为噱头吸引大众，可惜Frank从来不是一个疯子。

是啊，那是大众的误解：艺术家都是疯子。

事实上我们只是觉得跟我们不一样的就是疯子罢了。

艺术家永远是那群最理智的人。

他们可以在被缪斯附体时、最痴狂的状态下触摸到神灵的火花，毕竟也可以冷却下来，冷静甚至冷酷地用世俗的材料拓摹下那朵火花，为了固定住这朵火花他们可以抛弃爱，抛弃作品中的生命（极端例子就是聚斯金德的《香水》），只有热切之后冷静才能创作，或许创作出的是一座幽灵石厅，但是触摸到了某种只能通过死亡留存下来的美，建立了一个新世界，正因如此，艺术家才能被人拔到创世神的高度。

他们冷静地观察着世界，同时观察着自己，他们知道自己和世界之间的距离，那或许是个永远无法抹平的距离，因为他们清楚地看到这样温暖嘈杂的世界永远不会接纳自己这种冰冷的、死气沉沉的异类，于是一些人选择逃避，他们只为自己和自己的同类歌唱，就是那种远离观众的艺术家，像电影中的Baraque和Nana那样，看似无法接近也不太正常，实际上是最冷静的旁观者，还有Clara，穿着一袭白裙，唱着“我想嫁给一个看守灯塔的人”——这样的艺术家，他们发声就是为了体味死亡，他们所有声音也会随死亡一同归附黑暗，或者说他们的生活本身就是漫长的死亡。

并不是绝望，而是一开始就没有希望。

可是Frank是不同的，他不为死亡创作，他不是厌世的疯子，如果和他交流，会发现面具下面是个聪慧幽默的人，而且像孩子一样稚拙胆怯，我想他是因为胆怯才戴上头套的：摘下头套的他只是一张和众人一样的平凡面孔，站在众人之间却不敢抬起头，向大家伸出手，孤独醒目得犹如尖叫；可是戴上头套后他就变成了众生之外的一员，因为从来不属于他们，也不必害怕被他们拒绝，可以随意地对他们唱出莫名其妙的歌曲，可以拉着精神紧张的陌生太太漫山遍野地转圈嬉戏，用“逃离”这样一种极端的手段接近自己害怕且热爱的一切。

他是爱着那些自己始终无法接近的人的，不断地寻找连接自己和世界的途径，爱着难闻的啤酒和臃肿的人群，那一切渺小低贱，并且为了得到人们的爱不惜放弃自己，这种艺术馆古老而浪漫，追求的是为人类歌唱，创作生命而不是死亡，从生命中创作生命，就像梵高的向日葵那样，燃烧自己的生命创作出的绚丽绽放，让观看者从那画作中汲取新的生命，学会爱生命。

但是Frank，你忘了，当你戴着头套对人们说话，没人注意到你的生命，所有人只看到了你的面具。

靠艺术无法填补与生俱来的距离，你可以千百次站到他们面前对他们说kiss me，但是他们会千百次地把你当做哗众取宠的小丑，或许千百次中有一次，人群中会有一个褐色卷发、双眼柔和的年轻人走在你身边跟你一起唱，但是最终你还是会发现，吸引他的只是你的神秘。

于是Frank的头套碎了，他最后站在一群“冷酷艺术家”脚下，和他们共唱“I love you all”时哭了，额头上两道头套的勒痕，看上去简直是个卸了妆的小丑，或者从马上跌入尘埃的国王，或者刚刚戴上荆棘冠、还没被钉上十字架的神子。

《堂·卡洛斯》中有一段，写国王哭了，因为他被自己信任的侯爵欺骗。

宫中大臣都十分意外又窘迫，因为这样一位倔强严肃的君主，站在人类的顶峰，仿佛不食人间烟火，竟然流下了眼泪，这样一来那高贵神圣的面具就裂开了，再也粘不回去了。

国王也好，艺术家也好，这些云端上的人即使落了泪，眼泪也不会掉到地上人们的脸上。

全片看完，甚是鸡肋。

本片顶着剧情、喜剧、悬疑三个类型标签，平心而论，哪一个都只能挨着边儿，仅此而已。

剧情2星，喜剧2星，悬疑2星，均分2星。

文艺范儿给4星，但可惜类型标签没有文艺。

作为一个普罗大众，完全不知所谓“法鲨”之类是何物，因此时常被豆瓣上文青味浓厚的评分给误导一锤子，此片亦属此列。

這部令人心碎的音樂電影想讓我們看到很多東西。

我們看得到音樂人對聽眾數量的愛與恨，看得到大眾與小眾的壁壘，看得到純真如何被現實碰碎，也看到了音樂與音樂人之間的彼此依附....至於我，我看到的，是臉色。

亞里斯多德曾謂：「即使把世界上最美麗的顏色擺在面前，人類還是對最平凡的臉孔更感興趣」。

在擁抱藝術模仿論的亞氏看來，人對人的好奇遠勝其他的一切，觀看他人臉孔的表情這件行為本身就足以成立遺憾與滿足；遺憾與滿足是藝術的基礎，因此，最美好的藝術就是最多臉孔表情的藝術－－悲劇。

從亞氏以至西方古典文明中，悲劇被視為最高級的藝術，與人的臉孔表情密不可分。

然而，音樂呢？

音樂最不包含的就是臉孔。

在電影裏，麥克法斯賓達（Michael Fassbender ）飾演的主人翁法蘭克戴著一顆大頭套，十幾年來不管搞樂團還是過生活都沒拿掉，沒人知道他臉孔長怎樣，當然也就沒人能看著他的表情。

他與他的樂團都對這頭套不以為意，這支樂團搞得是實驗音樂，是小眾的聲音，是自我滿足便矣的迴響。

他們錄音卻不想發行，自然沒有客群，他們的藝術只需彼此能聽，不需在意他人的眼睛。

因緣際會下，不世出的法蘭克登上美國音樂祭典，登上Youtube影片排行榜，法蘭克怪異的模樣成了樂迷茶餘飯後的話題之際，他的頭套被擅自解讀成法蘭克這個人的另一種表情，永遠只會傻楞與怪晃，人類也逐漸對法蘭克這個人如斯看待：一個傻子與怪人。

頭套開始髒了，法蘭克的音樂也變了質，靈魂吶喊的搖擺被剁碎，只餘下艷塗與滾邊的殘片。

觀眾走了，樂團散了，大家最後只留給這支樂團兩個字：怪胎（Freak）！

　是哪一步走錯了？

從悠遊在鄉村錄音的Frank變成了過街被網民嘲弄的Freak，都在於我們對表情的在意與否。

在鄉村，樂團只在意法蘭克的樂色；到了社會，人們更在意法蘭克的臉色。

當法蘭克的一舉一動都像無法變化的頭套表情一樣，做甚麼都被當在搞笑時，有誰會真正在意他的音樂有搞笑以外的任何價值？

法蘭克也被千夫所指迷失了自己，歷經了有生以來最大的折磨。

直到他終於找回作曲的能力，真誠得唱歌給樂團舊員們，才能重新表達自己對同好的愛。

諷刺的是，電影在這一刻讓法蘭克脫下了頭套。

於是乎，螢幕外的觀眾再也搞不清楚，自己被最後一幕感動得不能自己的原因，究竟是被音樂的真誠打動，還是因著演員麥克法斯賓達臉孔的秀氣與淚眼？

樂色與臉色的分野，再一次的齊現而未解。

天才在左疯子在右 而大多数人还是走中间道在影片开头和结尾，都有类似的场景，喊着”Be careful”骑车的少年，在自己门口擦车的中年男子，手挽手经过的老年夫妇。

Jon的家乡或是Frank的家乡，堪萨斯州，布拉夫市，他们分享了类似的童年。

Jon一直以为他不及frank是因为frank有悲惨的童年或类似的经历，其实并没有，frank生来就是不同的， he is born to be different。

才华，天赋，热情，善良他都有，他能让素不相识的陌生人通过短暂交流敞开心扉，是，他有这种力量，他也有光洁的容颜，可是他偏要带上头套。

他想让世界认可他的音乐，所以站在了Jon的身边，但是在SXSW的音乐节现场，在Jon唱起他的糖水可乐时，Frank终于还是崩溃了，蹦出一句话——“YOUR MUSIC IS SHIT.”是，Jon is Jon, Frank is Frank.他们想要角色互换，但最后失败了。

——You play C F &G？

——yeah？

——you’re in. see？

这支乐队给予Jon的任务就是这个，keyboard，可以是Don、lucus or Jon，但是主唱FRANK只有一个，he’s the core.于Jon来说，他是有功利心的，没有音乐的纯粹感和利己的坚持，他要迎合大众做流行感强的音乐，他想要融入队伍，想要在这支乐队中获得地位，他并没有get到这支看似freak的乐队的G点，他搞砸了。

而Frank，他的音乐灵感可以来自自然，来自一切，任何东西都能成歌，地毯上的线头，墙，等等，都可以，但是YouTube上的观众看他和Clara却像是怪胎，他有孩童的天真，clara能懂他，保护他，很赞的乐队呢为什么要靠点击率来证明呢，忠于自己，忠于内心。

好在影片最后，Jon把Frank带到EL madrid，带回乐队，Frank低头拘谨的打招呼，然后逐渐抬头，看着他的朋友，热泪盈眶——I love you all. The chorus. Welcome back, frank.

随手搜的，先摘过来，有空翻一下。

以下节选自Frank: The True Story that Inspired the Movie该书，书的作者Jon Ronson是剧本的Co-writer，也即电影中Jon的原型。

更新，大概是不会翻译了，其实单词很简单很好理解，而且和电影里的对话非常像呢，可见改编之忠实。

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 54Chris 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 funeralThe 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 2010A 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.

只想做一个安安静静的外星人韩松落看《弗兰克》，想起身边许多人。

朋友老柳，写诗、写歌、唱歌，也做陶，以前去过很多地方演出，也组过乐队，后来离开了，那支乐队现在是大神级别的乐队，但这都和他没关系了，他生活在我们这个小城市里，没想过要出去，也没想过要“做些事情”，他安安静静地住在一个很老的小区里，和女友还有一群猫生活在一起。

不甘心的是我们。

有次去他家，看到他做的陶器，件件令我震惊，我马上有了商业计划，租陶窑！

批量生产！

开班授徒！

开网店！

因为对陶艺略有了解，我甚至想到了去哪里买陶土，在哪里建陶窑，怎么宣传网店，乃至怎样包装才能减少运输过程的毁损。

回头一看，他脸涨得通红。

后来，我们曾在许多时候见过他的这种反应，在人们推他上台演出的时候，在交际场合，人们给称他是诗人和音乐家的时候，他的脸，都涨得通红。

现在我们知道了，如果真爱他，就让他安安静静地住在小院子里，和猫在一起。

如果在电影《弗兰克》里，老柳就该是那个神秘乐队的灵魂人物Frank吧，而许许多多人，都像那个偶然闯入乐队的青年Jon。

他进入这个乐队，认识了Frank、Don、Clara，他们沉迷在音乐——不对，应该是声音之中，各有怪癖，Frank永远戴着大头娃娃头套，靠吸管吸取食物，Don只和人偶做爱，Clara阴郁而神经质。

在Jon加入之后，他们决定到山林间的度假小屋里，去录制一张专辑。

事实上，录专辑不过是个由头，他们只是要远离尘嚣，在那里过一种尽可能随心所欲的生活。

而Jon，就像我们这些“正常人”一样，既被他们吸引，也试图用一套入世的生活框架去影响他们。

他在加入乐队之后，就在博客和优酷上发布乐队的信息，这些讯息让他们赢得了关注，粉丝不断增加。

走出山林，去参加音乐节，就成了顺理成章的事，这种推动力，最初来自Jon，远处粉丝的关注，让这种力量膨胀。

Frank对这种关注的态度，非常矛盾，他既希望人们了解自己的音乐——不，声音，又不适应山林之外的一切，事实上，他们到底有没有能为世俗所用的才华，其实也很可疑。

音乐节的失利，于是毫不意外，Frank出走，乐队沦落到去酒吧俱乐部去演出。

幸亏，最后的结局并不那么悲哀，他们又聚在一起了，而这一次，Frank摘下了头套。

作家宗渺渺曾经做过一系列音乐人访谈，在她不那么官方和主流的采访态度指引下，音乐人们都表现出了他们的另外一面，古怪的、随性的，宗渺渺也这样说了：“怪人都是外星人”。

至于他们是不是外星人，暂时没有足够的证据支持，但他们就是那样一些人，就像石头是石头，树木是树木，就像杜鹃有自己的生长地理，海葵有自己的颜色，番茄有自己的味道，它们之所以成为它们，不外是因为这些独属于它们的特质。

如果理解了这一点，《弗兰克》就显得不那么灰暗了，它不是怪人们的失败之歌，也没有谴责这个不肯接纳怪人们的社会，它只是用Jon的观照、入世努力，来映照出怪人们的生活，他们就和石头、树木、杜鹃、海葵一样，有自己的味道和特质，理解这种特质，不去强行纠偏（这个说法其实也不妥当，但我们的立场多半如此），就已经挺好了。

电影里没有出现过乐队的完整作品，片尾那首歌，也不能说明弗兰克到底有没有音乐天赋，其实这根本不重要，重要的是，他们活在那些声音里，生活在乐队成员的彼此接纳里，以此为寄，以此为栖。

而这，就已足够。