Monday, July 31, 2006

Masked Illusion.

What is it about a man dying in a mask that is so appealing?

I spent the night watching V for Vendetta, which is a terrible movie, though it did have one interesting aspect - I watched as V, being mortally wounded, made his way through an abandoned subway in search of the women he loves. It was interesting in that a masked man, in his dying moment, staggered through the barren halls of a long abandoned subway leaving an ominous trail of blood - a personal signature, all the while doing it behind the cold solemn confines of an impersonal mask. First staggering to the left, then to the right; often he would press himself against the wall leaving an alarming smear of blood across the wall which in and of itself did all of the speaking for a man who spent his entire life silently hiding behind a mask.

I saw the scene and I immediately drew a parallel to a book I once skimmed through entitled, "What to Say After Hello" - a book in which I intend to finish one day. I drew the parallel of the masks that everyone wears, the masks that become so attached that it is impossible, and implausible to remove them. In V's dying moment he refused to remove the mask, even as he lie there lifelessly the mask remained as his love, that which was dearest to him, knew there was no sense in removing it as the man behind the mask wasn't V, but rather just faceless nameless body that had no connection to V. V, just like so many others, had become inseparable from the mask so that his entire existence was embedded within the small plastic crevices that outlined the over-dramatized face.

I can't recall how many times I, as a child, had lived out that exact same scene wearing a mask. Mortally wounded, wearing a paintball mask, I would stagger through the halls of the house desperately trying to avoid the inevitable. Fallen, I would then cast my eyes through the mask and stare at the infinite sea of carpet as my mind would focus upon my eventually downfall. Strange.

The lasting impression I think the scene leaves me with is the idea of a masked man trying to stagger away from death as he clings to the wall for support while leaving a stark trail of blood that screams out all the emotion of man that was unable to express it. Like an open revolt against the illogical confines of the mind, the blood adamantly cries out in a panicked fashion, ‘mortally wounded’ as the mask dawns the same appearance it had from the moment it was adorned. Just as the man had spent his life throwing out illusions to the world behind the safety of a plastic mask, it shows that in the end it is but impossible to live solely by illusions as the unrelenting blood on the wall lies as a testament to that which cannot be controlled. Yes, the expressions of the face can be controlled, and the emotion of the face can be subdued, and the emotion of life can be deflated, but the essence of life cannot as the blood on the wall testifies to. Emotions, situations, and feelings can all be downplayed but the ceaseless bleeding cannot as everyone who sees it knows that no lie, no mask, and no illusion can attempt to cover up the tragedy of a masked man about to die.