Brad Pitt as Abject d'Art
by Peter Rubin

When Guy Ritchie's recent Brit-heist flick Snatch started percolating through the punters' laddie-mag circuit, there wasn't all that much for critics to fawn over--except maybe Brad Pitt's turn as Mickey One-Punch, the filthy gypsy pugilist who chews up the scenery with his if-it-ain't-brogue-don't-fix-it patois. Fast-forward three months, with the movie now in stateside release; Mr. Aniston's turn has again been hailed by pretty much anyone with at least one nice thing to say about the movie (the niceties of which are left for a different piece). Could it be that his acting has improved? Or could it just be that he's gotten uglier?

There he is on the cover of this month's Details, looking like a frat stooge during Mardi Gras (rumors of a photographer foul-up have been circulating through the publishing industry). Say what you will about the revamped Details, its covers have been eye-catching--luring the reader to its ever-confused and mediocre content. Brad's profile is no exception. See him smolder in a soft-focus-soft-porn tub shot! Thrill to the interviewer's description of "impossibly blue eyes," "perfect abs" and "indie cred"! Watch Brad flop on his bed and cover his face in weariness at his objectification! It's not surprising that Missouri's second-favorite son is tired of the beefcake rep; for years, it's all he could find on the menu. Thelma and Louise; Johnny Suede; A River Runs Through It; even Ralph Bakshi's lysergic toon-noir Cool World: men scoffed while women swooned. His body, said supporters, was hot. His body of work, said detractors, was either calculatedly estrogenilicious or shamelessly preening. Pitt's looks made him a strange sort of pariah; given the homoerotic taint of fandom, for men to like him would be tantamount to having a crush on him.

Sure, there had been glimmers of talent; the smoked-out roommate in True Romance deglammed Pitt a bit, while drumming up business for honey-bear bong salesmen the world over. But after Tom DeCillo sent him up in Living In Oblivion (the movie-in-a-movie's overbearing solipsistic star, Chad Palomino, is widely rumored to be based on DeCillo's experiences directing Pitt in Suede), something seemed to give way for Pitt. A number of his next projects--Kalifornia, Se7en, 12 Monkeys--were decidedly darker roles, and hinted that there really was an actor under those pecs (his Tourettic 12 Monkeys role garnering him an Oscar nomination). Then, with the critical yawn that welcomed Meet Joe Black to the theaters, he turned to Fight Club and became something of a celluloid Cindy Sherman, embracing the Abject as a means of escape from his aesthetic identity. Chipping a tooth during filming, Pitt insisted on leaving it untended; it was perfect for his soldier of misfortune Tyler Durden. And the movie glorified the imperfect, exalting Durden through a sheen of blood and sepia. Despite (or maybe because of) the decidedly Spartacus-like slant of the fight scenes and Durden's who-needs-women asides, the movie proved to be Pitt's crossover to Guy Territory -- it was predictably huge among disaffected would-be alpha males who fancied themselves castrated by cubicle culture.

So now we've got two continents' worth of raucous T&A enthusiasts thronging to see RitchieÕs or Fincher's latest--it seems that Dirty Brad is finally suitable for straight-man admiration. Meanwhile, his critical receptions have been getting kinder and kinder. Consider the correlation and ask yourself: why is this the only demographic that can confer legitimacy? It's hardly the first time that an actor has uglied up for credibility; in fact, judging from the examples of De Niro and Hanks, it's what actors do--thirty pounds here, a beard there, and your range is hailed far and wide. The thing is, De Niro and Hanks were never Tiger Beat heartthrobs, and that's the cardinal difference. Pitt is aware of both his peacock past and the odd catch-22 it places him in: you canÕt become a movie star without looking like one, yet the phenomenally attractive, well-groomed man can't be a decent actorÑunless he's, you know, (insert limp wrist here). Sherman once told Harper's Bazaar that beautiful people are as freakish as those considered ugly; beauty and ugliness may be two sides of the same coin of aesthetic extreme, but the fact remains that the blemished side unmistakably energizes Pitt's two most recent roles (before he returns to clean-shaven charmer in The Mexican and Ocean's 11). Whether he sees himself as a modern-day Method master or just feels freed acting without an overtly pretty-boy component, Pitt pushes his six-packed swagger through Tyler Durden and Mickey One-Punch with the abandon of someone who's actually become his character--someone other than Brad Pitt.