There is a certain look that is often played on the face of beautiful, egotistical, fragile, struggling male characters in TV shows, and every time I see it, it takes me back to a different time.
I recognise that look intimately. I thought the connection to it would have faded with time, but it hasn’t yet.
It pulls at me; sad and unavoidable. More doomed than I ever was.
I don’t care to draw parallels between those characters and reality, but that look – that empty, desperation-drenched aura – I feel it every time.
And it wouldn’t be fair of me to declare what really lies beneath that look. When I see it these days, it’s played by actors – who’s to say they’re playing it the way I think they are?
Who’s to say it means what I think it means?
Who’s to say I’m even remembering it right?
I could have always been seeing things that weren’t really there.
But that look always seems to come with collateral damage. Sad and unavoidable.
It’s a signal of futility to anyone on the outside.
A warning to approach, or remain, at your peril.
And it breaks my heart all over again, knowing that there’s nothing to be done.