On Film, Music, Courage, and the Art of the Bromance

Jenn and I went to see Johnny Clegg last night at the New Mexico Expo Center. Clegg, a South African musician, was here as part of his North American tour to support his first album release in 17 years. The outdoor venue was perfection, with grandstands toward the back fronted by sections of folding chairs and a huge dance space toward the stage. There were perhaps 500 people in attendance, and at least half the crowd was shaking their collective booties to Clegg's music which, in today's parlance, might be called "World Music." To me, this label says nothing and does little to capture Clegg's own brand of electric South African pop. His music is catchy, danceable, and political--a rare combination. He peppers his lyrics with Zulu phrases and supports it with rich harmonies. Clegg, who used to participate in Zulu dance competitions, was enthusiastic and sincere, and his contagious rhythms got  the crowd to its feet by the middle of the second song. Here's a couple of youtube clips:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Puy3XwykfAE&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wX9H40q1vlI

In the past, Johnny Clegg has played before thousands and shared the stage with the likes of Peter Gabriel, Joan Baez, and Nelson Mandela. His wiki page said that he was once so popular in Europe, he was a bigger draw than Michael Jackson. Yet here we were, a few hundred people on a beautiful New Mexican evening enjoying the music of this now semi-obscure, lovely man and musician.

Yes, I admit it: I have a mild man crush on Johnny Clegg.

Typically, my bromances have been limited to actors. My first love--despite deep reservations as to who he was as a man, and more importantly, a human being--was (and I feel only a little embarrassed to admit this): Hugh Grant. I loved him in Four Weddings, Notting Hill, Love Actually, and About a Boy. And after he got caught trolling for prostitutes in L.A. (see Hugh below not in his finest moment), he made a brilliant comeback with an understated performance in Sense and Sensibility.




I enjoyed Grant's unapologetic, womanizing scoundrel in "Bridget Jones Diary," a role, I suspect, that was not too much of a stretch for the actor to nail. On the director's commentary for "Two Weeks Notice," Grant comes across as a charming rogue with a sharp-wit and good sense of humor.  At one point, he mentioned to Sandra Bullock (his co-star and fellow commentator) that he had been told she had a crush on him while on set. There was brief, awkward pause before Bullock laughed in a breezy sort of actor's way and denied it, which, of course meant it was true.

Grant brings a subtlety and humor to most of his roles. Additionally, I admire his boyish good looks and his success with the ladies. The fact that a fellow Virgo--the least sexy of the Zodiac signs--could strike it so rich in the bedroom department was, to me, a reason to hope.

However, a man has to move on, and so I did. To James McAvoy.

McAvoy is a young Scottish actor who is not only extremely engaging on screen, but exudes a certain joie de vivre that so many Scottish performers seems to have. (Has anyone spent time in Scotland? Are they indeed a cheerful folk?) And while not ever cinematic choice of his has been impeccable (see "Wanted," or rather, don't, unless you enjoy vacuous, heavy-handed, special effects-laden movies), there is a certain quality he brings to his films that guarantees to make even a mediocre movie a little more watchable. **

Jenn and I saw one of McAvoy's movies a mere two nights ago, (Atonement). Afterwards, of course, we Googled his ass. My respect grew as I listened to Jenn read about his personal life. As it turns out, McAvoy is the anti-Hugh. He is monogamous, a dutiful father, and a devoted husband. Jenn quoted an actress who worked with the 32 year-old McAvoy on a film. She claimed that through her interactions with McAvoy and his wife on set, she was profoundly influence in her views of love and relationship.

I enjoyed this bromance while it lasted, but there was something missing. A man matures. I am fifty years old, long of tooth and gray of beard (or would be if I had one) and have come to the conclusion that what one wants in life is not a bad boy (Hugh) or the vibrancy of youth (McAvoy). No. As one grows older, one starts to long for something more substantial, something with depth and stability, something that can survive the ravages of time when the bloom has faded from the rose without the drama and emotional tumult of romantic love. In short, as a man matures, he begins to seek the intimacy of a deeper connection on all four levels: the heart, mind, spirit, and gonads. I decide to move on.

To Alec Baldwin.

I never gave Baldwin much thought until I saw him in, "It's Complicated." He had a deft touch and such wonderful comic timing, I couldn't help but swoon. The director's commentary (yes, there are people who actually listen to the commentaries) only confirmed what I had sensed--that Baldwin is an impeccable performer, loved and respected by directors and fellow actors alike.  This perception was only enhanced when I discovered the hilarious, "30 Rock," on Netflix.

I know, I know. These days, when people hear Baldwin's name, the first thing that comes to mind is his, "You are a rude, thoughtless little pig" comment to his 12 year-old daughter. His estranged (and very angry) wife, Kim Basinger, taped and broadcast Baldwin's gaffe to the entire tabloid consuming world. (I would argue that this says as much about her as about Baldwin, but for another day.) I conducted some research on this sordid event and discovered that Baldwin was so distraught afterwards that he--gasp!--entered into counseling and briefly contemplated suicide. Whether he was more upset about what he had said or about being caught, of course, is a matter for debate. I suspect it was somewhere in the middle.

Yet, it's times like these that we get to test the mettle of a relationship, to see if it's strong enough to withstand the stormy waters of our emotional baggage. Now, I'm a therapist by trade. It's a great profession for reflecting back when one is being hypocritical in one's life, what one friend called "being out of alignment." Often times, a therapist can (and does) find himself offering advice to a client who is struggling with the exact same issue the clinician is struggling with in his own life. The invitation is always there--it's more a reminder really--to do one's best to walk the walk. I can't, for example, ask my clients to negotiate the tightrope of forgiveness without trying to live it in my own life. I decided o give Baldwin another chance and to trust that his verbal mishap (okay, assault) of his daughter was a terrible, aberrant mistake rather then the rule of who he was as a person.

One of the nice things about bromances is that there's no need to be monogamous. It's okay to have more than one guy crush at a time, as each seems to reflect a quality or projection that I either want in my life, already have, or would like to magnify. Additionally, I can indulge in an unrequited man crushes without any heartbreak or repercussions to my current relationship.  Jenn, in facts, seems amused that I flit about from one actor to the next like a dilettante butterfly.

Yesterday, I was visiting some friends in the east mountains. One shared that recently she was watching Oprah and the question was raised: If you could choose two people to have lunch with, who would they be? Oprah chose Julia Roberts as one of hers (which I found a bit pedestrian, but whatever), while my friend picked Gloria Steinem and and Nelson Mandela (solid choices in my book). My other friend chose Desmond Tutu, who I have seen interviewed and found him delightful, but she couldn't come up with a female lunch partner. For my female lunch date, I chose the very friend with whom I was having the discussion with. She beamed. For my male lunch companion, I tapped the Boss, Bruce Springsteen, but the choice rang a little hollow. (Although if I could go back in time, say Springsteen circa 1978, well then, lunch it is. Check this clip out to see as rascally and charming a performer as there ever was at the height of his power:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5PoIrcyd34 )    

The point: After the concert last night, I changed my lunch date partner to  Johnny Clegg. The unassuming Clegg grew up in South Africa under the rule of apartheid and was the first white musician to play in public with a mixed colored band. Clegg and his band mates were arrested and jailed several times for the offense, and his concerts were routinely broken up by the South African police. Yet he continued to perform. I admire and am inspired by this type of courage more than I can say. Johnny Clegg, Tutu, Dali Lama, Aung San Suu Kyl, Mandela, people who risked it all for the sake of doing what they know to be right. This seems to me the highest form of courage. During his show last night, Clegg exuded what everyone on this list seems to have--humility, unquenchable good humor, and an unshakable belief in humanity. He reminded me what true strength really is and how one person can move mountains when guided by a clear internal compass.



**(Phillip Seymor Hoffman is the king in uplifting any movie he is part of, but he doesn't cross the threshold into bromance, and therefore will not be part of this discussion.)