In anticipation of Jim Carrey’s newly released “I Love You Phillip Morris,” it is worthwhile to take a second look at one of Carrey’s early and often overlooked forays into the realm of serious cinema. To set up “The Truman Show” for an audience who has never seen it, I would have to preface the recommendation with the reminder that few among us can forget the seventh grade rite of passage that came through reading “The Giver” by Lois Lowry. In the Newberry Award-winning novel, (remember the gold seal on the front, next to the Giver’s head?) the main character discovers that his entire life has essentially been a lie, and that the success of his community is predicated on his fortitude in enduring the pain of being a “chosen one.”
A more adult-friendly version of the same story comes in Peter Weir’s “The Truman Show.” Carrey, not having yet discovered his “big boy serious voice” of “I Love You Phillip Morris,” or even “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” is amazing in his ability to articulate the density of the concept behind this role while still infusing it with his trademark zaniness, lest we too become mired in the miasma of this man’s life.
Truman is a 30-something young professional, seemingly happily married, and oh, by the way, his entire life is continually broadcast on television. Never mind that his wife was hand-selected to be his spouse, and that his best friend of 30 years has been fed conversation via an actor’s earpiece, let us remember that Truman was put in this position by parents who received a large sum of money for allowing him to be adopted by a television station. As in “The Giver,” his world is not a real one, and it is the job of the main character to discover the “truth” of this created world, and that yes, for Truman, the world does in fact “revolve around him.”
Not only is Carrey brilliant in bringing us on this journey of self-discovery, but his performance is also a perfect complement to Weir’s skillful direction (he directed the other “Fearless,” the one that builds an entire theme off a bowl of strawberries) and the prophetic writing of Andrew Niccol. Most astounding is the religious imagery of the film. Truman is guided through life by “Christoff,” who relays with deliberate cadence that he is the creator (pause, pause, pause) of a television show. Never mind that his television studio looks more like a church infused with neon accents, and that he watches Truman “walk on water” as he discovers the truth of his existence.
Let us remember that Truman is a vision of what television has done to all of us: made us voyeurs into the intimate and mundane of those whom we would otherwise regard as strangers. As a viewer, you will grow fond of Truman, you will shake your fist at those who have turned his very existence into a source of commerce, but ultimately, you will find that Truman rises above his circumstance to venture out into an unknown world, knowing only that it is a superior alternative to the one he has come to know. Most of us have forgotten Jonas, and Lily, and even that damn Giver with his infinite wisdom and insight, but with Truman, you, too, will continue to cheer him on as he discovers what awaits him at the end of the proverbial ride down the hill.
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