Addiction as a Means of Inspiration

The following is a guest post by Eve Pearce.


Origins of Addiction

Addiction is defined as a great interest in something or a need to do or have something, and the dictionary suggests that the word originated at the end of the sixteenth century. However, artists and writers for many years had been concerned with man’s addiction to certain personality traits. As such a relatable and sympathetic trait, it can be used as a fantastic tool when creating works of fiction. One of the primary traits of many classicist texts is hubris, a key example being Icarus, who flew too close to the sun: while considering his flaws, the addictive qualities of flight and adventure, coupled with the tremendous feeling of freedom must surely be considered addictive. Many such human flaws are defined by the addictive qualities of emotions, and those characters which have remained timeless are those which drive relentlessly towards fulfilling these emotions. Even as the idea of addiction seeped into the language of everyday life during the sixteenth century, the chief writers of the day could be said to have evolved the concept. Is Marlowe’s Faustus not addicted to power, redefined as a thirst for learning? Is Othello not addicted to the love of Desdemona, jealous that it might be enjoyed by another? Shakespeare’s own sonnets demonstrate a craving and a lust beyond the simple yearning of a lover. These emotions, when viewed through the prism of addiction, demonstrate how truly great characters can be utterly addicted to emotion.


Mainstream Addiction

As addiction became more quantified and understood, and especially as addictive substances entered the mainstream, humanity’s ability to cope with addictive substances is doubted. Hogarth’s 1751 painting Gin Lane depicts the evils of drink in England, enough to form part of the argument for the creation of the Gin Act, a political policy which worried about the addict qualities of alcohol and the effect this might have on an impressionable public. The characters within the painting as depicted as debauched and criminal; Hogarth’s work is a throwback to the portraits of hell painted inside medieval churches, where addiction has become the new and fashionable sin. Although only officially repealed in the Sixties, a nineteenth century amendment reduced the power of these licensing laws. By then, not only had Britain become addicted instead to newly-imported, non-alcoholic tea, but the effect of alcohol was far less threatening. In its place, authors had found new addictions. Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes was a character essentially defined by his addictive personality. We are offered two key examples: Holmes, when bored, relies and feeds upon his cocaine addiction; however, when a suitably challenging case is laid before him, this is instantly replaced with an addiction to mental vigor. This is one of the first characters demonstrating a literal chemical addiction, and it seems fitting that it should be placed alongside a character renowned for their own hubristic narcissism. Holmes is the paradigm of addiction in fiction; he feeds relentlessly and tirelessly in a manner which is utterly engaging.


Addiction Redefined

Throughout the Twentieth century and beyond, art and its approach to character has become a great deal more abstract. Now, thanks to post modernism, work is not only informed by the literal contents, but by the context, the creator and the consumer. Many works now concern themselves with humanity’s growth into a society of addicts. A notable depiction would be Huxley’s A Brave New World, wherein the people are in thrall to a drug called soma, unable to imagine life without the miracle medicine. But what about addiction holds such a sway for authors? What about the flaw makes us, as an audience, so fascinated, and how can this be turned towards the advantage of those hoping to write?


Addictive Personalities

Addiction is an exercise in wish fulfillment. Feeding into so many character traits, addiction represents a maximized desperation for a familiar emotion. However a character might need to fulfill that craving, whether it be for love or money, lust or power, their journey becomes relatable to an audience. Like so many emotions in fiction, addiction is useful to the writer not because it is necessarily a realistic depiction of human emotion, but rather because it is human emotion on full volume. The character has a need, a desire and is now filled with an utter compunction to achieve their goal. When creating the arc of a character, making them desire something is simple. Give them a small taste of what they could have, and then take it away. The withdrawal and the chase then become the main concern of the text. Heavily reductionist though it might be, addiction is the perfect means by which an author can demonstrate a character’s desire for an item or an emotion. While it may not be a textbook case of addiction, characters in fiction are typically written as fiends, driving relentlessly towards their goal; Ahab is addicted to his white whale, addicted to the chase and the glory. We are not necessarily fascinated by the goal (a whale) but by the addiction itself (Ahab’s desperate pursuit).


An Additive Plot

Addiction is also incredibly useful as a plot device. As mentioned above, as society has grown to understand addiction, the properties of addiction can be used by an author as a way of structuring a plot. Consider the book and film Trainspotting. All of the characters contained within are addicts, chiefly dependent on heroin. Their journeys are defined by their successes and failures in relation to battling this addiction. We as an audience understand addiction; we know the dangers of sharing needles and the other inherent risks of drug dependence. As a plot device, the character’s relationship with addiction plays a huge part. We see them battle with, beat and lose to heroin, and many of the characters are defined in relationship to their addiction. Tommy is corrupted, Renton is the corrupter. Addiction itself is the looming overlord, dictating the paths of these characters. There individual traits are exacerbated by the properties of addiction and we view their actions through the lens of their dependence on heroin. As part of a society fascinated by addiction – drugs, drink, tobacco and consumerism – we can relate to the concept of addictive personalities. Even though we may have never tried heroin, it becomes a heightened facet of humanity; the audience’s sympathy created and embellished by their understanding of human nature.


The Chief Concern of Character

Addiction is a traditionally fertile ground for fiction. Humans are essentially built as addiction machines; instincts and chemical conditioning program us to pursue pleasures and desires often to our own detriment. With so many artists themselves victims of addiction, it should be no surprise to see properties of addiction seeping into so many works of fiction. Indeed, art not only exaggerates addiction, but exemplifies it, redefining it as compulsion and obsession. When so many people are addicted to so many little things, when culture is so intoxicated with the fascination and fixation, it should be no surprise that addiction is a core tenet of the creative process. Either as a motivation device for characters, or as a pillar around which to build a plot, the properties and nature of the addict can be the key to creating wonderfully engaging works.

The Acceptable Face of American Rebellion

The following is a guest post by Eve Pearce

For many, a motorcycle is not just a possession it is a passion. With an air of speed, strength, danger and solitude their make-up is innately, albeit stereotypically, masculine. As such, its mythological status in American society can be traced back through an intensely patriarchal social history that has both helped and hindered the country often considered the last super-power. Part of this rich and complicated social history is the continued promise and pursuit of the American dream: an idea woven through fact and fiction, great literature, art and film has exploited Americans’ unwavering belief in this most indefinable of concepts. The peak of the twentieth century brought a rejection of these seemingly imposed values and allowed the American dream to be superseded by a want for excitement and a desire for recklessness: the perfect opportunity for the motorcycle to embed itself as an American icon. Indeed, the motorcycle is the mechanical embodiment of man’s lust for life and his chasing of the elusive American dream all in one.

Though the word biker can often conjure up the image of a leather-clad loner, the reality is much different. However, modern motorcycle owners vary greatly in their backgrounds and their beliefs. No longer is biking the sole environment of rebellious ‘bad boys’ or the wrongly perceived domain of men suffering from mid-life crises. Those who own or collect classic American motorcycles do so with a dedication and passion perhaps understood only by others within their circle. In place of the gang culture that sprung up around bikers in the 1950s, there are now sedate social gatherings where bike owners share knowledge about securing classic motorbike insurance and tips about maintenance. The cost of caring for and preserving these bikes is more than made up for in the pleasure that they bring to their owners. Although this flies in the face of the biker as a lone rider, there is no doubt that the draw of the open road and the sense of freedom involved is an underlying attraction of owning a classic motorcycle.

Creating an American legend

This need for solitude and open spaces can be found in that greatest of American myths: the cowboy. Although the archetypal figure of strength and masculinity and one that remains a figure associated with American man, the reality of the cowboys was quite different. So how did a band of men whose sole purpose was the non-glamorous, non-violent, non-dangerous herding of cattle across the Great Plains become the gun-toting heroes that we all know today? With myths defined by culture and society and often symbolic of said society’s hopes, dreams and desired appearance to the outside world looking in it says much that the American cowboy is an image that has remained. Even with the mechanical addition of a motorcycle, the legacy and potency of the cowboy as lone rider is a testament to their symbolic significance. However, it took the onset of popular entertainment to transform the humble shepherd into a much-feared and lauded American hero.

When the bare bones of cowboys’ lives were harnessed in mass produced pulp fiction and low budget B-movies they became the epitome of everything America deemed great. The cowboy emerged as a figure of immense strength propaganda wise and was loved by women and admired by men in equal measure. In his early dominance of B-movie productions, the cowboy character was in fact intended as a moral compass for America’s youth: he was dependable, untouchable and inherently decent…and still an evolutionary step away from the cowboy he became. For bridging the gap between the all-American squeaky clean infallibility of his first screen appearances and the bad boy biker that emerged in the 1950s was the reinvention of the cowboy as out and out gunslinger. Who cares that in reality cowboys used guns rarely and only to ward off wolves? In the movies a shootout became an inevitable by-product of being a ‘real man’. Obviously.

Brave new world

In the late 40s and early 50s, even this new-improved American hero was beginning to falter. It was a time when Hollywood was changing and its leading men were too. The pretty boy acceptable faces of Gregory Peck and Cary Grant had once worked happily in tandem with the rough masculinity of cowboys extraordinaire Gary Cooper and John Wayne, but were about to be shaken by some new additions. The collapse of the cowboys’ ideals were inextricably linked with a country still wounded by war: and a country both questioning and questionable in its claim to be the pinnacle of fairness and democracy. Something new was needed to symbolize this unstable shifting in society and Marlon Brando, James Dean and Steve McQueen were there to fill the void.

Not only did these three portray new kinds of American heroes, their ‘live fast, die young’ outlook off-screen helped perpetuate and continue the myth of the lone rider…with a powerful motorcycle replacing a trusty horse. Dean in particular is forever linked with the agony and ecstasy of the need for speed. Though his untimely death was by car, not bike, it only served to popularize the appeal of motorcycles. For the newly christened ‘teenagers’ they represented something exciting, something young, something rebellious and ultimately, something desirable. Furthermore, Dean and Brando’s rise to stardom brought with it a new theory of performance: the method. The grittiness and realism of this acting was in keeping with an America growing tired of artifice and pretense and demanding ‘truth.’ Although McQueen viewed acting as rather more of a hobby – something that often got in the way of his actual passion: motorcycles – his career did span one of the most challenging and changing times in America’s history.

The King of Cool

From the emergence of teenage America through to the absolute breakdown of trust in authority, McQueen consistently displayed something of a devil-may-care attitude. In his work, in his spare time and even in his relationships he appeared to seek trouble and as his fame grew so did the American counter-culture. His refusal to fall in line became synonymous with McQueen the motorcyclist and thus the machine itself strengthened its grip on rebellion, strength and a ‘cowboy’ attitude. Perhaps the most iconic McQueen motorcycle moment comes in The Great Escape; for a film considered a classic, there are many issues - not least is its tendency to play somewhat fast and loose with a little something called historical accuracy. This is encapsulated by McQueen’s supremely laid-back but subtly brilliant performance as Captain Hilts. As his comrades escape in more routine, indeed non-anachronistic ways, Hilts inexplicably but joyously makes a bid for freedom on a Triumph TR6. Its ridiculousness is fabulous and in many ways it represented McQueen’s own difficulty to come to terms with his stardom. A man who owned over 100 Harleys, McQueen would use his bikes to escape the Hollywood hustle and bustle for the freedom and air of the open road. Indeed, they were his great escape throughout his career.

With the unshakeable glory days of America long gone, the motorcycle has far more disparate meanings in today’s America as does its spiritual predecessor the cowboy. Indeed, even the word ‘cowboy’ has suffered from negative appropriations outside the US. Its association with poor workmen, careless individuals and cavalier attitudes has in some ways belittled the myth of the American hero. In Europe especially, the perceived insensitivity of George W. Bush to a range of politically precarious issues saw him labelled a cowboy … and not in a good way. But at its heart, the cowboy, the biker, the lone rider is the embodiment of something good. It is the rhetoric of the dreamer with a discourse of ambition and independence that lives on in today’s classic motorcycle enthusiasts.  These are distinctly American values and it is here that the icon of the lone rider perhaps plays its greatest trick: providing people with an impression of rebellion and social rejection whilst they actually fulfill some of the country’s most valued morals and characteristics. Genius.

From Good Will Hunting to Argo: How Ben Affleck Recaptured Hollywood's Heart

The following is a guest post by Eve Pearce

When Ben Affleck claimed the Best Picture Oscar a few weeks ago it was a far cry from his first Academy Award win. Many commentators enjoyed the comparison of a youthfully exuberant actor on the cusp of career and stardom with his older, wiser self; many others failed to even make the connection. Yet Affleck’s original screenplay prize, shared with childhood friend and fellow actor Matt Damon, was heavily lauded, applauded as well as derided at the time. It may be hard to believe, but it was fifteen years ago that the two bound joyously and enthusiastically onto the stage to thank their mothers, wearing tuxedos that seemed ill-fitting in more ways than one. Both have achieved highs in their careers, but only one has suffered the bitter backlash of fame and that is the current toast of Hollywood, Affleck. But how did a film about a maths genius from Boston charm the Academy and pave the way for Hollywood success? Indeed, was this seemingly small-budget and heartfelt emotional drama in fact a cynical attempt to capture both awards and fame for its two young stars?

A leading man with a difference

It’s difficult to imagine the pitch of this film, let alone anyone biting for the rights. Let’s face it, mathematics is hardly considered the stuff of Hollywood gold - add to that two first time screenwriters, a less than glamorous location and a relatively obscure director and it is hard to believe the film was ever made. However, confining Damon’s character of Will Hunting to the pigeon hole of ‘maths genius’ is unfair to the piece as a whole. It is a characteristic symbolic of far more than numeric skill and significant in many ways. His God-given talent is his curse, instead of heralding the promise of a brighter future it seems to further instil feelings of worthlessness in him as even his genuine genius fails to raise him from the low aspirations his unpleasant upbringing has created: highlighted by the memorable image of Will working as a janitor whilst simultaneously solving the most complex of sums. His experience of the world of education reveals to him a different world from the one he has known. Mountains of mathematics textbooks, chalk board cliff faces and rivers of intellectualism represent a better world, with better people and better prospects. In a film that is unafraid of liberal ideals the notion that education is the key to bettering yourself rings ear-piercingly true. 

On a more distrustful level, there is no mistaking the purpose of Will Hunting’s given skill. Damon and Affleck would have known to steer clear of making their protagonist a sportsman or an artist. One is almost too admirable in its implications of strength and physical prowess and the other, in terms of filmic conventions at least, too individual and introverted. When baiting Oscar, it appears characters with more unusual issues are required. Ricky Gervais’ comedy Extras, which featured a number of celebrities playing skewed versions of themselves , though often wide of the mark in its observations got it absolutely spot on when it came to the Academy and their penchant for certain cinematic tropes. Kate Winslet, then a multiple nominee but also a multiple loser at the Oscars, explains clearly to Gervais’ character what must be done in order to win an acting gong at the ceremony – her theory revolves around the perceived ‘worthiness’ of character and subject. Or in her unreservedly politically incorrect terms, ‘You’re guaranteed an Oscar if you play a mental.’ Strangely enough, her eventual win saw her portray an unhappily illiterate woman in The Reader … and in Good Will Hunting’s year, Matt Damon lost out as Best Actor to Jack Nicholson as a man with obsessive compulsive tendencies and a deep-rooted social ineptitude in As Good As It Gets. Perhaps she had a point.

Movie magic

The image of the two soon-to-be stars carefully crafting their love song to the nurturing of undiscovered talent raises a surprisingly rarely posed question: why have the two not written together again? As images of Damon and Affleck, fresh-faced with golden statuettes in hand, were beamed around the world, a number of fun-sapping sceptics dared to suggest that the whole thing was a sham. In fact, they purported, Damon and Affleck did not compose the script at all. The implication that they were the far more pretty and acceptable face of the true writer of the piece was far from welcomed by Miramax, the Weinstein powered company behind the film’s distribution. Understandably so, as it had been a key component of a highly successful marketing scheme orchestrated by Weinstein and friends. It must also be noted that the two have written again, just not together. So perhaps Good Will Hunting was as baffling an equation as those that the eponymous hero solves with ease – quite simply a case of right place, right time for Damon and Affleck.

Affleck himself did not fail to notice the significance of his return to the winners’ enclosure. His acceptance speech was warm and as genuine as an actor can deliver. Following Good Will Hunting’s success, Affleck appeared distracted by fame: he made terrible choices both personally and professionally (with Jennifer Lopez as the common denominator – sorry J-Lo!) before regaining his equilibrium and re-establishing himself as a rare filmmaker: one who has something to say. Choosing to believe in Good Will Hunting’s authenticity in terms of its authorship in addition to its purpose means choosing to believe in the magic of the movies and choosing to believe in the alchemy of filmmaking. Furthermore, it makes Affleck’s current success all the more remarkable, as a man who has seen his career go full circle it almost sounds like the premise of a movie script that has yet to be written.

Now wouldn’t that be the perfect reason for Affleck and Damon to reunite?

Silver Linings Playbook

The following is a guest review by Eve Pearce

Is it better to read the book before seeing the film? Or see the film before reading the book? Some traditionalists would balk at the latter option of this quandary but it is a fact universally acknowledged that the movie industry and bestselling book charts are intertwined. Some great works of literature make poor films and some dreadful books make exceptional movies. When it comes to Silver Linings Playbook, the debut novel of former English teacher Matthew Quick, it makes little difference whether the book or film enter your life first. The two complement each other without either detracting from each other’s qualities in any way. But if it comes down how big a draw Bradley Cooper is, don’t worry…you can always get the tie-in publication with his face on the cover – best of both worlds?

An unreliable yet loveable narrator

Quick’s narrator and protagonist is Pat Peoples. At the novel’s opening he has been released from a mental health institution into the care of his mother. Pat has lost all sense of time and much of his ability to differentiate reality from the protective smokescreen of a world he has created for himself during his treatment. In his head, Pat believes he has been away from the life he once knew for just a few months – the reality? It has been four years since he was committed following the breakdown of his relationship with ex-wife Nikki. As he struggles to come to terms with the changes in his friends and family since his breakdown, we as readers struggle to come to terms with the intensely personal voice Quick has instilled in Pat’s character. It is not constructed confusingly necessarily, but you soon realise Pat’s potential to be something of an unreliable narrator.

Pat’s intention to reunite with his ex-wife is something of an addiction and it is this intense motivation that drives much of the action. Being within the mind of a man who has suffered such an emotional breakdown can be difficult. Indeed, much of the novel’s underlying motif deals with the stigma of mental health issues and Pat’s withdrawal from the comfort of his imagined world of ‘silver linings.’ In part, Pat follows the path of many of those dealing with the perils of detox and withdrawal: he distracts himself from one addiction with another becoming obsessed with intense exercise in his single-minded pursuit of retaining his old life. Anyone suffering from addiction of any kind places immense pressure on those around them, in Pat’s case his parents. His treatment has not left him fully rehabilitated initially leaving his parents at something of a loss. His mother copes through intense feeding and almost enabling Pat’s worst traits whereas his father refuses to talk to him at first unless football can be used as a conduit. All of which suggests he is not a hero we should be rooting for, but you might be surprised.

A unique outlook

The novel echoes another powerful debut, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, in its frank and honest approach to the topic of mental health. The reaction of Pat’s father to his son’s return (namely anger, distrust and ignoring the fact) is representative of how many in society view those with mental health issues. It is a clever ploy of the writer to embody these emotions in the character of Pat Sr. although perhaps the preachy overtones and its heavy-handedness is indicative of the first time author. However, it allows the reader to question their own opinions and reactions. You can be appalled by Pat Sr.’s behaviour initially, yet the novel asks whether you would be any different? As I say, bordering on the self-righteous but entirely well meaning.

Pat spends his days working out, his nights sweating in sleeping bags and any spare time reading classic literature. His intention is to become a better man both physically and intellectually in order to win back his ex-wife’s affection. This is Quick’s trick when it comes to Pat’s empathetic abilities as a main character. There is something so ridiculous, so childlike and resultantly so charming about his ambition that it is hard to knock him down. He considers his life in a unique way, seeing everything as categorised and compartmentalised. His breakdown has forged emotions as almost physical entities for him, making much of his unusual description potent to the reader. For example, his past is what he refers to as the ‘bad place’ a tangible location for Pat that he endeavours to avoid at all costs. Contrary to the ‘bad place’ is Pat’s continued and optimistic belief in ‘silver linings’ or the happy ending he foresees. The consistency in the narrative style is a big plus for the piece.

What do you expect?

The movie adaptation has been marketed as something of a romantic comedy, focusing on Pat’s strange friendship with fellow oddball Tiffany. As damaged as he is, it doesn’t take a genius to predict the plot points for their relationship, yet there is something more than average about Tiffany. For a start, I found her intensely dislikeable initially. Whether this was intentional or the fault of the writer I’m still unclear. Even the discovery of her tragic widowhood fails to strike a chord and her cold chasing of Pat appears anything but the ingredients of romantic comedy. Yet she grows on you, just as she grows on Pat. She is complex and to be honest on occasion she is a bit of a bitch, but you learn she is deeply human in her flaws and deeply passionate in her pursuit of Pat.

As I’ve alluded to before, the strength in the novel’s style is the narrative voice. Of course, first person narrative is not new to the novel and if anything it is the easiest choice for a writer to make. However, it is not always done with quite as much style and success. Its consistency shows thorough understanding and respects the careful balance between character and story that is so intrinsic to a novel’s success.

Much of this review revolves around character and themes, with only a little time dedicated to style. A conscious decision, as Silver Linings Playbook is all about Pat and his journey with style and structure integrated with him in a way that renders it barely noticeable. Whether Pat is a hero in the traditional sense seems unimportant. Yet his determined and obstinate belief in ‘silver linings’ makes him optimism personified and, as a reader, becoming embroiled in his worlds, both real and imaginary, is something of a pleasure.