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It may not just be his talent (though his on-screen appeal continues to grow at an ever-increasing pace; this week he’s proven himself to be a golden boy for this year’s Oscars with a Best Actor nomination. after noon,
If you’re a little surprised by Mescal’s rise to fame, you’re not alone: In casual conversation with friends and co-workers, the same review repeats itself over and over again: “He raves”.
Paul Mescal has made a career out of being… well, bumbling, but also moody and spiteful.
Reticent too. But that’s not to say he isn’t weirdly compelling to watch.
I was captivated by Sally Rooney’s BBC adaptation normal people During the lockdown, like everyone else; It resonated in a way that might not have resonated during more “normal” times (to borrow a title).
Stuck in an empty room at home for months on end, newly single and mostly alone (except for some overwhelming existential angst), I allowed myself to get lost in the relationship of teenage angst between Connell and Marianne.
I found myself engrossed in Mescal’s brooding portrayal of Rooney’s main character love interest; Finding affection and belonging in her emotional unavailability, her beggarly and pointed self-protection, the defensive walls she put up to protect herself from love and vulnerability and from the risk of being hurt.
Mescal brought Connell to life—and therefore, raised from the dead every boyfriend I’ve ever had.
Oh, I feel like Marianne. I am sure most of us have.
Certainly those of us who have ever been attracted to men like Paul Mescal, anyway. But it would be over-simplistic to equate the man with the muse; Paul Mescal is no more Connell Waldron, any more than Daisy Edgar-Jones is Marian Sheridan.
To address the shallow, we have to ask, when trying to get hold of its appeal: Is it its looks? chain around his neck normal people became such a source of fascination and lust that it eventually got its own hashtag.
I’m not sure it’s that basic.
While the 26-year-old is definitely handsome — in a rugged and stunning, “hot boy next door” kind of way — he’s no Michael B. Jordan or Harry Styles.
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He is not love island The flaming veneers-and-bronze-pecs pin-up, or the classic “hunk” you might have pulled from the center midge magazine or smash hits One to stick on your bedroom wall (if – like me – you’re an old millennial).
He is extraordinary in his simplicity; Evidence, perhaps, that what he reveals is something intangible.
To stick to my slightly older, aged pop references: Paul Mescal has “X Factor”. There isn’t even a word for it – although “charisma” might come close.
But there is a deeper and deeper possibility. Mescal, to me, seems to fit within a niche category of men who have come to define the “tortured artist” trope; One that existed long before dating app culture spoke of being “ghosted” or “breadcrumbed” by “softbois” and “f***bois.”
Mescal would be the cool guy at a party if he was played by a character in a movie (instead of playing the character once).
the best friend you don’t realize you’re in love with; Until he writes you a poem, and then it’s dizzy.
that’s jake gyllenhaal Donnie Darko, christian slater in heathersHeath Ledger Inn 10 Things I Hate About Youin owen wilson midnight in parisJudd Nelson Inn breakfast club, Ryan Gosling Inn drive Even Penn Badgley YouWith less serial killer appeal.
That’s Marlon Brando, James Dean, Leonard Cohen.
In Nick Broomfield’s documentary, Marianne and Leonard: Words of Love, says Aviva Layton (whose husband, the poet Irving Layton, had an affair with another woman): “Poets don’t make good husbands. You cannot own them. You can’t own even a little bit of them.
I think she must be talking about Paul Mescal.
Poets, artists, actors: take your pick of “tortured” or “wounded” men and chances are, he’ll be wearing a leather jacket and leaning against a lamp post, reading Proust.
Paul Mescal fits perfectly into that bracket; Or, at least, he gives the impression that he does.
What he keeps is a secret – this is his superpower. We don’t know that much about him, but I guess we just never do when it comes to these types of men.
They don’t give us much – they don’t give much to anybody. They are the perfect canvas on which to project our deep, intellectual fantasies.
We really know nothing about the “real” Paul Mescal. But that’s totally the point. We never will.
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