A young man named Anthony, inmate of an Arizona mental
hospital, says a friendly good-bye to his psychiatrist and then prepares to shin
down the wall on a rope of knotted sheets. Anthony's stay at the hospital has
been voluntary; but, as he explains to his psychiatrist, he must pretend that he
is escaping for the benefit of his friend Dignan, who is waiting--small, blond,
and highly charged--in some shrubbery on the edge of the grounds.
"He's got this whole escape thing worked out, and he's just so excited about
it," says Anthony. "I mean, look how excited he is!"
It would be interesting, wouldn't it, to watch oneself watching TV, to see the muddy mirror that the face offers the screen, the weird and slavish half-reactions flickering across it, the shadows of infant anxiety and sudden, twitchy brightenings--like a dreamer with his eyes open. I'd like to have had a camera trained on my face, for example, as I sat next to my wife and watched the first episode of HBO's new comedy The Mind of the Married Man.
It opens with two guys walking and talking in Chicago. "Donna found porn on your computer?" says one, amused.