The name “Charlie Sheen” is synonymous with sex, booze and drugs. There weren’t that many differences between his character on the CBS sitcom, Two and a Half Men, Charlie Harper, who was a rich jingle writer, whose personal life was based on perpetual hedonism. Some have dismissed Sheen as a total train wreck but, in my experience, humans are far too complex to be definitively defined as the lost cause. As long as they’re alive, there’s always a possibility of being, however imperfect it may be. Charlie Sheen’s proof of that, and a new Netflix documentary, aka Charlie Sheen explores Sheen’s life as well as the insanity of addiction.
Director Andrew Renzi offers more than a glimpse into Sheen’s life. Or put another way, Sheen opens up to tell the world about his self-inflicted problems but this opening is never narcissistic, and it evades any notion of voyeurism on the audience's part. Instead, one feels as if having a conversation with Sheen, and while the film may have moments of confession, it doesn’t get in the way of understanding Sheen (as much as that’s possible).
Among Sheen’s telling of his story, we see interviews with many people in his life: family members, ex-wives, friends, and his children. Almost all of Sheen’s life events are intertwined with substance abuse, his own or someone else’s. What’s particularly interesting is seeing Martin Sheen’s alcoholism (especially during the production of Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 film, Apocalypse Now), and what kind of effect this had on young Charlie. Martin Sheen credits Charlie for helping him during that time quit alcohol, which created a bond between father and son.
Renzi makes use of footage from Charlie Sheen’s hedonistic escapades. The public knows about them since it was plastered all over the news, as well as falling out with the producers of Two and a Half Men. Sheen doesn’t mince words, and doesn’t try to absolve himself of any guilt as well as the pain he caused so many people. New revelations come out as well, particularly in relation to his HIV-positive diagnosis.
But all of that hedonism is strangely peripheral. What we see is a portrait of a man and the Estevez/Sheen family. Of especially great value are the early Super 8 films made by Charlie (Carlos) and his brother, Emilio, along with their friend, Sean Penn. There’s a strong sense of spirit and masculinity, which has continued with Charlie. His struggle is the one between eros and destruction, that ridiculous highlight of any addict. The more you chase the high, the more difficult it is to attain it. At some point, the high will become nothing more than self-annihilating torpor. Sex will cease to be connected to either eros or the sensory feelings themselves, and booze will have the taste of banality and darkness that you’ve allowed yourself to go into, again and again and again.
One of the first scenes in the documentary is Sheen sitting in a diner. Through the sounds of Suzanne Vega’s “Tom’s Diner,” Sheen says to the director: “You know the best thing about diners? There’s no surprises. If you walk into a diner with unrealistic expectations of what they have to offer… go fuck yourself.” He picks up a cup of black coffee, and mischievously smiling, says, “Cheers!” American diners are special. They’re places where all are equal and welcome. The only prerequisite is to leave your affectations and pretenses at the door. Sheen has done that (if he even had any), and has made this documentary free of saccharine platitudes, yet it doesn’t engage in disturbing cynicism.
The last scene of the documentary brings back Charlie’s relationship with his father, and his realization of soberly seeing gratitude he feels for him. What a gift—to still be alive, and able to feel and say that to one’s father. I can’t help but think about Emilio Estevez’s beautiful film, The Way (2010), in which Martin Sheen plays a faithless father facing the death of his son, and going, against his better judgment, on a pilgrimage to the Camino de Santiago. What indeed is the way, the path of our lives? For an addict, the journey into sobriety never ends. It begins every day he wakes up.