Shia LaBeouf seems like a man who is running through the woods while on fire; his whole world building to an inferno as tears of flame trail behind him, igniting the brush. Maybe LaBeouf can’t see or sniff out the destruction with that bag on his head, but when he finally removes it after he’s done finding out what being on fire feels like, everything that he has made and been given may resemble a pile of ash because nothing is as flammable as fame.
This assumes, of course, that LaBeouf will remove that bag. That he will bounce back and not foul out of life as so many have before, but to assume that, we have to take a leap of faith that this all started out as a controlled burn and that LaBeouf didn’t spontaneously combust a few months ago when he released 50 unstoppable megatons of whatever-the-hell-this-is into the ether.
Personally, I don’t think that LaBeouf is crazy. I buy that this is some kind of bonkers artistic statement — from the anima of HowardCantour.com that he nicked from Daniel Clowes to the sky apology and this exhibition where he sat like the world’s most over-exposed Buckingham Palace Guard while people visually and verbally prodded at him as he unknowingly or un-caringly sat shiva over his career — but I really don’t think it matters because weird is weird, this is unquestionably that and it has been judged as such by the masses. (more…)