My Left Foot (1989, Ireland, directed by J. Sheridan) tells the story of Christy, a man with cerebral palsy who can move only his left foot, dragging the rest of his inert body behind him. He cannot speak, but his mind is sharp and restless—hungry to learn, to create, to help others. With that single foot, he writes and draws, channeling an artist's vision onto the page. A heartbreak nearly destroys him, but he claws his way back to self-belief and, eventually, to his own best work.
It is perhaps the most unflinching and painful film ever made about disability. The screenplay draws from the real life of Christy Brown, a contemporary Irish artist. Daniel Day-Lewis inhabits the role with such force that he won the Oscar for Best Actor in 1989.
What binds me to Christy is the daily grind: medical therapy, physical therapy, the endless work to inch forward. But beyond the therapy itself—and this matters more—there is the will to do it. In the film, Christy's mother alone sustains that will. In my own life, I have also my father's trust, and that makes all the difference.
In the film, Christy's relationship with his father is fraught. I know that struggle. My own father sees free time as wasted time—only study matters. I think that comes from his generation's belief that education was the sole path out of hardship. The world has shifted now. Young people live comfortably at home, and with that comfort comes less hunger to improve. The hunger fades.
The film also shows how hard it is to build trust with other people. I agree completely. Winning someone's attention when you live with a disability is exhausting work. Most of the time you remain invisible—until people see you as an active participant in conversation, as someone capable of real exchange. If you cannot speak or write with ease, you are shut out of nearly every conversation. It is one of countless barriers that people, in their ignorance, refuse to cross. Building new friendships becomes an ordeal because of it. Young people have their own worries. Helping someone else is not high on their list. But not all of them are like that. Some of my friends still invite me out, and I am genuinely surprised each time. More than that, it matters that they thought of me.
- Simone Mazzillo, 1997
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