In my lifetime, I have known my share of Charlie Sheens, sons of wealthy, influential men who could buy their children anything, and out of many problems.
One was a classmate of mine from school, a clown with a mean streak and a talent for causing trouble and avoiding detention. Maybe that had something to do with his father being a prominent Chicago politician.
Another was a guy I came to know in adulthood. His love of partying led to him losing his license and his job because of multiple DUI charges. His dad responded by giving him tens of thousands of dollars to co-produce a neighborhood music festival. Meanwhile, his live-in girlfriend at the time had to pay all their bills.
The version of Sheen defending his life in the two-part documentary is calm, even as he peppers his recollections with profanity. We’d expect nothing less from a teen heartthrob whose movie dominance came to a screeching halt by the end of the ‘90s when he nearly died from an overdose.
The star of “aka Charlie Sheen” opens his self-effacing confessional with an anecdote that reminded me of these two and others, recalling a time in the mid-’90s when a French pilot allowed him to steer a full commercial aircraft while he was blind drunk. Sheen describes this in transcendent terms until the moment he realized he was endangering the lives of hundreds of people, at which point he returned to his seat, “owning this experience.”
The film’s director, Andrew Renzi, asks him the question to which we can all guess the answer based on Sheen’s history of substance abuse, rehab stints, assault charges, mad online rants and ever-escalating wealth and popularity.
“Are you thinking to yourself, ‘Holy s**t, I’m untouchable’?” Renzi inquires. “… Does that go through a guy’s mind when he has that kind of power?”
Sheen calmly replies, “Yes.”
Netflix debuted “aka Charlie Sheen” on November 10, a day after his memoir “The Book of Sheen” was released. A Sunday New York Times profile heralded their arrival, but the bigger revelation was the 60-year-old actor’s normalcy compared to the burning memories of his blistering, crack-fueled flameout some 15 years ago.
“I was a little startled that this onetime self-proclaimed ‘high priest Vatican assassin warlock’ now carries a satchel, complete with a travel-size coffee spoon because he doesn’t like the sticks they hand out on airplanes,” the reporter observed. “I was expecting him to blaze up on a Harley with a Bowie knife in his boot.”
The version of Sheen defending his life in the two-part documentary is similarly calm, even as he peppers his recollections with profanity. We’d expect nothing less from a teen heartthrob whose movie dominance came to a screeching halt by the end of the ‘90s when he nearly died from an overdose. For most actors, that would be that. Sheen returned from his very public stay at a drug treatment facility to a TV career, beginning with a two-season run on “Spin City.”
(Netflix) Charlie Sheen
Then came “Two and a Half Men,” and a black hole of downward spiral exhaustively covered in the media. Sheen slammed against rock bottom several times before, but those trips to rehab and eventual career recoveries hadn’t occurred in a media age accelerated by social media and dehumanized by GIFs and viral clips. This time, Sheen’s cocaine-powered rants and explosive fits didn’t elicit sympathy. People found them entertaining, even heroic.
His legendarily unhinged 2011 interview with ABC News’ Andrea Canning, which took place after he was fired from “Two and a Half Men,” exploded his Twitter following.
Online ravings about “tiger blood” and “winning!” earned him a Live Nation tour with a cry for help as its title: “My Violent Torpedo of Truth/Defeat is Not An Option.” It was a disaster – how could it be anything otherwise? – but tickets sold out in minutes.
While this makes the documentary swagger with ‘80s and ‘90s popcorn nostalgia, it also confirms what kind of person results from having everything handed to them and never suffering the consequences for setting that good fortune on fire.
The thing about guys trying to be like Charlie Sheen is they wear borrowed danger like drugstore cologne. Back in Sheen’s ‘80s heyday, they left chemical trails of Drakkar Noir or Polo in their wake; their modern equivalents overdose on Axe body spray. But they’re also masters of the charm offensive, a thrill to be around.
Being the son of Martin Sheen comes with plenty of benefits and privileges. Martin handed Charlie his first opportunities, including having Charlie partner with him in a TV stunt pitting actors against athletes. Their opponent? A promising rookie named Michael Jordan.
Stories like these make “aka Charlie Sheen” an uneasy good time. Sheen has many wild tales, like fondly sharing that he used to make Super 8 movies with his brother and Sean Penn, or that a phone call from Clint Eastwood served as the grand finale of his first intervention.
Renzi uses dozens of scenes from Sheen’s films to illustrate his life story, along with a few judiciously employed re-enactments. While this makes the documentary swagger with ‘80s and ‘90s popcorn nostalgia, it also confirms what kind of person results from having everything handed to them and never suffering the consequences for setting that good fortune on fire.
(Netflix) Charlie Sheen in “aka Charlie Sheen”
But it seems as if people were always rooting for Sheen. Considering the enduring popularity of one of the earliest movies in which he appears, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” one might even describe this as an effect of cultural conditioning.
Matthew Broderick’s namesake character realizes every teen’s fantasy of flouting authority and getting away with it – the essence of rich white kid privilege. He’s puckish and likable, “a righteous dude.” The politician’s kid I mentioned ceaselessly quoted that movie.
Sheen’s account of his contribution adds to that legend. His friend Jennifer Grey got him the part without his having to audition. But he overslept, missed his 6 a.m. call time, and arrived on the set more than an hour late. Grey was furious. “Ferris Bueller” director John Hughes didn’t care. One review of Sheen’s brief appearance said he smolders.
Did that give Sheen a sense that he could get away with things? Renzi asks. “Maybe subconsciously,” the actor replies.
Or perhaps that was one of the many small outs contributing to the idea that Sheen may be the patron saint of men escaping consequences. It isn’t for nothing that Sheen’s “Two and a Half Men” co-star Jon Cryer referred to Donald Trump as “the Charlie Sheen of politics” back in 2016. (Sheen, for what it’s worth, has made no secret of his disdain for Trump.)
None of what Trump did or is doing falls on Sheen’s shoulders. But in an array of ways, he embodied the popular perception that skating away from destructive, self-serving behavior is something we should expect rich white boys to do.
“So, you’re p****d off because he ditches and doesn’t get caught. Is that it?” he asks Grey’s character Jeannie in “Ferris Bueller” before concluding, “Your problem is you. . . You ought to spend a little more time dealing with yourself, and a little less time worrying about what your brother does.”
One quality Sheen’s truth-blitz has in its favor, besides its unexpectedness, is Sheen’s relative absence for most of the past decade. Bless the man for giving us time to forget about him and, moreover, examining the industry that responded to his disturbing exploits by giving him raises.
(Netflix) Denise Richards in “aka Charlie Sheen”
Among the documentary’s terrible cameos, via archival footage, is disgraced former CBS network head Les Moonves. Not long after a 911 call from Sheen’s third wife, Brooke Mueller, went public and alleged he threatened her with a knife, CBS signed him to a two-year deal paying him $2 million an episode, making Sheen the highest-paid TV star in history.
This is endemic to this industry’s ongoing problem with enabling sick people. But the audience also participates in that. That shouldn’t be news to anybody who devoured Depp v. Heard less for the testimony than to hoot at the accompanying circus. We were already barreling toward that low a decade before; the documentary reminds us that the episode of “Two and a Half Men” that aired after his assault arrest earned some of the highest ratings in the series’ history.
That Mueller and Sheen’s second wife, Denise Richards, appear in “aka Charlie Sheen,” along with two of his five children, to tell their side of their stories while confirming he’s a great friend and father is a testament to his recovery. Sheen has also made amends with “Two and a Half Men” creator Chuck Lorre and Cryer, both of whom appear as supporters and friends.
“My theory has always been that I don’t know that he believes that he deserves what he’s got,” Cryer says. “I think there’s a part of him that throws it all away just to see if he ever deserved it. That is what drives people crazy who are close to him, is that there’s so many great things about him. If he only believed it, he might stop burning it all down.”
Renzi offers a balancing contrast in unflattering perspectives from the likes of former Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss, surrounded by her private flock of exotic birds. (Ah, symbolism.) Sheen was one of her top clients, spending a small fortune to enjoy her escorts’ company. He was also the most famous to testify against her.
She reminds viewers that while guys like Robert Mitchum didn’t give up their pot dealers when they were caught back in the day, Sheen is “a crybaby rich boy. He’s a rich kid from Malibu. They’re not going to do s**t to him. He’s Charlie Sheen.”
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Fleiss was breaking the law, of course. But none of her rich, powerful clients were charged. Men like that allow others to take their punishments for them.
Sheen’s contrition permeates “aka Charlie Sheen,” giving his latest rise from the ashes a benevolent glow. Charisma has always been his superpower, allowing him to glean credit for his final act confession that he’s slept with men without explicitly saying so. Instead, he leaves it to Renzi to put it in straightforward terms while he circles the admission with statements about “the other side of the menu.”
Meanwhile, Sheen’s pointed denial of Corey Feldman’s allegation that he sexually assaulted Corey Haim on the set of the film “Lucas” leaves no room for interpretation.
(Netflix) Heidi Fleiss in “aka Charlie Sheen”
Plenty of other details about Sheen’s life are conveniently left out or glossed over, as if to assume that the actor’s reputational salvation isn’t hiding in his filmography or testimonials from famous friends. (Neither Martin Sheen nor Emilio Estevez accepted invitations to appear in the documentary, we’re told via intertitle, but Sheen’s other brother Ramon represents the family’s supportive view ably enough.) If a person were looking for a reason to root for Charlie Sheen again, as so many will, they might appreciate his admission of shame, a rare halo in this time of shamelessness.
“When you’ve got a lot of shame about a lot of stuff, shame is suffocating,” he says. “But in the same way, shame can turn into someone’s North Star, you know, or their South Star. Or the Death Star.”
Don’t waste too much energy worrying about his comeback odds. Sheen told the Times that he’s open to acting but isn’t pursuing it, which sounds humble and might even be true. Ultimately, that doesn’t matter because opportunity will pursue him. That’s how life works for the world’s Charlie Sheens. Remember that fun guy I described who had a habit of driving under the influence? These days, he co-owns a boutique liquor company. Winning!
“aka Charlie Sheen” is currently streaming on Netflix.
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