Movies and the Mind

by William Indick

  Blood Rites

  The success of monster movies among adolescent audiences represents a tendency for teens to identify with movie characters that exist in a transitory physical and social state. Dracula and Frankenstein are neither alive nor dead—they are “undead,” stuck in an awkward transitional state that makes them feel insecure and on edge. Dracula’s illicit craving for blood may resonate with teenagers’ illicit craving for alcohol and drugs. By drinking blood, Dracula incorporates the essence of life. By drinking booze, adolescents incorporate the essence of adult pleasures. The connection between vampires and blood may also be a link to traditional blood rituals, which were rites of passage for pubescent teens. Male and female circumcisions, traditional piercings, scarring, cutting and a host of other physical “ordeals” and mutilations are all common forms of transformative initiation rites that are still in common practice around the world. While puberty changes the body from child to adult, the ritual scarring, piercing and circumcisions physically identify the individual’s body as an adult member of a specific tribe, caste, culture or faith.

  Carrie

  In the beginning of Carrie (1976), the adolescent girl in the title role (Sissy Spacek) has her first menstruation at school in the girls’ locker room. Her name, Carrie White, symbolizes her sexual and psychological innocence, as white is the color of virginity and pureness. As a sexually uneducated child of a fundamentalist Christian mother (Piper Laurie), Carrie is terrified by the sight of her own blood. She experiences a horrendously traumatic and humiliating initiation into womanhood. The film then weaves a dark, twisted Cinderella story. Carrie has a wicked mother, evil stepsisters (her tormenting peers at school), and an unattainable prince that she adores (William Katt). At the ball (the high school prom), Carrie experiences a Cinderella moment of transformative bliss when she and her prince are crowned king and queen of the prom. But everything goes “to hell” when the Cinderella moment turns out to be an evil plot, and Carrie is doused in pig’s blood. The blood ritual is a reenactment of her humiliating experience in the locker room, but it is even more traumatic. A puberty blood ritual, though an ordeal, is an initiation, an acceptance into society. Carrie’s blood rite at the prom was a rejection from society. Instead of being accepted by her peers, she was scorned and laughed at. In classic Stephen King fashion, Carrie’s shame and rage erupts into a bloodbath of supernatural vengeance. The inverted blood ritual becomes an ultra-violent purging of adolescent anxiety for both Carrie and her audience.

  I WAS A TEENAGE…

  The adolescent tendency to identify with monsters can be seen in the popularity of the “teenage monster” movies of the 1950s and 60s, such as I Was a Teenage Frankenstein (1957), I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1957), I Was a Teenage Mummy (1962) and I Was a Teenage Vampire (1967). Puberty brings about great physiological changes. Sudden metamorphoses in weight, height, tone of voice, complexion, facial hair and other physical changes can make a teen feel alienated from his own body. Like a pubescent teen, Frankenstein’s monster is not at home with his own body. He is too tall, gangly and awkward. His arms are too long, his face and head have an odd shape and his skin has an ugly pallor. The werewolf is a similar kind of transformative figure. The sudden and shocking emergence of hair on the face and other formerly hairless parts of the body may resonate deeply with pubescent teens growing facial and pubic hair at an alarming rate. Adolescents in the throes of puberty can identify with the monster’s uncomfortable, freakish state.

  Monsters also represent an awakening from the hibernating state of psychosexual “latency” in mid-childhood, during which sexual energy is repressed and sublimated. This awakening is instigated by the emergence of mature gonad hormones and the very new and intense desire for sex. Teens identify with the monster because they know how it feels when one’s impulses and drives seem beyond one’s control. The Wolf Man cannot control his transfiguration into a werewolf, just as a teen finds it hard to control his insatiable sexual desire. When the monster acts on his impulses and abducts the beautiful maiden, the teen viewer finds a vicarious release in the act. And when the monster is persecuted and ultimately crucified for his freakish appearance and outcast status, the teen viewer identifies with the monster’s pain, anguish and humiliation.

  Partying

  Teenagers are very much aware that their childhood days of freedom and economic dependence on Mommy and Daddy are quickly coming to an end. Eventually, they will have to become mommies and daddies themselves—working all day, keeping house, paying the bills, raising children, etc. Partying in high school and college is tacitly accepted in our society because it is understood that those years are a last hurrah of fun and freedom for adolescents, who will soon be entering the adult world. The hazing rituals of fraternities and sororities are initiation rituals much like the puberty rites, but unlike a bar mitzvah or confirmation, hazings in college fraternities do not initiate a child into adulthood; they initiate a young adolescent into a society of older adolescents. The hedonistic world of the college fraternity was epitomized in Animal House (1978), a film that became a template for the contemporary teen movie genre. In movies like Animal House, Porky’s (1981), Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), Dazed and Confused (1993) and American Pie (1999), teens spend their lives in a constant state of partying, desperately avoiding even the miniscule responsibilities of high school or college.

  Teen Angst

  Upcoming graduation is a universal theme in the teen movie genre, a ubiquitous reminder that the days of partying will soon be over. In American Graffiti (1973), the sense of imminent departure and childhood’s end pervades the entire film. Every character must say goodbye to an element of childhood and adolescence, and every character avoids this inevitable goodbye as long as possible by goofing around, cruising the streets and partying. The drama of growing up is even more foreboding in Fandango (1985), a film about four college buddies taking a final road trip. As college students, the buddies were free from all the obligations and responsibilities of adulthood. But once they leave college, each character must deal with adult responsibilities such as marriage, starting a career and fighting in Vietnam.

  Overidentification

  The adolescent’s search for identity is often represented by the character whose need for identity is too extreme. In The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999), Tom Ripley (Matt Damon) is a nondescript, amorphous young man. When he inserts himself into Dickie Greenleaf’s (Jude Law) life, Tom discovers the identity he wants for himself. Dickie is rich, charming, handsome and debonair. Tom identifies with Dickie so strongly that he wants to be exactly like him. He displays his peculiar “talent” for changing identities by mimicking Dickie in every way possible. But when Dickie gets sick of his parroting shadow and tries to ditch him, the true nature of Tom’s unstable identity emerges. Tom kills Dickie and assumes his identity completely, actually becoming Dickie Greenleaf. Film viewers are very familiar with the plot of a character overidentifying with another character, typically leading to murder and mayhem. Movie characters, like all people, need to be self sufficient, independent beings. When an unstable character finds fulfillment by completely identifying and merging with another character, a dangerous breach of the natural order is made. These characters and their stories deliver a psychological lesson to the viewer: Be your own person, and find fulfillment within yourself.

  Transference and Counter-Transference

  In Zelig, the title character (Woody Allen) falls in love with his analyst, Dr. Eudora Fletcher (Mia Farrow)—a phenomenon known as “transference.” Identification is a major part of psychoanalysis. It is assumed that patients will identify with their therapists as parental figures, because the therapist is a caring, attentive and supportive figure for the patient. It is believed that this “healthy transference” will aid in the analytic process because it enables the patient to trust the therapist, leading to a lowering of unconscious resistance. Transference becomes “unhealthy” when the patient overidentifies with the therapist, eit
her as a true parental figure or as a romantic love object. Just as it is assumed that patients will experience transference, it is also assumed that therapists will experience counter-transference—identifying with their patients as their own children. It is “healthy” and necessary for a therapist to feel a certain amount of care and responsibility for their patients. But counter-transference becomes unhealthy when the therapist reciprocates the patient’s love, and sees him as more than just a client.

  In real life, love between patients and therapists typically leads to disastrous results. But in movies, the improper love leads to the miraculous cure. When Dr. Flecher reciprocates Zelig’s affection with love, the professional trust of the patient/therapist relationship is subverted. Nevertheless, Dr. Fletcher’s love turns out to be the ultimate panacea. It achieves what psychoanalysis could not, making Zelig feel comfortable with his own identity. The theme of the beautiful young psychoanalyst falling in love with her patient and healing him with love was made immortal in Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound (1945). Despite its unrealistic take on psychoanalysis, Hitchcock’s film has remained enduringly popular, mainly because the lovely young analyst was played by Ingrid Bergman and her dashing yet confused patient was played by Gregory Peck. These plot resolutions are related to the popular “love conquers all” theme in movies. They do not depict realistic relationships in psychoanalysis.

  A somewhat more realistic depiction of transference occurs in The Snake Pit (1948). Virginia (Olivia de Havilland), a severely disturbed young woman, is not making any progress in her treatment because she is blocked by unconscious resistance to the analytic process. But when Virginia falls in love with her psychiatrist (Leo Genn), the healthy transference allows her to drop her resistance and trust the good doctor, helping him to help herself. The doctor, however, does the right thing. He recognizes Virginia’s feelings as transference, uses it to get to the root of her problem, and then cures her transference by explaining how her identification process has created her feelings of love for him. While transference does happen, the proper clinical response is not an equal amount of counter-transference, but some healthy doses of professionalism, responsibility and guidance. Nevertheless, popular films such as Good Will Hunting (1997) and Antwone Fisher (2002) still revolve around the “love conquers all” plot, in which the psychiatrist cures his patient through love rather than analysis.

  What About Bob?

  While romantic love between therapist and patient represents the most theatrical version of the transference/counter-transference dilemma, the phenomenon is relatively uncommon. More frequent is the parent/child pattern, in which patients see their therapist as a powerful parental figure who has an inordinate amount of influence over their lives. In What About Bob? (1991), Bob (Bill Murray) is a ridiculously neurotic patient, desperately in need of help. After one brief session with the brilliant Dr. Leo Marvin (Richard Dreyfuss), Bob believes that his new psychiatrist can cure him. Bob’s inner need for a strong father figure to help him take control of his life is transferred onto Dr. Marvin. Unfortunately, this transference cannot be dealt with immediately in analysis because Dr. Marvin is going on vacation. However, Dr. Marvin gives Bob a copy of his new book, Baby Steps. Bob devours the book immediately and becomes even more obsessed with Dr. Marvin—the title Baby Steps symbolizing Bob’s regression to an infantile state of intense need for parental attention.

  Bob tries to reconnect with Dr. Marvin by calling him at his summer home. At this point, though Bob is clearly out of line, a distinct problem can be detected in Dr. Marvin’s character. Dr. Marvin’s lack of a healthy sense of counter-transference reveals him as an uncaring and indifferent psychiatrist. A responsible psychiatrist would not tell a raging psychotic, “Go check yourself into an emergency room.” A caring doctor would see his patient, determine if he is a danger to others or to himself, and then (if necessary) commit him to a mental hospital. Dr. Marvin’s lack of counter-transference points to a deficit in his role as a doctor. He is not even upset when he learns that Bob has committed suicide. Though Bob staged the fake suicide, it was obviously a call for help to a doctor that should have been listening. Instead, Dr. Marvin rebuffs all of Bob’s attempts to continue his analysis.

  Undeterred, Bob tracks Dr. Marvin down and invades his family vacation. His search for a father figure is experienced through acute transference, which is the driving force behind his character. Bob literally forces his way into Dr. Marvin’s family, re-creating his own childhood experience as the son of a father who is frustrated and annoyed by Bob’s irritating personality. Dr. Marvin now begins to experience an unhealthy sense of counter-transference. Rather than caring for Bob and wanting to make him feel better, Dr. Marvin becomes provoked and infuriated by Bob. But Dr. Marvin is unwittingly playing into Bob’s issues, recapitulating the role of Bob’s angry, embittered and rejecting father figure. Bob’s incredible neediness and Dr. Marvin’s increasingly hostile reactions towards him underscores Dr. Marvin’s own problems with his son. The root of the problem can be seen in Dr. Marvin’s tendency to treat his children like patients. The fact that he named his children “Anna” and “Sigmund” (à la the Freud family) is a sign of the meshing between Dr. Marvin’s parental and professional roles. The problem is verbalized when he admonishes Bob for calling him by his first name. Bob replies: “But you said in your office that I can call you Leo.” Dr. Marvin responds: “That was in my office. In my home, I’d like you to call me Dr. Marvin!”

  Dr. Marvin is mortified when he realizes that Bob is a better father figure to young Sigmund than he is. It seems that Bob’s mixture of caring, sensitivity and openness is much more appealing to children than Dr. Marvin’s demanding hostility. The conflict between Bob and Dr. Marvin escalates into an Oedipal rivalry over the love of the Marvin family, culminating in a comical role reversal. Bob’s transference leads him to sanity, while Dr. Marvin’s counter-transference drives him into an uncontrolled state of maniacal rage, climaxing in a complete psychological breakdown. In the end, Bob marries Dr. Marvin’s sister, becoming an actual member of the Marvin family. Bob also reveals his intention to become a psychoanalyst, just like Dr. Marvin. Meanwhile, Dr. Marvin has deteriorated to a state of near catatonia. He’s much worse off than Bob was in the beginning of the film, but maybe with the help of a caring and responsible psychiatrist such as Bob, Dr. Marvin can recuperate and eventually practice analysis again.

  The Cry for Myth

  In his final book, The Cry for Myth (1991), May successfully combines elements of Jungian and Adlerian theory with his own existential perspectives. As a solution to the existential malaise endemic to those living in the Age of Anxiety, May argues that we must create our own values to replace the ones that used to be associated with God and religion. In order to do this, we need to create a new mythology—a modern mythology—that addresses the issues and values unique to the modern age. If a modern mythology does exist, it will ostensibly be played out on the screens of movie theaters, where people gather on Friday nights as they used to gather in temples, to share a communal experience of shared images and myth.

  The Myth of Sisyphus

  May believed that the myth of Sisyphus, as interpreted by the existential philosopher and novelist Albert Camus, presents a message that may be especially resonant for people facing existential crises in the modern age. Camus’ famous essay “The Myth of Sisyphus” begins:

  The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.

  Modern man can certainly identify with Sisyphus’s dilemma of ceaseless and futile labor. The factory worker toiling at the assembly line works all day, but the motorized belt never stops carrying its stock, and no matter how much he works, the line will continue to roll on forever. Most people experience many moments of existential doubt, in which they question the meaning of t
heir lives and the significance of their work, wondering if all their labor is futile and hopeless in the end. Sisyphus’s dilemma is the dilemma of absurdity, the problem of having to find meaning and value in an essentially absurd and meaningless existence. Camus argued, however, that the myth is an inspiration rather than a tragedy, because Sisyphus is conscious of his existence.

  That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.