Psychology at the Movies

by Skip Dine Young

  There are a number of legitimate differences between film analysis and the methods used in mainstream psychological/social science research (e.g., experimentation): (1) the relevant data (movies) were not carefully collected in a controlled atmosphere (rather, they came into existence as part of a loose collaborative artistic process with no clearly defined rules); (2) the critic is usually analyzing a small number of films and thus there are questions about how generalizable results are (perhaps the critic's analysis is only relevant to a particular movie and has nothing to do with any other aspect of reality); and (3) there are questions about how reliable critics are (the possibility or likelihood of multiple interpretations of any given movie hovers over the activity of assigning meaning to film64). The ideal goal of learning the meaning of a movie and thereby gaining a single truth about the world is placed in jeopardy.65

  The ambiguity inherent in interpretive approaches to movies is not, however, a sufficient reason to ignore them. Psychologists like Jerome Bruner have argued that it is not possible to escape meaning-making in the social sciences, and alternative approaches to experimental methods are necessary.66 For Bruner, psychology should seek “to discover and describe formally the meanings that human beings created out of their encounters with the world” and be focused on “the symbolic activities that human beings employed in constructing and in making sense not only of the world, but of themselves.”67 He argues that while the logical methods of mathematics and the natural sciences certainly play a role in this meaning-making process, so do the narrative methods of the humanities. Logic and storytelling are both reflections of the human mind.68 It is often necessary for people to make sense of particular observations, in particular settings, with particular actors. This is exactly what psychotherapists do when they sit down with clients and try to understand what is going on in their lives; it is also exactly what film critics do when they attempt to understand a particular film. The subject matter of the social sciences and the humanities is essentially the same, and the two orientations would benefit from moving toward each other. A full psychological understanding of the movies cannot be accomplished without embracing interpretive/symbolic approaches.

  At same time, textual interpretation would benefit from considering the insights of the social sciences. The specific challenge to film studies is to take seriously the actual experience of the audience and the filmmakers. The move between interpreting the film and interpreting the audience is done too quickly and seamlessly. The obvious limitation (at least to anyone with training in the social sciences) of relying on an implied viewer is that film scholars rarely reference the experience of an actual person (viewer, projectionist, director, actor or even an actual critic).

  I contend that knowledge gained from interpreting a text overlaps knowledge gained from studies that look directly at audience members. Both sources of knowledge would be enriched if they purposely interacted with each other, allowing textual and participant-based approaches to inform the other's questions and answers.

  Further Reading

  Casetti, F. (1999) Theories of Cinema: 1945--1995. University of Texas Press, Austin, TX.

  Greenberg, H.R. (1993) Screen Memories: Hollywood Cinema on the Psychoanalytic Couch. Columbia University Press, New York, NY.

  Iaccino, J.F. (1998) Jungian Reflections Within the Cinema: A Psychological Analysis of Sci-Fi and Fantasy Archetypes. Praeger, Westport, CT.

  Metz, C. (1982) The Imaginary Signifier: Psychoanalysis and the Cinema. Indiana University Press, Bloomington, IN.

  Mulvey, L. (1986) Visual pleasure and narrative cinema, in, Narrative, apparatus, ideology, P. Rosen (ed.). Columbia University Press, New York, NY, pp. 198–209.

  Wolfenstein, M. and Leites, N. (1971) Movies: A Psychological Study. Hafner, New York, NY.

  Chapter 3

  Psychopathology, Psychotherapy and Psycho—Psychologists and Their Patients in the Movies

  When you hear the term “psychological disorder,” what is the first image that pops into your mind?

  Maybe you thought of a friend who's struggled with anxiety. Or perhaps you have worked in a hospital where some of the patients were depressed. I wouldn't bet on these kinds of responses, however. More likely, the first image you had was Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates in Psycho, his dark eyes darting back and forth nervously. Or you may have envisioned Jack Nicholson's character Melvin Udall in As Good as It Gets, selecting an individually wrapped bar of soap, meticulously washing his hands once, and then dropping the soap in the trash. Or you might have pictured Russell Crowe as the mathematician John Nash in A Beautiful Mind as he weeps on the floor of his bathroom after nearly drowning his infant child.

  When you hear the term “psychologist,” what do you immediately think of?

  Perhaps you remembered a counselor who helped you during a difficult time or a professor who taught psychology when you were in college. Again, these associations are possible, but it is more likely that you thought of the blowhard psychiatrist who appears at the end of Psycho, to explain once and for all what really happened at the Bates Motel. Or you might have pictured Robin Williams as Dr Sean Maguire in Good Will Hunting, a therapist so brutally honest and expressive he thinks nothing of choking his delinquent client if it means gaining the young punk's respect. Or maybe you called to mind the image of Ben Kingsley as Dr John Cawley in Shutter Island, the director of a mental hospital who presents himself as caring and progressive but who appears to be hiding a more menacing side.

  Illustration 3.2 Robin Williams & Matt Damon as Sean & Will in Good Will Hunting (1997) © Moviestore Collection Ltd/Alamy.

  This chapter continues our look at psychology in the movies, particularly those aspects of psychology that are foremost in the public imagination—psychotherapy and psychological disorders. The preceding thought experiment provides compelling evidence of the potential for movies to shape the ways that people see these aspects of psychology. Years ago, when I was working on a project exploring the representation of mental health professionals in film, I saw it as a curious but somewhat marginal topic for clinical psychology—pretty much an excuse to combine my interests in film and clinical work, and watch a lot of movies in the process. I have since become convinced that the representation of psychology in the media is actually quite important, given its impact on how a significant portion of the general public understands psychology, for better and worse.

  Representations of Psychological Disorders

  Imagining psychological disorders brings us to the scary edge of human functioning, where people act “wrong,” do not behave as other people want them to, and/or don't behave as they themselves think they should. The realm of psychological disorders or “madness” is the inevitable dark side of the mental health field—if it weren't for the possibility of disorder, a field dedicated to health would not be necessary.

  Madness is certainly a realm in which filmmakers seem to delight, and film is an excellent medium for vividly depicting this realm. The character of the Joker in The Dark Knight is an excellent example.1 Actor Heath Ledger (who won a posthumous Best Supporting Actor Oscar for the role after his tragic death), director Christopher Nolan, and the other filmmakers marshal a host of technical and symbolic resources at their disposal to depict the Joker's madness. To begin with, other characters in the movie refer to him that way, using terms like “freak,” “madman,” “murdering psychopath,” and “agent of chaos.” His physical appearance is bizarre (stringy, unkempt green hair, bright purple suit, white face paint, and smeared red lipstick around his scarred lips), and it is highlighted by close-ups and strange camera angles. Discordant music often accompanies the Joker's appearance. The chaos of the Joker is also enhanced in the confusing, rapid editing that is often used in the scenes in which he appears. The Joker's craziness is “over-determined”—that is, it is impossible for anyone to miss the point.

  There is no question that the depiction of the Joker in The Dark Knight is mesmerizing and makes for g
ood cinema. The highlight of one of the highest grossing movies ever, the Joker was witnessed by hundreds of millions of viewers across the world. Of course, the Joker is not the only cinematic portrayal of lunacy available for public consumption: These depictions have been of great interest to psychologists and psychiatrists. Otto Wahl's Media Madness: Public Images of Mental Illness identifies over 400 feature films explicitly advertised to the public as being about mental illness.2

  Mental illness itself is an issue of much contention: What is it? Who has the authority to diagnose it? How should it be treated? And what should it even be called?3 It is therefore not surprising that there is a great deal of controversy with regard to how mental illness is dramatized in the movies and other media. Psychiatrists, psychologists, and other mental health professionals have long been concerned that these kinds of portrayals are exaggerated, inconsistent, inaccurate and potentially damaging to those experiencing real psychological problems, not to mention counterproductive when it comes to attempts by mental health professionals to treat people diagnosed with such disorders. With the Joker's violent, erratic actions and distorted face having entered the public consciousness, mental health professionals worry that this image is now a “resource for other stigmatizing portrayals.”4

  Moviemakers like to play fast and loose with the behaviors associated with mental illness. They are in the business of being dramatic and selling theater tickets. They know that most audience members aren't psychologists, and therefore aren't going to quibble about inaccuracies. Any psychologists in the audience, however, have tended to be very concerned about inaccuracies and distortions.

  You don't have to go very far to find examples of films that take liberties with reality when it comes to mental illness. Broad, vulgar comedies such as Me, Myself and Irene are eager to make fun of any human weakness, while horror movies are eager to exploit all human fears. This is true of the Joker as well. I have never seen or heard of a patient like him, and I am fairly confident that there are no cases in the psychological literature of a criminal mastermind who dresses like a clown to conduct his business.5

  Inaccurate portrayals of mental illness apply even to acknowledged movie icons like Norman Bates. The American Film Institute ranked Psycho as the fourteenth best film ever (see Appendix B), and it is my favorite movie.6 By no stretch of the imagination, however, does the movie realistically portray a known form of mental illness. This assertion runs counter to the impression given at the end, when psychiatrist Fred Richman (Simon Oakland) appears out of nowhere to “merely explain” Norman's behavior to a presumably perplexed audience. Dr Richman establishes the case that Norman is suffering from what was called multiple-personality disorder at the time and is now called dissociative identity disorder (DID).7 According to Dr Richman, Norman embodies both his own personality and the personality of his dead mother. After killing his mother and her lover in a jealous rage, Norman dug up the mother's body and embalmed her. He then began to engage in conversations with the corpse, alternating between his own voice and an imitation of his mother's voice. It's all quite understandable, according to Dr Richman (although his caricatured pomposity is an indication that he should be taken with a grain of salt).

  In fact, Norman Bates's behavior doesn't match psychiatric criteria for DID in several crucial ways: (1) people with DID do not mimic the personalities of specific individuals they know; they may adopt various personalities but not of someone who already exists; (2) different personalities do not dialogue with each other (in fact, the basic idea of dissociation is that different parts are split off from one another and avoid interaction, in some cases not even sharing memories); and (3) people with DID are typically not psychotic (do not have major breaks with reality) and would be unlikely to believe that an embalmed body is alive.8

  Hitchcock did not seem particularly concerned with accuracy at numerous levels of reality—psychiatric diagnostic criteria; the events in the life of the film's real-life inspiration;9 or even the routines of late night motel clerks.10 Therefore, judged against these aspects of reality, Psycho could be considered a failure. However, based on Hitchcock's stated goal (to play the audience “like an organ”11), the film is a huge success (albeit in a sadistic kind of way). In movies like Psycho there is a trade-off. While these films heighten the dramatic reality of psychological disorders, they distort physical reality.

  Certain distortions of actual mental illness have been used by filmmakers so often, they can be categorized into character types:12

  The Homicidal Maniac: Norman Bates is often presented as the prototype of the homicidal maniac in modern film, but this character reached its simplified zenith in the character of Michael Meyers, an escaped mental patient who kills for fairly random reasons, in Halloween. This slasher film exploits the fear that other people pose a potential threat, even when we haven't done anything to them. Yet it contrasts with the fact that most psychiatric patients are not violent, and those who do behave aggressively typically act out toward their caregivers (family, nurses, etc.); not random strangers.

  The Enlightened Free Spirit: In some ways the opposite of depicting the mentally ill as evil, another cinematic stereotype presents the mentally ill as superior to “normal” people, in that they are freer, more creative, and more fully alive. This type can be seen in abundance in the French classic King of Hearts and in American films such as One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and Patch Adams. While there is something admirable about the attempt to show virtue where others see pathology, the “free spirit” characterization can seem naïve. Anyone who has spent even a small amount of time with people diagnosed with mental illness can recognize the degree to which they are truly suffering.

  The Seductress: This type refers to the the nymphomaniac13 female psychiatric patient who, along with whatever other problems she might have, flaunts her sexuality to everyone around her, including her caregivers. As Lilith, Jean Seberg plays a seductress who ruins the career of a young doctor played by Warren Beatty. More recently, Angelina Jolie won an Academy Award for her portrayal of Lisa, an erotically charged agent of chaos in Girl, Interrupted. These portrayals seem to blur the line between the distress associated with mental illness and our cultural anxiety with overt sexuality.

  The Narcissistic Parasite: In cinematic depictions, patients in outpatient psychotherapy often don't have any genuine problems other than a self-indulgent need for attention. This type is played for laughs in Woody Allen's Annie Hall and Manhattan in which the lead characters, while highly functioning in many ways, still regularly attend therapy to whine about their unsatisfying love lives. In this way, psychological problems are presented as nothing more than mild character deficits.

  In contrast to these distorted and overly dramatized depictions, there are films that get it almost right with regard to diagnostic accuracy.14 In Reel Psychiatry: Movie Portrayals of Psychiatric Conditions,15 David Robinson (2009) developed a rating scale and a list of 100 films he believes show relatively accurate (though not necessarily perfect) diagnoses using official diagnostic criteria16.

  Amphetamine-Induced Psychotic Disorder: Requiem for a Dream features realistic and disturbing depictions of substance abuse by four main characters. The dangers and degradations associated with heroin use are captured in the younger characters, but Sara Goldfarb (Ellen Burstyn), the mother of one of the addicts, is particularly notable. Sara gets hooked on speed (in the form of diet pills) so that she can fit into a tight dress for an upcoming game show appearance. Her increasing reliance on the pills has devastating consequences on her physical and mental health. Her downward spiral of addiction is vividly captured in a scene in which the appliances in her home come to horrific life and attack her.

  Borderline Personality Disorder: Fatal Attraction, a major box office hit, has been criticized for the film's presentation of a double standard with regard to extramarital affairs. The cheating husband is portrayed sympathetically while the “other woman” is depicted as a crazed, vengeful bunny kill
er. Yet Glenn Close's performance captures the volatility and contradictions of the Alex Forrest character and is a notable example of the extremes of Borderline Personality Disorder (suicidality, promiscuity, angry outbursts, etc.). Alex's unstable perception of self is reflected in her unstable relations with other people, particularly Michael Douglas's cheating husband. There is some accuracy in how Alex's behavior alternates between cool distance and extreme clinging, first expressing devotion and then exploding in rage.

  Dissociate Fugue: Paris, Texas opens with Travis Henderson (Harry Dean Stanton) walking out of the Texas desert, with apparently little idea of who he is and no memory of what he's done for the past decade. While Travis tries to reconnect with his life, particularly his young son, who has been living with his brother and sister-in-law, the audience doesn't learn much about what happened to Travis during his “fugue” state (a period of aimless travel accompanied by memory loss). We do learn that the episode was triggered by an incident in which his younger wife set fire to their trailer in response to his abusive and pathologically jealous behavior. This persistent and troubling gap in Travis's memory, his difficulty in emotionally connecting to his present circumstances, and the traumatic initiating event are all characteristic of this rare but fascinating disorder.

  I would personally add the schizophrenic symptoms of John Nash (Russell Crowe) in A Beautiful Mind to the list of compelling psychological depictions. While legitimate criticisms have been raised about the way the film handles Nash's psychiatric treatment,17 it succeeds in capturing the symptoms of delusions and hallucinations remarkably well, both through Crowe's acting and the way the film is structured. The first time I saw the film (I had not read the book), I felt annoyed as Nash began to get involved in undercover espionage. I knew that the film was based on a real-life account, so the car chases and shootouts struck me as unrealistic. I figured the filmmakers were throwing in some action sequences because simply presenting the plight of someone with schizophrenia wasn't dramatic enough. When the big plot twist was revealed, I realized that like the rest of the audience, I too had been fooled into believing that the whole espionage plot was real. I had not recognized that it was a part of Nash's delusional system.