THE SESSIONS

When Sex Is About More Than Sex

Photo Property of Fox Searchlight Pictures

‘The Sessions’, written and directed by Ben Lewin, sensitively portrays the longings, and poignant loneliness, of Mark O’Brien - a poet and journalist disabled by polio at age 6, living in an iron lung.  On the surface, ‘The Sessions’ is a story about sex surrogacy, sex in the disabled, and Mark O’Brien’s determination to lose his virginity and experience sex like any other man.  But, is ‘The Sessions’ really about sex?  At a deep level, I don’t think so.  

Sex, of course, is an important part of anyone’s life.  But, sex brings with it a host of other needs and feelings.  In Mark O’Brien’s case, intercourse wasn’t the only thing he wanted to achieve. Mostly, he was trying to overcome excruciating feelings of being unlovable; of believing no one wanted to touch him.  As he said himself in “On Seeing a Sex Surrogate”: “I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be held, caressed, and valued. But my self-hatred and fear were too intense . . . I doubted I deserved to be loved.” 

Before I went to see ‘The Sessions’, I watched, on YouTube, a short Academy Award-winning documentary called ‘Breathing Lessons’, made in 1996 by Jennifer Yu. Yu captured a very emotionally open Mark O’Brien – and showed, in raw detail, his excruciating self-hatred and feelings of ugliness.  Apparently, this documentary significantly influenced the movie and John Hawke’s development of the Mark O’Brien character.  But, after watching ‘Breathing Lessons’, I felt ‘The Sessions’ fell short of showing Mark’s real internal struggle.  How trapped, he was, not only inside the iron lung and a body whose muscles did not cooperate with his desires - but, more so, in his loneliness; in his belief that he was someone who couldn’t be loved.

Mark O’Brien did find love; not just sex. He found it, in spite of a self-hatred that might have made him shrink away from what he needed the most.  How did he do it?  He didn’t give up on himself.  I wouldn’t say he was optimistic exactly – at least ‘Breathing Lessons’ showed something quite close to hopelessness.  But, what he did have was a very strong will.  And, he didn’t deny his feelings, which his poetry gave him an outlet to express.  Sometimes, even, he was unabashedly open.  

It’s hard to stay open, when self-hatred is consuming – and, if anything, ‘The Sessions’ made it look a little too easy. Perhaps, that’s Hollywood. But, ‘The Sessions’, and most importantly, Mark’s life, did show the kind of courage and determination necessary to overcome those unrealistic self-hating feelings that can seem all too convincing.  Mark and ‘The Sessions’ (the movie and Cheryl Cohen Greene’s help) prove it’s not impossible.   Mark O’Brien’s life sends a strong message:  Never give up on what you want. 

This post was originally published on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's blog, Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy

AMOUR

An Insufferable Sadness

Photo from www.sonyclassics.com

No one can watch, or remember, Michael Haneke’s ‘Amour’, without being suddenly awash in horror at the way Georges (Jean-LouisTrintignant) frees Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) from her suffering. Does he do it for himself? For her?  Or for them both?  His choice of methods - shockingly violent, and a disorienting contrast to their gentle singing together - is, of course, disturbing. Yet, in it we see the abrupt turn of Georges’ quietly escalating desperation; the trap he’s increasingly suffocated by.

This movie belongs to Georges.  It is his story; the story of a man forced to stand on the sidelines helplessly watching, with slow agony, his beloved leaving him. Although he seems to be managing quite well, he’s not. With Haneke’s infusion of memories from Georges’ childhood; his nightmare – we see the shadows of Georges real trap take shape: his inability to cry; to be comforted; to share his loss with his daughter, Eva (Isabelle Huppert); to let Anne go; to mourn.

Georges’ memories, as memories can do, take us to the heart of his current struggles.  In the first, Georges as a young boy, returns from a sad movie only to have an older boy callously walk away, as a crying Georges tries to retell the story. Georges’ second memory is at camp, separated from his mother. When a cruel counselor makes him stay at the table until he finishes what’s on his plate, Georges sits. Crying. Alone. If a child has no place for sadness; no one to hear it; what does he do?  He sets up the same cold barriers inside (and later towards Eva), as George’s nightmare shows:

The stairs are blocked. A big wooden X – bars any exit. The floors of the hallway are flooding. Georges wakes with a scream. A panic; yes, from the terror of the nightmare; but even more from what the nightmare means: coming face to face with the rising waters of feelings he has done his best to deny. Sadness he can’t allow or escape from; resentment towards Death itself. For it is Death he wants to control and can’t. Yet, in his final desperately frustrated and angry act, he does. But, then, a horrible irony leaves him with what he fears the most. Being alone. And since Georges can’t even let his own daughter in to share their loss – he has barricaded himself in an unendurable forever kind of aloneness.

And then we have the pigeons. Haneke may say he doesn’t like symbols and ‘the pigeon’ means nothing to him; but, to me, the pigeons dropping in unexpectedly twice in the film hold the key. The first pigeon’s entrance is a sudden invasion; as Anne’s illness has forced its way into their lives. Pigeons if allowed, mate for life, and they are a symbol of hope. Georges’ hope and plan to be uninterruptedly with Anne are now steeped in his doomed effort to protect his beloved wife.  

When the pigeon appears for the second time, Anne is dead. Georges catches the pigeon in a blanket, and we hold our breath expecting a second suffocation. Yet, just as suddenly, Georges cradles the wrapped, caught pigeon tenderly in his arms; then - releases it. Powerless to keep Anne stilled in his love; Georges can’t live with the unspeakable hours, days, months, and (perhaps) years he’s condemned to be without her. Unable to free his sadness from the distant prison he’s locked it in; to mourn his loss - Georges can do nothing else but follow.

First posted as a guest post on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's Psychology Today blog, "Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy"

LES MISERABLES

Photo originally published on newyorktimes.com

When Shame and Hate Tear Hope Apart

Victor Hugo may have written his 19th century novel, ‘Les Miserables’, to condemn the ills of a society that created a class of ‘miserable ones’. But as a psychoanalyst, I’m interested in what ‘Les Miserables’ tells us about the inner causes of human misery. In ‘I Dreamed A Dream’, Fantine sings about one cause: Shame - which tears hope apart. Fantine doesn’t survive it.

Jean Valjean and Javert struggle with shame, too. Like many of us, they are haunted by their pasts; by losses and mistakes. Although, on the surface, it’s difficult to compare Jean Valjean and Javert, they are each one side of the other. The hate that grips them both takes a different form. Jean Valjean’s is turned against himself; Javert’s is directed outwards. Neither escapes. Each is trapped by the other.

Who is Jean Valjean to Javert – and Javert to Jean Valjean? We have no idea, in Tom Hooper’s cinematic adaptation of Les Miserables, why Javert single-mindedly pursues the letter of the law; bent on destroying Jean Valjean. Except that this puts him in the ‘right’. What makes more sense is that Javert was born in prison to a convict father and a gypsy mother. He turns against his shameful origins by becoming ‘Inspector Javert’.  

Isn’t Javert’s unrelenting hate for Jean Valjean, then, really directed at his own origins and, particularly, against his shameful self? ‘Inspector Javert’ is a more respectable identity. But another self in the form of Jean Valjean haunts him; a self he must destroy. For Jean Valjean, Javert is the self-hating, shaming, unforgiving voice that won’t leave him alone: “Men like you can never change” – a constant reminder of his wrongs. 

This kind of voice is, unfortunately, not unfamiliar to many people. At it’s worst, it ruins chances at love and even, sometimes, makes hate almost impossible to give up. This is Jean Valjean’s struggle in ‘What Have I Done’ when he allows the bishop to reach him: “why did I allow that man to . . . teach me love . . . I had come to hate the world  . . . Take an eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone!” If Valjean doesn’t keep his heart hardened by hate, he’s afraid he’ll feel his shame “inside me like a knife.”

Shame and self-hate can make love seem dangerous. The complicated thing, though, is that love cures hate. Yes, there are risks to love. Jean Valjean loses Cosette to her own life. But, more tragically - with the Javert-voice constantly pursuing him in his mind, he can’t feel the real goodness of Jean Valjean. Losing Cosette makes him feel unlovable. He doesn’t really believe in Cosette’s love or the possibility of anyone else’s. He can’t go on. His shame is his prison and his demise.  

But, perhaps, Javert is the most tragic. His heart must unwaveringly remain stone; never allowing love. Not a fleeting feeling for the dead boy revolution fighter (his little boy self; the victim of his self-hatred); and especially not Jean Valjean’s kindness in releasing him. Kindness turns to pity in his mind – and he must set himself against Valjean. If he lets his heart soften, he doesn’t believe he’ll survive his shame; that he (his Valjean self) can be forgiven.

It’s true; shame and self-hate are difficult to overcome. But, painful experiences from the past, even mistakes, can be reconciled; and they don’t make someone ‘bad’. Psychoanalytic therapy wasn’t available in Victor Hugo’s time.  But, it is now. One of the most satisfying parts of my work is helping people get those cruel voices out of their heads; making love safer. Shame, self-hate, and despair don’t have to ruin anyone’s life – or hope. 

This post was originally published on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's blog, Headshrinkers Guide to the Galaxy.