(Note: I accidentally saved this as a draft and completely forgot about it, so followers of my Letterboxd may note these films aren’t as recent, but hey, that’s life.)
In the past few weeks I’ve watched a couple of really disappointing horror movies— which is nothing new, I’m often gobbling up regrettably bad horror films, but there was a line that stuck out in these for me. Yes, the same line in both films.
First up was “There’s Something Wrong With the Children” (dir. R. Benjamin, 2023), a film ruined by unlikable characters with implausibly bad decision-making skills. “Kindred” (dir. J. Marcantonio, 2020) followed, a muddled mess of a film that never really managed to deliver… well, much of anything. In the former, there was potential to address the complexities of choosing to become a parent, while the latter could have explored the complicated history of race, class, and who makes decisions about women’s bodies. Neither film lived up to my expectations, but in each I was struck by a small moment acknowledging the mental health of the protagonists.
In both films it was made clear that the leads had personal histories involving mental health struggles, and as the events of the films unfold, both leads are pushed to defend the legitimacy their experiences, remarkably responding with the same line: “This is not that.”
This is not that. A statement acknowledging that yes, one has experienced / is experiencing a mental health struggle, but no, this current situation is not “all in my head,” it is actually happening.
Rather like the how the now-iconic “Gaslight” explored the fears of a neuro-typical woman who was made to feel “crazy,” these brief moments touched on something bigger.
As someone diagnosed with PTSD, I don’t think that I am alone in my fears that my diagnosis undermines my “legitimacy” in interactions with others. As we make strides as a culture to normalize discussions around mental health, and more individuals are transparent about their struggles, there is a legitimate worry that our mental health may be weaponized against us. How easy it is to dismiss the experience of a “crazy” person, to say “you only feel this way because of your mental illness.”
This is not that.
I once had to take an improv class as part of a workplace professional development program, using theater improv techniques to explore and guide how we respond to issues of diversity, equity, and inclusion. Yes, it was as woo woo as it sounds, but I was surprised to find myself engaging with the material over time. The most important and foundational part of the class was the concept of “yes, and”— as in, if Person A decides to open a scene saying, “We are at the beach,” Person B should not follow by saying, “No, we are in the forest.” That shuts down any potential for the beach scene, by negating Person A’s “reality.” Person B can instead acknowledge Person A’s reality, and can build upon it with something like, “Yes, and we are playing volleyball.”
How does this translate to conversations about mental health? If Person A says, “XYZ is hard for me,” Person B saying “XYZ is not difficult” does nothing to help the conversation. Whether or not XYZ is difficult for Person B is completely irrelevant, and it negates Person A’s lived experience.
It would certainly have made for less suspenseful films, but how differently would things have played out for the characters had their realities been acknowledged? This is not that. Yes, and let’s do what we can to address this instead.
If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org.
Did you enjoy this missive? Check out more of the “What I’m Watching” series…
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