Transcription
In the 1960 film Psycho, after Marion Crane and the shower scene, after the private investigator falls down the stairs, after the light bulb, and the body and all the other iconic scenes of the horror classic, the movie grinds to a complete halt. For five and a half minutes, a psychiatrist explains to the surviving characters – as well as the audience – what just happened. The psychiatrist explains the underlying psychological disorder relevant to the film, dissociative disorder, even though he never uses that term – nor does he use the more antiquated term, multiple personality disorder. The psychiatrist fills in the blanks in case the audience could not figure out why Norman was doing what he was doing, and he delivers an unseen backstory that is not so much revealed as it is spilled all over the epilogue. The psychiatrist also goes out of his way to alleviate any panicking heterosexuals by saying there is nothing more to Norman dressing up as a woman than wanting to give his mother life. This scene receives the most criticism out of everything in the film because these details and explanations could have arrived more naturally within the bulk of the narrative instead of tacked on in this epilogue. In an otherwise excellent movie and one of the all-time greats, Psycho concludes with this clumsy, awkward exposition after the fact.
But then again, horror often portrays mental illness and mental health clumsily and awkwardly. The fiction of horror movies often reflect both real world fears of and real world ignorance about mental illness. These portrayals then further solidify these fears and this ignorance in the popular consciousness – a kind of ouroboros of misinformation in which the audience does not know whether it is influencing these films or the films are influencing the audience. Let's close our eyes and think of words like “psycho” and “maniac” and let the images flood your mind. Now, let's open our eyes. There is a good chance that many of us thought of something like this, or this, or this. Even if we have no conscious disdain for the mentally ill, we are not immune to the propaganda of popular culture. “Psycho” comes from the psychological term “psychopathy” and “maniac” comes from “mania” – a term closely associated (although not always) with bipolar disorder. Despite manic episodes generally being non-violent and individuals with bipolar disorder also being non-violent, “maniac” is nonetheless a pejorative phrase used to describe a violent, presumably mentally ill individual. So much so that there is a series of horror films called Maniac. The 1986 short film, Maniac 2: Mr Robbie, is actually a remake of the 1973 film, The Psychopath. In other words, these terms are used interchangeably and often to the detriment of those suffering from mental illness.
According to John Goodwin, author of The Horror of Stigma, “Horror films will often include stigmatizing representations of psychosis and mental health care environments. ... Misinformation is often communicated. Due to these stigmatizing representations, people experiencing mental ill health may be rejected by the public.” In addition to being rejected, those with mental illness who feel that their malady has been stigmatized may choose not to seek help for fear of this rejection or out of personal shame. In other words, because of this stigma, mental illness can go untreated, causing greater, unnecessary suffering. Popular media has the ability to inform and educate the public consciousness. Accepting this, popular media must also be acknowledged as having the ability to misinform and miseducate the public. Horror naturally has us identify with the victims of these “maniacs and psychos” which creates the intended framing of the perpetrator as “the other” – and if this other is portrayed as mentally ill, this in turn frames the mentally ill as dangerous. Fictional narratives may not have an “obligation” to be accurate, but their messaging and stigmatization is nonetheless effective. These inaccuracies can present falsehoods and encourage stigmatization of the mentally ill. The real world stigma surrounding mental illness can be seen playing out in the fiction of horror movies, and this stigma can be interrogated through these portrayals. Here are many, many examples.
In the aforementioned film Psycho, the title alone tells us a lot about how the popular consciousness uses mental illness as shorthand for danger. This is a horror film, and it only requires one word to let the audience know what genre it is. A movie called Psycho is not going to be a drama or a comedy, because we have been conditioned to believe mental illness is a source of horror, that the mentally ill are inherently dangerous – “crazy” people who are lurking in the shadows with no motivation needed in their “broken” minds. As the Psycho film series progresses, Norman Bates' characterization changes. In Psycho II, Bates is released from a mental institution, having successfully plead insanity over twenty years prior. Bates reintegrates into society, earning employment and some form of social life. Throughout the film, Bates believes that whatever treatment he received during his institutionalization may not have been effective, as he begins to hear a familiar voice urging him to regress. In truth, he is being gaslighted by the family of one of his victims who believes that Bates is incapable of rejoining society safely. This melodrama is nonetheless a fairly accurate microcosm of much of society's view of the mentally ill, that they are incurably, ultimately dangerous, and not worthy of the same rights and privileges afforded to the rest of us. This may seem like an exaggeration of society's view, as one would rarely hear someone confess to that specific criteria and belief, but much in the same way that someone does not explicitly confess to being a racist, their attitudes, language and smaller aggressions betray their worldview. Psycho II is far more sympathetic to Bates than the original film, but this sympathy for the mentally ill becomes muddled in the final scenes. Bates once again murders a woman who may or may not be his actual biological mother, and uses her as his alter ego, repeating the cycle he began many years ago. This ending suggests that Bates is incurable and that everything leading up to this moment of the film about his reformation can be dismissed. In Psycho III, Bates continues his rampage, sometimes hounded by people who suspect him and sometimes protected by those he has won over. The problem is that while the film sympathizes with Bates, it also shows that those who accept him were naive. The ready-made counter to this would be someone saying “Well, would you want to work at the same diner as Norman Bates?” but that is not the point. The point is that the mentally ill are not Norman Bates. It is statistically far more likely for someone who is mentally ill to be the victim of a crime than to be the perpetrator of a crime. In fact, it is statistically more likely for someone who is mentally ill to be the victim of a crime than the general population. According to Mental Illness Policy, “Individuals with severe psychiatric disorders who were not taking medication were found to be 2.7 times more likely to be the victim of a violent crime (assault, rape, or mugging) than the general population.” Again, we see this in Psycho II as Bates is the victim of an elaborate plot, but the films also show him to be far more likely to be the perpetrator. In Psycho IV, Bates is convinced that his pregnant wife will give birth to someone like himself. The genetic component of mental illness may seem purely like sympathy for the mentally ill because it concludes that it is not their “fault” that they are suffering from their illness, it also produces misconceptions about the genetic component and about inevitability of behavior. While there is a genetic component to mental illness, it is not the only component. Furthermore, it would be a mistake to view criminality in general as the result of mental illness or to view criminality as the inevitable result of mental illness. Although much of this misconception comes from disproved, age-old quackery like phrenology and eugenics, this stigma still exists in the popular consciousness today.
This so-called incurability of the mentally ill and this inevitability of violent criminal behavior is portrayed in the 1978 film Halloween. Early in the film, Michael Meyers murders his sister for reasons known only to himself. Years later, Dr. Sam Loomis and Marion, a nurse, drive to the mental institution for a patient transfer. Marion asks Dr. Loomis if he has any special instructions, and Loomis, Meyers' psychiatrist, warns Marion only to not underestimate Meyers' potential for violence. Marion responds that she would prefer to call Meyers “it” instead of “him” – revealing a common dehumanizing attitude toward the mentally ill. She remarks that what bothers her the most about the mentally ill is their “gibberish” – her word – again highlighting the dehumanization of the mentally ill. Meyers soon escapes from a mental institution to terrorize the suburbs. Dr. Loomis, who had been keeping an eye on Meyers for years, believes him to be incurable. Loomis states that he spent years trying to reach Meyers, but after failing, he concluded that Meyers need not be helped – only contained for the rest of his life. Loomis, a psychiatrist, concludes that Meyers is a “devil” – he arms himself and patrols Haddonfield, Illinois like a vigilante more than a doctor. The audience is given the impression that the mentally ill are not to be cured but to be controlled. Again, the common retort to this would be “Well, would you want Michael Meyers rampaging around your town?” but that is not the point. Much like Norman Bates, the mentally ill are not Michael Meyers. Again from Anthony Carlton Cook: “Loomis’ allusions to Meyers’ mental illness as a physical manifestation of pure Evil does not read as melodrama in the film. For instance, Loomis and Brackett come upon a mutilated, partially eaten animal. Neither the doctor nor the sheriff knows for certain how it arrived there. Loomis, certain that Meyers 'isn’t a man,' hints at Myers as the culprit. No definitive proof exists, yet within the narrative of Halloween, the proof is self-evident. Loomis abuses his position and his expertise to push Brackett to accept the idea of Meyers’ 'inevitable' predilection for violence, a fact that Meyers’ previous institutionalization proves in advance of any act of violence.” Meyers' origins become more muddled and supernatural in later films, but by the 2018 sequel that retcons these sequels, Meyers is once again simply a man with a mental illness who is incapable of being cured, unwilling or unable to control his violent tendencies, and so dangerous that he cannot be contained even in his advancing age. Although horror films, on average, began to treat mental illness differently as time went on, the Halloween film series retcon sequel required a return to the original premise of the 1978 film. It does, however, examine post-traumatic stress disorder with greater care and sympathy, in this case, the one suffering being Halloween protagonist Lorie Strode. Her family does not take her concerns seriously and has largely disconnected from her, an unfortunately common occurrence for someone suffering from a serious psychological disorder.
Slasher films in particularly have a long history of their antagonist being either mentally ill in the “maniac” Hollywood sense. Billy from the 1974 film Black Christmas is only implied to be mentally but later given the “escaped from the asylum” backstory in the 2006 remake. Pamela Voorhees from the 1980 film Friday the 13th suffers from auditory hallucinations. Billy Chapman from the 1984 film Silent Night, Deadly Night is also portrayed as mentally ill, having suffered severe psychological trauma in his youth that has persisted into his adulthood. While Pamela Voorhees and Billy Chapman have backstories and motivations, mentally ill slashers are just as likely, or perhaps more likely, to be either faceless or masked. Portrayals of mental illness in horror have changed over time. In the Halloween reboot movies, Michael Meyers is given a backstory, even sympathy. This might seem anathema to fans of the original movies, but it's also an inevitable consequence of changing ideas about the mentally ill. Sharon Packer, author of Mental Illness in Popular Culture, wrote “The introduction and evolution of the mentally ill killer appears to be a product not only of cultural and social changes of the time, but also psychological research and the public’s awareness of it. The majority of the viewing public is most likely aware of but unfamiliar with the realities of mental illness. Like fictional portrayals, sensationalized media coverage of real-world events can influence the public’s opinion of it.” Nevertheless, Michael Meyers in any incarnation is still Michael Meyers, a mentally ill serial killer. A defensive retort to the influence Packer mentions might be “So, what? We can never show a slasher who happens to be mentally ill?” Well, mentally ill slasher antagonists are not villains who happen to be mentally ill but villains because they are mentally ill. This distinction helps the real world stigma to spread. A single movie is not going to change public perception of mental illness, but the cumulative effect of so many examples over so many years cannot simply be swept under the rug.
Modern horror, post-slasher, still sometimes utilizes mental illness as the instigator of the narrative or the condition of the antagonists. A 2015 horror film The Visit features two children who live with two elderly people posing as their grandparents. The couple appears to have schizophrenia or something similar. The 2016 film Split and the 2019 film Glass feature an antagonist with dissociative identity disorder. The latter film even takes place in a mental institution. All three films were written and directed by M. Night Shyamalan, who has taken criticism for consistently portraying the mentally ill as dangerous monsters in an era in which we ought to know better. The good news is that while horror movies continue to use mental illness as the instigator of the narrative, it is no longer as confined to the loose motivation of the antagonist. Now, it is condition of the sympathetic protagonist or sometimes portrayed through metaphor. The 2014 film The Babadook is the story of a widow named Amelia who struggles to care for her son following her husband's passing. A common interpretation of the film is that the entity is a manifestation of Amelia's depression and even survivor's guilt. In the 2020 film Relic, a middle aged woman begins to notice strange behavior in her mother, slowly becoming unrecognizable to her – a metaphor for cognitive changes in the elderly, such as the onset of dementia. In many of these more modern horror films, mental illness is not a “boogeyman” but something that the protagonist is processing and will attempt to overcome. For example, at the end of The Babadook, Amelia locks away her grief – the entity – but does not annihilate it. She learns to live with it and be in control of her own life, the master of her own destiny. This grief will not consume her and will not harm her son. In Relic, even after the elderly woman becomes inhuman, her daughter and granddaughter decide to stay with her and care for her. She is not a monster, she is simply different from who she once was. These more sympathetic portrayals of mental illness are a great relief after decades of stigmatization by the horror genre. None of this is meant to make anyone feel guilty for watching or enjoying these portrayals, and none of this some condemnation of the genre. This is only meant to highlight this pattern – to call attention to it – and to help stop us from internalizing it.