| Psychoanalysis
and Film
Daniel Kluge
University of Dallas
Introduction
Film is a relatively fresh medium for
public expression, and originated around the same time that psychoanalysis began. While
film is often analyzed as a form of literature, I think that this is improper to the
nature of the medium. I find that a psychoanalysis of film tends to produce a much clearer
analysis of particular films, as well as the medium itself. It is this point that I plan
to demonstrate.
In this essay, I will make reference to a
few specific films. In selecting these films, I merely picked the first films that came to
mind as suitable for brief analysis in the context of the unconscious work done by the
film. Most of these selections I picked in an instant, without much deliberation, and most
of them are films that have been extremely popular, which illustrates that the unconscious
aspect of film is one that has a large influence on the viewers. This method of selection
demonstrates the extent to which there is much unconscious content to any film, as well as
giving tribute to the psychoanalytic tradition of free association.
Dream-Work and Film-Work
Let us begin with a look at dreams. The
psychoanalytic perspective regarding dreams is that they are a result of incomplete
repression. Freud (1950) wrote extensively describing the dynamic way in which dreams
work. When one sleeps, the censor that guards the division between the id and the ego
becomes more lax in its monitoring. The censor ordinarily prevents any repressed thoughts
from swelling up and breaking through into consciousness, but when the conscious mind
rests, it becomes more easily fooled. While the id cannot pass a repressed desire through
directly (for if the dream becomes too direct, the censor catches on and the person
awakens, preventing the unconscious desire from being fulfilled), it can dress the desire
up as something that is strange, but not directly repressed, producing a manifest
dream—what one actually remembers. And so the dream is born: a repressed desire is
coded in the language of the unconscious and sent through the censor to the ego,
expressing the desire, even if indirectly. Once in the ego, one can remember it after
waking up, but there is an interesting dynamic at work upon waking. When one wakes, the
censor awakens more as well, and realizes the latent dream content before it can become
conscious, and then represses the whole dream (manifest and latent), which is why it is
often quite difficult to remember one’s dreams for more than a few minutes or so
after awakening. If one is able to remember the manifest dream, one often experiences a
conflict of emotions. For it is initially pleasurable to have the repressed desire
expressed, even if it is encoded, but the superego punishes this expression with guilt.
This explains why it is not unusual to feel odd, or strangely guilty, after having a dream
which one does not understand on a conscious level.
It does not matter, so much, the amount to
which one is consciously aware of the expression of the desire-to-be-repressed, in fact,
dreams are intentionally coded so as to fool the ego, which is why the dreamer is the
least likely person to understand their own dreams. What does matter is the dream-work.
This is easily seen in the steam-engine analogy. When an unacceptable desire is repressed,
it does not just evaporate—it is conserved, and it must be held somewhere, forced
back into the unconscious id. After a while of repressing the same desire repeatedly, this
repressed energy begins to build up and gather pressure. Just as a steam engine (or a
cappuccino machine, to use a more accessible analogy) builds up pressure but needs to
release it to maintain integrity, so the id works as well. And so it must find a way of
releasing this pressure being placed upon it by the repression of the superego. There are
many outlets for this, such as sublimation, displacement, compensation, projection,
parapraxes, and, among them many others, dreams. While dreams and parapraxes are examples
of incomplete repression, and the others are examples of defense mechanisms, they serve
the same basic purpose, which is to prevent the pressure of repression from becoming too
much in the id (which would then produce any sort of explosive and uncontrollable release
in hysterical symptoms). But it is this release of tension, of pressure, which is the work
of dreams. To do this, as mentioned earlier, the id must cover up the latent meaning of
the dream with the manifest dream. It does so by encoding it in a way that expresses the
same desire, but in a way that is usually incomprehensible to the conscious ego. When this
is done accurately enough to slip the dream past, steam is released, the id is satisfied,
and the individual goes on to lead a normal life of unconscious repression, only with a
funny dream in her head that makes her feel strangely satisfied yet unexplainably guilty.
Film operates on much the same principle,
which will be demonstrated concretely further on in this essay. Film affects the senses
much more than literature, and it does so in a manner that literature finds much challenge
in doing. Film speaks directly to the unconscious. The language of dreams is one that is
not an abstract form of communication such as narrative, but is one that is filled with
images that carry hidden meanings on a latent level. Just so is the language of film
organized so that only a part of the film is communicated in a narrative form—sound
and image make up the majority of the effect. This is obviously seen when one reads the
script of a film, or even watches a film on television with closed captioning and no
audio. While words are consciously understood, images and sounds have a large content that
speaks to us only on a primal and unconscious level.
To understand this point more clearly, let
us briefly look at the art forms that only use part of that which can be used in film.
Visual art can often be viewed consciously, looking actively for symbolism, meaning,
communication, but when initially viewed, one often finds the effect to be empathic, to be
one which speaks first to our instincts. While one is able to then take a closer look at
why a piece of visual art has the effect that it does, this is very hard to do with film.
Like in a dream, the images in film are only briefly there; we are not able to stop the
film (except during thoughtful analysis) and focus on one particular image. Furthermore,
the speed with which we are exposed to images allows most of what we see to be absorbed on
an unconscious level only. It is impossible to focus on all the visual information that
occurs on the screen at once, especially if the director is good. We will always have to
ignore a certain part of what we see to focus on another part. But what we do not see
consciously, we still see unconsciously. One instinctively flinches when something rushes
towards oneself in one’s peripheral vision. This is an instinctual process that one
does without consciously thinking bout it. Just so does the unconscious aspect of film
imagery work. Even if we do not consciously focus on what we are exposed to, our id still
is affected by it, and what we do not consciously see thus affects us on a completely
unconscious level.
Audio stimuli operate in an even stronger
way. It is even more challenging to analyze music than it is to analyze visual art. This
is because music cannot easily be stopped for conscious analysis. While one may look at a
painting for hours, and focus on different parts of it, one cannot hear music by stopping
it and focusing on particular notes. Music is what it is precisely because of the flow,
the gestalt effect of it, where one note carries the meaning that it does only when heard
in close succession with other notes, and in its relation to them. And so music fits
excellently with film, where the flow of the music can be synchronized with the flow of a
scene from the film, and to illustrate the flow of the film as a whole. While one can
close one’s eyes and focus on the sound alone, this is analysis, and not watching of
a film as a totality. Another aspect of audio stimuli that film is able to use are stimuli
which we do not consciously understand at first, even if we focus on them, but that speak
directly to the unconscious. For instance, the sound of a heart beating is often used,
and, when not consciously aware of it, the viewer’s heart attempts to synchronize
with it. Once the synchronicity has been established, the director may speed up the heart
rate in the film, which is an instinctual sign for our bodies to do the same. The sound of
someone’s breath produces a similar effect. Think of the film "2001: A Space
Odyssey," where, in the end, as he is in his psychedelic journey, the character
Dave’s breath is constant for so long that we often stop hearing it consciously,
while our body maintains his rate of breath. Then there is a moment where he stops
breathing for about four seconds longer than normal, and we often follow his lead, and
hold our breath. Other uses of audio stimuli include the use of sounds that are natural
(such as bees buzzing) to instill primal emotions like fear or ones that are profoundly
unnatural (like a reverse bass) to instill a sense of uncannyness. Thus one can easily see
that, through the use of not only music, but other sound effects, film can touch one on a
deeply unconscious level, one that speaks to the id and not the ego (except in analysis).
Thus we see that the method of conveying
meaning through film is often as latent as the meaning conveyed through dreams. They both
do their work using the encoded language of the unconscious, film only a little less so.
Another difference is that the language of the unconscious is mostly specific to the
individual, while the unconscious content of film is designed to be communicated to many.
However, one does often see that different cultures do not view the same film in the same
way. This makes sense, in that the superego is created from internalizations of moral
rules from the family and culture, morals that are not found naturally, but merely desires
which have been collectively decided to be deserving of repression. Since film speaks to
us on an unconscious level, it must speak to us in a culturally specific way, for
different cultures repress different things, thus filling the unconscious with different
content to be spoken to.
It has now been shown that the manner in
which films and dreams work is very similar. What is now left to be shown is that the
actual work that they both accomplish is equally similar, and yet slightly more conscious.
The following sections of this essay will take this task in hand, using concrete examples
to support the similarities that exist between film and dream-work, as well as seeing what
psychoanalytic effects films have on the conscious ego.
Oedipal Conflict
One of the greatest themes in film is that
of the satisfactory resolution of the Oedipal conflict. Freud (1960a) first exposed the
psychodynamic structure of this conflict: the child during the phallic stage desires to
have the sole attention of the opposite-sex parent, and to consequently eliminate the
same-sex parent. One of the fundamental points in the development of a superego is in the
normal resolution of this conflict, where the child’s wishes fail, due to the threat
of castration, and the child identifies with the same-sex parent so as to indirectly
attain the goal of being the center of the opposite-sex parent’s world. This
internalizes the moral command of the parents into the superego, as a consequence of the
close alignment of child and same-sex parent. For psychoanalysis, this is a very important
relationship, and often is seen to have far reaching repercussions, especially in the
manner in which the conflict was resolved. Suffice it to say that it is a basic theory
that in all of our romantic relationships, we are attempting to symbolically win the
conflict that we failed to do as a child. This constitutes one of the most basic id
drives, and must be heavily repressed as a result. Thus it is then no wonder that this
highly repressed, highly desirable impulse will find an outlet, a way of being satisfied,
through dreams, or, as I propose, the enjoyment of many popular films.
Films allow one to enjoy the victory that
one never could as a child—they allow one (through an ironic association with the
protagonist) to win the Oedipal conflict, if only in the dream-like state of film. This is
evident in any action/romance film. The basic structure is usually shown from a masculine
point of view: boy desires mother, and kills father in order to obtain mother. But this
much to bold of a message to send to anyone not psychotic—it would never be enjoyed
for the superego would catch on, and cause the person to feel disgust over it. Instead of
putting the basic structure out in the open, the film must use a cover story that holds
the same basic relations, changing it enough to make it palpable for the superego. The
common film plot becomes: man must save woman from evil powerful man, killing him in doing
so. Even this may be covered over slightly, but it is through the other aspects of film
mentioned earlier, which one is able to enjoy the message on an unconscious level.
For a demonstration of this, let us first
look at a very popular film, one that has retained much of its popularity still today:
"The Shining." This film is bold enough to show the direct Oedipal relationship
of a boy in the phallic stage with a mother and father. And, of course, the ending
resolution is the desired one: the father, Jack, dies, which is indirectly caused by the
boy, who leads Jack into the snow where he freezes to death, and thus allows the boy to
rush, unimpeded, into his mother’s arms. But let us look further into this film to
see how it conveys this message in a way that we will unconsciously participate in the
victory over our fathers. One of the greatest aspects of this film is the symbolism that
is used; but for the purposes of my inquiry, I shall only focus on one symbol. This is
that of the axe that Jack uses. The boy ends up trapped in the bathroom with the mother,
with the furious and insane Jack outside. Jack splits the door open with the axe,
announcing his presence in a scene that seems to be one of the most memorable scenes from
film history. But what do we really have here? The threat used in the Oedipal conflict is
that of castration; Jack is trying to split up the boy and mother, literally, but this can
be seen on a symbolic level for his attempt to castrate the boy and to make him lose the
conflict. As it is, the boy escapes, and, rather than attempt to kill the mother, Jack
runs outside to kill the boy. This places his desire to kill the boy above his desire to
kill the mother, and this too, with a giant tool of castration. Of course this meaning is
well hidden, especially with the excellent tension which the film builds, and the quick
action, so that the superego does not catch the encoded message in time to make one
repulsed. Instead, one feels good after the resolution comes about—the boy is
reunited with his mother, the father is dead, all is right with the world. Of course, as
often happens with dreams, the superego may catch on as to why this film produced a
feeling of relief and satisfaction, and one may consequently feel guilty for having
enjoyed it.
Let us now turn to another film, which is
not a very popular one (although recently imitated in a car commercial), but which
expresses the Oedipal conflict exquisitely. This film is "Duel." It is about an
emasculated middle-aged man (set in the mid 70s, I think) who had just let a man
"almost rape" his wife at a party the night before. He is driving a small
compact car, and is on a long road trip. But a large semi, huge, daunting, and most
definitely phallic, attempts to kill him, by running him off the road, primarily, and no
matter what he does, the man cannot escape it. One of the greatest scenes is one in which
the man stops near a school bus that has stalled. All the kids are jeering at him, and he
reluctantly agrees to try to help the driver by pushing the school bus from behind. His
puny car, of course, cannot budge the school bus, and actually gets caught up on it,
bumpers entangled. After the arduous task of freeing the two vehicles, the semi shows up
again. But instead of attempting to immediately kill the man, the semi moves up behind the
school bus, and pushes it until it is able to start up again. What this scene shows is the
almost ultimate castration of the man. On the latent level, when one takes the encoding
off, we see that he attempted to be the love of his mother, but that he could not fulfill
this role with his small member, and the father asserts his position of man-of-the-house
by scaring off the boy, and then taking proper care of the mother. The chase then
continues until the man cannot stand it anymore, and, basically, accepts the duel of the
semi, but tricks it as a bullfighter does, by jumping out of his car just before the semi
smashes it, and both go right off a steep cliff. Finally, the man has beaten his father,
and sits down, relieved, with a different look on his face than was ever seen before. This
was a look of tired confidence, of a victor emerging from an arduous battle; the look that
a child would like to have after defeating his father, allowing him to claim his mother.
But, like in the shining, one does not consciously perceive this relationship as such when
watching the film, just as one does not understand the dream where the id is equally
expressed and satisfied.
Finally, let us turn to probably the most
popular example there is, one that most everyone of the previous and this generation
associate strongly with. This is that of "Star Wars." These films are some of
the most easily evident psychodynamic films there are. The Oedipal relationship here is a
bold one: we know that Darth Vader is Luke’s father. As for Luke’s mother
figure, that role falls appropriately on Leia, still a member of the family. While, after
finding out that Leia is his sister, Luke does not want to marry her, this relationship is
still a metaphor, as he has to save her from Vader on more than one occasion. But let us
think more of the direct conflict between father and son. This conflict is evident enough,
along with the temptation to become "like his father" which is easily seen as
the temptation to give up, and to identify with the father in the actual Oedipal conflict
as Vader had done with the Emperor. What is psychoanalytically delicious is the manner
that they fight—they battle each other with long sticks that glow and pulsate with
energy. These are excellent phallic symbols, flowing with libidinal energy. They also
attempt to battle each other by using their control of "the Force" which is a
perfect analogy for libido, the driving force behind all life forms. And in the end, we
are satisfied, for Luke wins. In addition to this, we have a second satisfaction in that
Vader wins his own Oedipal conflict, in killing his father-figure, the emperor.
But to stop at the Oedipal theme in
"Star Wars" would be to overlook a wealth of psychoanalytic themes. Subsequent
to the conflict, we find the id represented in R2D2, who communicates only on a level
which fellow droids understand, but is able to project images (dreams) and is often the
leader of the two, and even guides Luke in one of his triumphant flights. This makes C3P0
the superego, as he is never far behind R2D2, always nagging, always reprimanding, looking
down on him from above, and communicating in the same language with R2D2 (unconscious
communication) yet able to communicate to people in English (conscious experiencing of
conscience). As we find R2D2 appropriately paired with C3P0, this relationship is amusing,
not disturbing. However, we find an unmitigated id in the figure of Jaba the Hut, who is
almost pure id. He never moves, and is instantly gratified by eating and playing with his
sexy slaves; furthermore, Jedi mind tricks (guilt) do not work on him at all. And, as this
is obvious to our superego what he represents, we feel appropriately repulsed and
disgusted by him. Before leaving this tangent, there is one more very interesting level
that "Star Wars" works on—this is the archetypal level. While this is a
very sensitive area between Freudians and Jungians, I would like to sidestep those issues,
and, for the purposes of this paper, consider the archetypal level as one which agrees
with the psychoanalytic perspective. One of the great representations on this level is
seen at the end of the first released film, where Luke destroys the Death Star. This is
symbolic of conception in many ways. First of all, the proportions of the Death Star to
the fighters are similar to that of the egg and sperm. While there are many fighters, only
one can fly in the ridge of the death star, and hit the small and exact target. And, of
course, one must shoot the target (ejaculation), an action that Luke employs the Force
(again, libido) to perform. Someone even says that his shot is "one in a
million." And when he successfully hits the target, fertilizing the egg, the Death
star explodes. One can see this as a huge explosion of death—the satisfaction of the
death drive, Thanatos, which shares a polar relationship with the life drive, Eros. It is
simply inverted for the purposes of the story (it would not suit to have an explosion of
life), and could even be seen as a sort of anticipatory reaction formation, so that the
watcher’s superego does not realize that the ego is enjoying the act of conception
(which, of course, implies repressed sexual desires). Furthermore, we see great use of
archetypes in Vader who makes a great Shadow, as well as in Darth Maul and Qui-gon (from
"Episode I"), who seem to almost perfectly represent Satan and Christ.
Humor
Along with dreams, one of the major
releases of drives which have not been completely repressed is though humor. Freud (1960b)
compares dream-work to joke-work, finding them both very similar in the work done, but in
a way which appeals to more than just the unconscious id. Humor operates on two levels: on
the first, like in dreams, it allows the id to indirectly express its desire; on the
second, unlike dreams, it satisfies the superego by mocking that very same impulse. Simple
evidence of this is in the way that our culture makes very many jokes about sex, something
which is highly repressed, but not at all as completely as it was by the Victorians.
When looking at film as a whole, one cannot
help but notice that it seems that over half of all films released are comedies, and even
serious films will often have comic relief (a sort of release of pressure from an
otherwise tense film). There seem to be three styles of comedies that appeal to the id
(parodies and other sorts usually appealing to the conscious ego). These are slapstick,
sexual, and offensive, and they are found intermixed. The first is easily seen in any
comedy that portrays meaningless violence, or, to put it in a different manner, those
films in which violence means less than it would in real life. This is an appeal to
the Thanatos drive of the id—the drive to hurt and destroy, to kill and maim. The
censor would most usually detect any normal violence, and alert the superego into
producing the appropriate guilt or sympathy response, but slapstick is very different. In
that it means less, the consequences of slapstick violence are far less than they would be
normally. Thus, when someone’s face is ironed, it is seen as funny only if it does
not seem as real as real life. But one must ask, why is any violence funny? Why do so many
people find the comedy of the Three Stooges irresistible? When one looks at the actions
themselves, separated from the film, they do not seem funny, they seem outright cruel. But
film allows one to show an otherwise cruel and mean action in a humorous light, and it
does so on a predominantly unconscious level. Slapstick gives the id what it desires: the
experience of doing violence to another, while fooling the censor by weakening the
consequences. Slapstick films can use any number of unconscious cues to indicate that the
violence means less, including sound effects, visual imagery, or light and happy music in
the background. Any way in which a film fools the censor, the result is the same: the id
is satisfied, while the superego is pacified.
Another main form of humor in film is found
in sexual comedy. Much like slapstick, this is when a film takes sexual acts, and portrays
them as meaning less than they would outside the theater. It has the same unconscious
structure as slapstick, in which the id’s Eros drive is satisfied, while the superego
is pacified in the way in which the desire is mocked, and often separated from
consequences (it would not be very funny if the main character contracted HIV). It is also
important to remember that it is the consequences of actions that are the superego’s
main punishing power, for the internalization of parental commands is almost always in the
form of a threat of severely unpleasant future consequences (castration). A good example
of a sexual comedy is the film "American Pie" in which there are plentiful
sexual acts performed, all in a light and almost playful context, free from real life
intimacy issues. The two "Austin Powers" films also have been very sexual in
nature, as well as containing much slapstick, and are found greatly humorous in that they
enable to id to find release in laughter, while giving the superego the ability to mock
the very same urges.
Finally, the id finds extreme humor in
anything that is considered offensive to the culture (and thus, to be repressed). While
this may include violence and sex, it may include a wide variety of other repressed
desires. For instance, many found the film "South Park" to be extremely funny,
while many others were disgusted. For the first group, it produced the response of being
funny in that it released the impulse to offend, to say whatever one wants to anyone,
which one may see as divergent from the discontented child’s desire to throw his own
feces, as the children in this film throw scatological terms instead. The superego for
this first group is pacified in the manner in which one sees this offensive behavior. One
aspect is that those being offensive are children, which makes their language seem to be
more naïve, even if it would normally be extremely offensive. Another aspect is that the
graphics are very unrealistic, and look like construction-paper cutouts, sending the
signal that the film is anything but real. For this first group, the id desire was
expressed, while it meant less due to the unconscious trappings, allowing it to be
acceptable for the censor, and enough that the impulse could be mocked by the superego.
For those who found the film truly offensive, the unconscious operation did not occur.
Their superegos were more strict than those of the first group, and were able to separate
the manner in which the jokes were made (cartoon-style, naïve children) and the actual
words which were spoken, thus preventing identification with the characters, as well as
seeing it more consciously, as a social problem which should be repressed or ignored, but
not encouraged.
Now one might think that we are done, but
we are not yet. For there is the genre of film that is humorous, but operates on a
radically different process as normal comedy. This genre is that of dark comedy that many
find strangely humorous. While one could see normal, light, comedy as appealing primarily
to the id, dark comedy appeals to the superego. Most dark comedies show actions that the
id has a desire to do, but then show the uncannily humorous consequences to these actions,
consequences which the superego is precisely threatening when it speaks as one’s
conscience.
For a concrete example of this process, let
us look at the film "Very Bad Things" which was an excellent black comedy. In
this film, one sees the characters doing just about everything that should be repressed
into the id as an unacceptable desire (drugs, sex, murder). Then it demonstrates the
effects of throwing one’s superego to the wind, as some characters break down
mentally, and the surviving ones are condemned to live in hell on earth. After showing the
demented state which the characters’ actions has trapped them into, the title is
restated. The message of this film could be put as such: "very bad things (superego
inflicted) happen to those who do very bad things (the id’s desires)." While
taken out of context, the actions of those in the film are grotesque, and carry no
humorous value. But in the context of the film, and the close association between the
release of id impulses and the punishment of the superego, this gives the superego exactly
what it wants without letting the ego in on the joke. However, just as the superego is
pacified indirectly in light comedy, the id is pacified indirectly in dark comedy, much as
it is in the resolution of the Oedipal conflict. While the id cannot win, and express its
desires freely (for in the film this action bears the consequence of horrible symbolic
castration), it is able to take pleasure, in the victory of the superego, and release the
pressure from the Thanatos drive in enjoying the viscous punishment inflicted on those who
disobeyed their superegos.
One can see this as well in the film
"Being John Malcovitch" which uses great unconscious methods of communication.
One of them is based in familiarity with the main actors: Cameron Diez and John Cusack,
both Hollywood sex symbols. These actors are usually put in roles which accentuate and
proclaim their status as sex symbols, but in this film they are probably at their least
attractive ever. They live dirty filthy lives, ungroomed, surrounded by animals. This
sends the unconscious meaning that those who live very sexual lives are doomed to live
like the animals that they are, thus satisfying the superego. As the film continues, this
theme is brought about more fully in that they find escape from their lives in living John
Malcovitch’s life. They are continually driven towards material wealth, sexual
attraction, and pure physical enjoyment, and the violation of anyone (primarily, John
Malcovitch) who interferes with their attempts to immediately gratify their basic desires.
However, rather than hail them for their deeds, the film points out their lack of morals
as distasteful, and punishes John Cusack’s character in a living hell at the end.
Thus, the superego is satisfied. Actions which were base and animal were severely
punished, and the main instigator of these actions, Cusack/id, was successfully repressed
completely, made utterly powerless, forever trapped in the mind of an other (this is a
complicated part of the plot which is best seen than described). This resolution comically
demonstrates the internalization of the parents commands and the repression of the id
desires in that the Cusack character is trapped in a child’s mind, with no means of
control or expression. It is through this dark comedy that we are given the unconscious
pleasure, directed towards the superego, of having our unconscious desires fulfilled, even
if, in this case, the desire is the superego’s desire to fully repress unacceptable
desires which come from the id.
Satisfying the Ideal Self
While up until this point, I have been
using the structure of the id, ego, and superego, I see it necessary to switch to a
different way of looking at the dynamic unconscious. This is found in the ideal self,
which is predominantly an unconscious figure, not that much unlike the superego, but still
belonging to a different descriptive structure of the psyche. While the ideal self is the
sole ruler of neurotics, tyrannizing over their lives with the constant and mostly
unconscious demand of what they should be, one can see evidence that normal people
have a certain degree of an ideal self in themselves as well, perhaps one that does not
completely tyrannize the real self but still has an influence. Let us look a little more
closely at this ideal self. Horney (1950) describes it as everything that one sees that
one should be, and usually flies in the face of realistic goals and possibilities.
The ideal self is the call to be perfect, to never fail, and to be the center of the
world. This, for many people, constitutes a significant unconscious drive, and thus seeks
satisfaction. Again, it is my belief that the ideal self may very well exist in those who
are not pathologically neurotic, on a level which is mostly, if not all, unconscious, one
that does not completely rule the self, but would do so given the opportunity.
As we have seen above, film is an excellent
medium for the expression of unconscious desires and drives. As the ideal self constitutes
a substantial unconscious desire, it would be eminently reasonable that this too is quite
evident in popular films. And so it is. One only has to open a paper to see a huge
advertisement for a film that gives expression to the desire to attain the ideal self. As
our culture seems to predominantly value the moving against style (Horney, 1950) of
accomplishing this ideal, it is this style that I will explore. What, then, would a
personified ideal self be for one who leans more towards the moving against style? First
of all, he would be utterly perfect, and this perfection would characterize everything he
did. He would make the world conform to his desires. He would have an impeccable outward
appearance (as the ideal self is concerned with appearance far more than reality), he
would be able to attain any woman he desired, he would be able to kill anyone he wished
without getting badly hurt, if at all. He would do everything, from the most normal
action, to the most outrageous caper, as if it were no trouble at all—he would never
be tense, nervous, worried, unsure, confused, or even break a sweat. He would never fail,
and he would always make others succumb to his will. This ideal self would be everything
that our ideal selves (in the moving against style) have ever desired to be, so the
personification of this ideal would have an enormous drawing power at the box office.
Now that this description is complete, who
have I not described most fully but James Bond? He is the ultimate ideal self for those
closer to the moving against style. In him the ideal self in all the viewers finds relief
from being restrained by reality, by the fears, worries, incompetencies, etc., of the real
self. James Bond defies the very laws of physics, and always ends up the charming victor,
never breaking a sweat. This can also be said of Superman, while not as popular, an image
that has dazzled many Americans for years, especially on film.
One is able to see ample other versions of
this ideal self in most any action film. "The Matrix," for example, while
packing a serious conscious message, presents an equally appealing ideal self image for
the ideal self of the viewer to find expression and satisfaction. The character Neo is one
who defies the laws of physics, bests any and all his opponents, and actually manipulates
reality to fit his will. This is, again, almost the exact desire that the moving against
ideal self has. Is it any wonder that this film was one of mass popularity, and any Bond
film is almost guaranteed to be a success? These films appeal to the desire of every
unconscious impulse to attain the ideal self. What most people view as impossible, the
attaining of the ideal self, must be ignored in healthy life, but many films give vent to
the desire for this ideal self to become reality.
Conclusion
I would like to conclude this essay with a
final look at how the medium of film is able to speak to the unconscious. It is my
contention that the watching of a film can, and often does, instill a state of partial
hypnosis. The lights are turned out, and all that one can see and hear is controlled by
the film. Many viewers focus on the film and loose a sense of their actual (physical and
psychical) presence in the room. This is why it is very different to watch a film with
many others talking with the lights on than it is in a normal theater. Once in this state,
the film has a certain hold on the viewer. People jump when the monster appears, they jerk
their legs when a character almost has theirs bitten off, they cry (or have to resist the
unconscious desire to cry) when the main character cries. But in reality they are merely
sitting in a dark room, watching still shots being projected 24 times every second. There
is not even any actual motion on the screen, merely the appearance of motion. But this is
precisely not the experience that most have when watching a film. The difference lies in
that most people allow themselves to "suspend disbelief" or to enter into a
semi-hypnotic state. And could we not then explain the grasp of film in that it does the
work of dreams through a semi-hypnotic manner? I think so.
There is one main question could be raised,
in bringing this essay to a close, which concerns the director’s intentionality. Does
it not matter if the director means to use unconscious cues to make a film work? The
answer to this question is that, no, it does not matter what the director intends to do.
While it could have very well been the intentions of such masters as film as Kubrick,
Lucas, and Spielberg to use their expert control of the medium to include unconscious
cues, a director would not have to do so intentionally. For, as the unconscious work of
film is done in the same manner as dreams, as one that is specifically not conscious, a
director could easily make a film filled with unconscious attractions merely because they
appealed to his or her unconscious. Thus, the director does not even need to know that he
is orchestrating an appeal to the unconscious of many, for it may very likely be the exact
same thing which he finds unconsciously appealing.
Another issue that should be addressed is
that this essay is not a comprehensive essay on all of film. I have selected certain
genres that, in my mind, illustrate most clearly the psychodynamic nature of film, and
have not touched on others. This is not to say that genres (such as horror or fantasy) do
not have content for psychoanalysis to focus on, but that to delve into them properly
would require much more time, as well as long and very in-depth analyses. This essay is
merely to illustrate the basic structures found in film, the basic ways in which it plays
upon, and to, the unconscious parts of the viewer’s psyche.
One is now able to see clearly why it is
the psychoanalytic perspective of psychology that most appropriately addresses film. Film
is an artistic form of expression, but unlike most literature, film has a strong message
for, and appeal to, the unconscious, performing the same essential work as dreams, and
doing so in a manner which addresses the unconscious aspects of the psyche often without
the conscious ego ever realizing what has occurred. By utilizing major forms of
unconscious communication in dynamic images, sounds, and music, as well as the conscious
communication through plot, film is able to fully speak to all parts of the psyche, a feat
that is challenging for most other art forms to boast.
References
Freud, S. (1950). The interpretation of
dreams. New York: Random House, Inc.
Freud, S. (1960a). The ego and the id.
New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Freud, S. (1960b). Jokes and their
relation to the unconscious. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.
Horney, K. (1950). Neurosis and human
growth; the struggle toward self-realization. New York: W. W. Norton & Company,
Inc.
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