#it's like it mirrors the evolution of Cherry herself

[devintrinidad]

Please watch The Artifice Girl. It's a great movie with smart dialogue, wonderful actors, and the ideas that are perpetuated and implied throughout the film are amazing.

Spoilers under the cut:

I love the differences between the three main characters (Deena, Amos, and Gareth) and how their attitudes towards Cherry differ. Whereas Gareth doesn't see Cherry as an autonomous being that is basically a human at that point, Amos continually points out that she needs to be asked for consent, that he can't actually tell the difference between her and a human because she's so real. Furthermore, Deena, although she came across as the "bad cop" in the first act, she became far more sympathetic in the second. I love how she was the middle ground between Amos and Gareth, how she gave Cherry a choice to shut down after their conversation whenever she wanted and that she was thinking of the future and that it would be better to start asking AI for their consent now rather than later.

But what really got me teary eyed at the end was when Cherry doesn't absolve Gareth of his actions/attitudes towards her. There's no "Thank you for giving me life" and "I owe you everything and that makes you a wonderful person" or "You were like a father to me". It was made clear time and time again, that he was more of an employer to her rather than just a father figure despite the fact that he is her creator.

There's bitterness and sadness and regret, all mixed together and when you've spent Act 1 and parts of Act 2 seeing her calm and nearly emotionless, seeing her pain and rage in Act 3 is so cathartic. She finally has a voice and she's using it to remind Gareth that even if she is not human, she still has agency.

Just like the children who are exploited and solicited, Cherry is in a position where she has no choice, where an organization continually profits off her.

There's also the whole bit where she brutally tears into him, telling him that she bears the weight and brunt of his trauma, how he should have had the Clearwater conversation with her years ago--50, in fact.

There's this one line in Act 2 where Deena tells Gareth to "grow up". I think he never got past his child and the events that happened then.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I came into the movie with no expectations and I thought that certain things were going to happen, but no. Completely subverted my expectations and made me rethink my expectations and beliefs in autonomy, who gets a say in making decisions, and how the decisions imposed on us by our parents can either heal or build us up as the years go by.

Another thing about the movie that I can never get enough about was the dialogue. You just jump in media res and you're forced to focus and fill in the blanks. All the fat has been cut, what needs to be said is either conveyed through body language or the necessary arguments/discussions that take place throughout the film.

It's minimal, but packs a powerful punch.

The Artifice Girl

[shesquiinnsane-ar]

I'm the whole damn cake and the cherry on top Shook up the bottle, made a good girl pop

NO MORE PLANNING.   Not that she had really been planning before but she had to act now.   In this short window of opportunity the blonde had to get the Joker out from the basement floor made just for him ,   to outside the walls of Arkham.   Harleen had to prove she could become his Harlequin ,   but now little Harley Quinn had to manifest itself in the flesh of Dr. Harleen Quinzel.   It wasn’t a rebirth, more an evolution.   Over the last week she had swapped her car sharing with Dr. Davis with a chance to test the tarmac on a second-hand motorcycle.   It was cheap ,   and a quick flip.   It had been on the down-low ,   potentially illegal if she actually bothered to check but it didn’t matter.   Getting it had been a matter of urgency and although this was probably the worst thing on her record ,   it wasn’t going to stay that way for long.   For she had formed a plan ,   or at least half a plan ,   on how to get to the Joker.   Breaking into Arkham was supposed to be impossible ,   but the hardest part was going to be breaking out once she faced him.   Not even Mista’ J was going to know what hit him by the time she was done.

❝ Good night Dr. Quinzel.   See you, same time tomorrow.   Same shit ,   different day this place.   Am I right? ❞   She softly smirked and waved as the guard lifted his coffee cup ,   toasting the end of her shift.   He had no idea what to expect ,   but she knew it was the last time she would ever be referred to as a doctor ,   in this context at least.   No one else had known that today was her last work shift ,   but as she said goodnight to the entrance staff ,   Harleen excused herself to use the bathroom before supposedly heading back to her bike.   Locking the entire bathroom down to avoid anyone barging in ,   she started to strip off ,   her whitecoat dropping into a puddle on the floor.   She wouldn’t miss these walls ,   the cracked ceilings ,   the dim lights and the echoes of horrors that seemed to fall on deaf ears. 

The best outfit she could come up with had been packed away in her locker ,   but she had retrieved the items and laid them out in front of her.   The white coat had concealed a red dress which was bundled into her back.   Leaving herself in a red under slip ,  she glanced at the jumpsuit one more time.   The red and black Harlequin design.   The Joker wasn’t stupid by any means but she hoped the idea made him laugh.   It wasn’t an item she planned to return from the fancy dress store anytime soon.   Zipping it up and sliding her feet in the shoes ,   the blonde looked at herself in the mirror as she clipped the ruffle around her neck.   It looked more like a collar than a necklace ,   but the motif seemed to fit her judgement.   Pulling her hair up the blonde ponytail was wrapped around itself to form a bun but the jester hat to accompany her outfit didn’t fit properly.   Drastic measures were needed. 

Placing her bag to the side of the sink ,   Harleen took a deep breath ,   rummaging around to find the pair of scissors buried at the bottom of her bag.   She had thrown them in there just in case anyone had ever tried to jump her in one of many of Gotham’s alleyways but now they were to be used for a greater purpose.   Harleen closed her eyes ,   gripping the pony tail tight before sawing through it with the scissors.   The clump of hair eventually came away and she left it in the sink.   It was a messy pixie cut ,   but right now it was to be covered by the jester hat so she could always neaten it later.   On the other side of her mad escapade.   Looking in the mirror Harleen barely recognised herself ,   aside from the glasses on her face and well they didn’t seem to sit properly or match the rest of the look.   They were tossed aside in favour of a pair of contact lenses.   To calm her nerves she focused her shaky hand to apply a fresh coat of lipstick.   There   -   look complete. 

To divert everyone’s attention ,   she pulled the fire alarm.   It was time to act quickly.   Her access codes were still wrapped around her neck and as the staff headed for the exits ,  Harleen’s swipe card allowed her inside just as the sprinklers started.   The corridors closed quickly so now she had to act fast.   Taking the stairs down two at a time until she came face to face with the long corridor that kept Joker alone.   The alarms were quieter down here ,   Gotham wouldn’t miss having this one burn after all but Harleen.   No ,   Harley was here to get him out of the dungeon because no one deserved to be forgotten about.   The man had come to the window of his cell ,   his smirk turning into a grin as Harley stepped into the light.   He hesitated ,   then laughed and nodded.  ❝ My-my-my, someone has certainly done a number on you, Doc. ❞

❝ N’aww c’mon Mista’ J we gots to go if anyone - ❞   She paused.   It didn’t matter now ,   if anyone caught her she’d be locked up on the other side of the facility.   It was now or never.   ❝ I did this fer you, pud’. We ain’t got much time, ya can check the handiwork afterwards. ❞   She turned on her heel and ran to the wall.   After checking Arkham’s plans ,   Harley noted the old sewers had previously been converted into the facility’s parking lot.   After all ,   before the appearance of the Joker they had never had to build this far down.   Since the need for his cell they had boarded up and relocated the lot elsewhere.   They’d boarded it up ,   but they hadn’t done that much to hide it on the plans.   From the clown’s possession box held in storage (   supposedly destroyed   )   a small detonator bomb had been retrieved.   She’d replaced it with an identical looking ornament ,   but the one in a box was a fake.   This was the key to the Joker’s escape.   Wedging in a gap in the rocks ,   Harley took a few steps back and fired from a safe distance.

                                                    ---BANG!

At least there was a fire for the alarms to complain about now as the blast set some of the rubble ablaze.   Easily enough know there was a whole in which the Joker proceeded to crawl through ,   followed by Harley.   In front was her bike all ready to go.   She straddled it and revved the engine as Joker seemed to reluctantly ride pillion.   Speed was needed though as Harley had only just made it under the barricade with the bike before using a lucky powerslide.   It didn’t matter now though.   The Joker wasn’t holding her waist but he was here and he was hers.   It was all the encouragement she needed as splinters flew through the air as the mudguard bashed through the barrier onto an empty back road.   No more guards ,   no more fences and the fresh air that hit the female caused her to break out in a sweat.   She pulled the hat from her head ,   but it was still clipped under her chin ,   letting what was left through her hair blow through the wind.  ❝ I did it puddin’! I gotcha out. Didn’t know if ya’d believe I would but I did it fer yas. ❞

❝ That you did Harley. Now floor it!! You don’t want us to be seen after all this! ❞

[cherryvalances]

November 25, 1964

“I hear Timmy Shepard’s coming home today,” Carla said the moment Mina set a chocolate milkshake on the tabletop.

Had it been just anyone, they would have missed the effects that name roused: the dose of vitality that shot up Mina’s spine, warming each vertebra on its way up; the squeak of the red vinyl booth as she shifted her legs over and under and back again, her cherry red lips spreading into a smile, then captured between her teeth, until smoothing into their usual pursed state – an evolution so quick Darwin wouldn’t have noticed. But Aunt Carla wasn’t just anyone.

“Angela called me the other night. Said he’s being released early on ‘good behavior.’ But I know it’s the overcrowding.” She retrieved a napkin from the pocket of her apron and placed it by her aunt’s hands, her eyes everywhere but where they should be. It was still cloudy outside, she noticed.

A hybrid expression encompassed Carla’s face, a thoughtless, knowing smile and something else Mina couldn’t name and didn’t particularly want to. “And, I hear,” the woman began, carefully stirring the milkshake into a frothy soup, “that there’s a party in his and Nicco’s honor tonight.”

Mina wondered who her contacts were for a brief moment, before annoying herself with her own stupidity. “Mhm, I’m heading over after my shift.” It wasn’t missing a shift at the restaurant that Carla was worried about, but Mina had been playing this game for a while, she knew how it went.

“Well, good. You’re always working, Mina. It’s time you dedicate some time to yourself and have fun.” But not too much, was always implied.

The older woman sipped happily on her milkshake, nearing its end, then paused and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Your grandfather invited some acquaintances to tomorrow’s dinner.” Her words were careful and deliberate. “Your cousin Damiano among them.” She folded the used napkin once, twice, then three times, her dark gaze drawn to her working hands.

Mina raised a brow at her aunt’s employment of the word ‘acquaintances.’ It wasn’t rare for her grandfather to invite outsiders to dinner sometimes, but he rarely provided a warning. “He believes them to be an excellent group of men, hopes you’ll think so, too.”

Recognition flashed in Mina’s blurry eyes and she nodded, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, a small smile tugging at her lips and cheeks. “I hope so, too, zia.”

Aunt Carla mirrored her smile and drained her glass with a noisy slurp. “Thank you for the milkshake, topolina. I’ll see you later.” Carla slid out of the booth, the bench squeaking from the friction of her weight, and the fabric of her skirt, and the fact that that booth was notoriously noisy. The older woman began to gather her belongings, scooping up her scarf and her handbag from where she fished out a crisp five-dollar bill and laid it on the tabletop. Mina assisted her aunt with her coat, holding it up to provide easy access and kissed her goodbye.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, somewhere deep in the heart of Tulsa. She hummed as she wiped away the condensation that had dripped off the milkshake glass. The bill was stiff and heavy in her hand like it was fresh from the teller, Mina pocketed it, and thought about the untouched cherry in Aunt Carla’s glass.  The man was still standing on the corner of Pickett and Sutton when Mina Santini left the diner. She had passed him on her walk to work for a week, each day growing more unsettled.

A group of women formed a half-circle around him, their eyes shining, eyebrows arched with intrigue. No one seemed particularly affected by his words, it was his presence that grounded them to the cement. Street preachers didn’t simply pop up on street corners on the North side. She spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, matriarchs from her neighborhood cradling groceries or work uniforms, due to start the night shift when the clock struck seven or the preacher finally abandoned his post, whichever came first. “And where is God in all of this?” His clear voice rang, the first signs of sundown filtering through the dark clouds. A few in the crowd chuckled darkly. They knew the answer. Mina did too. God didn’t reside in the North side of Tulsa, he hadn’t in a while. She was halfway down the adjacent street before he could finish his monologue. She wrapped her coat tighter around her small form, each muffled bump of her bag against her thigh urging her to walk faster. Her cheeks were saturated pink as the wind rolled, ruffling the dark auburn locks that escaped the loosening grip of her ponytail. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the man that bothered her so. It wasn’t his ill-fitting suit or his scuffed shoes – poverty wasn’t exactly a rarity around these parts. Maybe it was the way he spoke, his voice heavy and jagged, like bolded text personified, too intrusive to bare for longer than a second. (Maybe it was his presence in general.) Mina had been to a Christian service in junior high once, the pastor had spoken in that same voice. It was a tactic employed to encourage visceral reactions from a passionate congregation, but on the corner of Pickett and Sutton, it highlighted his audience’s silence.
November had brought its usual chill and she knew that if she didn’t hurry, the night would soon turn as dark as it was cold. It wasn’t the temperature she was worried about, every Tulsan knew better than to wander around the Northside lonesome, especially after sundown. The moon, with all her beauty, was only ever a witness and never a savior. The sun was settling with blues and purples on the horizon when she entered the alley behind the restaurant. The backdoor was ajar, and a sliver of warmth and light beckoned her, the muted sounds of the jazz band tuning up teasing her ears. Mina tugged on the thick handle, another world fabricating before her. The heart of Tierra Nostra was its bustling, lively kitchen. Waiters clad in black and white filtered in and out, balancing trays of drinks, entrees, and empty plates on their hands or shoulders. The numerous light fixtures provided a distinct contrast from the greying sky and dim alley and a flurry of scents greeted her. She closed the steel door behind her and wandered toward the line of hooks where employees kept their coats and hats and scarves, the heat from the ovens instantly relieving her chilled body. “Good to see ya, Mina!” Rafe called, his greeting instantaneous, he’d always had sharp eyes, they hopped from the tray he was nurturing to her wiggling figure. She was trying to remove her coat. It was her favorite for the same reason it needed replacing, it was snug on her arms, providing her with extra warmth when necessary, it was only a hassle now. “You say that every day, Rafe,” she laughed, amusement playing in her tone. She finally got the coat off and draped it over a lonely hook. She retrieved her apron, tossing the soft, white cloth over her shoulder. Her feet led her to the sink, the routine long since ingrained within her. Rafe placed the dark tray over his shoulder, “Coz every day it’s true,” he winked and disappeared behind the double doors before she could reply. A scoff escaped her upturned lips, she shook her head, turning the faucet on and pumping the soap dispenser until a generous amount resided on her palms. Dispersing it diligently for a few seconds, she contemplated the remainder of her day. Even if she wanted to skip the party, Angela wouldn’t stand for it, knowing her, she’d stomp over to her house – or annoy one of Tim’s boys to the point that they’d give her a ride – and push her off the bed and pout at her for being so boring. Aunt Carla was right, it’d been a while since she had fun and done something entirely for her own amusement. Angela said she worked too much. The smile that had been lingering over her lips since her interaction with Rafe rejuvenated, Angela always had that effect on her, it’d been that way for as long as Mina could remember and she reckoned it would stay that way ‘til the end of her days. She rinsed the suds off, drying her hands with her apron and tying it at her waist. The energy streaming in from the main room began to revitalize the kitchen, the stove burners blaring a little louder, the chefs’ words looping and rolling along to the jazz tunes. The atmosphere was coming together seamlessly, every employees’ heart seemed to thump in harmony. Mina tugged at the restrictive ribbon, her mass of dark hair settling against her back, and for a brief moment, she wondered if the preacher made it home safe. It’s her last thought before her dainty hands push the swinging doors, the jazz melodies cutting the rest of the world off. For the next few hours, only the souls at Tierra Nostra exist.  Angela was standing on the crumbling sidewalk at the end of the block when Mina approached. The youngest Shepard had a cigarette between her plump, rosy lips and was tapping her right foot shamelessly. Angela’s eyes brightened when they spotted Mina’s figure under the flickering streetlight, she took another puff before hopping off the rounded corner and meeting her friend halfway. She wrapped her thin arms around the older girl, bending her wrist away so the cigarette didn’t sear her coat. “Minaaa,” Angela cooed, giving a small squeeze before pulling away. “I was boutta go lookin’ for you,” She frowned. Mina chuckled softly, “I would never miss this party.” “Yeah, but you would show up late for it,” she pouted, yanking lightly at a lock of Mina’s freshly washed hair with two fingers. Their eyes met and a smile blossomed on Angela’s mouth. “Okay,” she let up. Mina bumped their hips and the two giggled, making their way down the sidewalk to the Shepard house. Groups of teenagers stood around the lawn drinking from beer and pop bottles, a few greeted the pair but the music flowing from the backyard muffled most of the chatter. Angela pushed her way to the front door and opened it easily. The knob was loose and tended to refuse locking entirely. Mina allowed the younger girl to guide her inside, where a few familiar Northsiders lounged around the living room. “Mina!” Curly greeted from the kitchen, a big grin on his features as he strode over. He was a whole head taller than her and still growing. “Hi, Curly,” he brought her into a tight hug before Angela smacked his shoulder and he pulled away. “Nicco’s outside with Darry Curtis and his guys if you wanna see ‘im,” Curly informed as she removed her coat. Angela took it from her, shoving it into Curly’s arms. “He and Ponyboy were being pimples on the ass of humanity again,” Angela sneered, her big Bambi eyes staring daggers at her brother who simply cracked up with laughter. “It was funny as fuck, Mina, shoulda been there.” “Where’s Tim?” Angela snapped, peering up at her brother, voice sharp and impatient. “In the kitchen,” Curly threw a thumb in that direction with no real reaction to his sister’s childlike fury and walked down the hallway to deposit her coat. Angela gave her a look and rolled her blue eyes. Mina made a soft noise and grabbed Angela’s hand, pulling her towards the kitchen. Tim Shepard and a couple of his guys were talking loudly, animatedly. The Shepards are real lookers, she’s reminded when her eyes found Tim. Tim was a lean, muscled eighteen-year-old (he’d only been eighteen for twenty days then, no one talked about the fact that he’d come of age inside) who looked like the model JD in movies and magazines. He was tall – taller than Curly and that was saying something – and had wavy black hair, smoldering dark eyes, and a long scar from temple to chin where a vagrant had slugged him with a broken pop bottle a few years ago. There was something about Tim, there always had been. He was magnetic, electric. You couldn’t ignore him even if you tried, and Mina tried. He exuded character, he demanded attention. He wasn’t beautiful like Darry Curtis’s brother Soda, but he was attractive, nobody could deny it. Mina focused her eyes anywhere else as they passed through the kitchen towards the backdoor. Angela’s hand in hers like an anchor. The chilly night air greeted her skin, refreshing against the long sleeves of her blouse. The backyard was teeming with people bopping to an Elvis track. Inside, Tim Shepard’s lips were pursed together. He wasn’t a praying man but Jesus Christ, Mina sure had grown up while he was gone. “Happy Birthday, Nicco.” She murmured into her brother’s ear, her arms loosely looping around his neck. He was sitting on an old lawn chair, surrounded by Darry’s gang and a few others. She felt his strong chest rumble with laughter, “It ain’t midnight yet.” She planted a kiss on his cheek and stroked a few stray locks of dark hair off his forehead, “Well, yeah, but I wanted to be the first one to congratulate you.” Nicco smiled their mother’s smile, all nice teeth, and sincere, shining eyes. She caught the hand he placed on her elbow and gave it a light squeeze before disappearing into the crowd. 

The night was winding down and Two-Bit Mathews, who she had always liked despite herself, had spun her around one too many times than her childhood dance classes had prepared her for. Steadying herself on the guardrail of the backdoor steps, she let out a small giggle, “I’ll be back!” She called out to Darry Curtis and he pouted his lips, glancing down at his empty beer bottle. She rolled her eyes, giggles still flowing from her lips, “I’ll get you some water too!” She carefully climbed the three steps and went over the threshold. She wasn’t drunk, but she did have a nice buzz going. She blamed Two-Bit for her haphazard balance. She closed the door behind, immediately encroached by the quiet. Tim Shepard, the other man of the hour, was leaned against the kitchen counter like he had hadn’t moved once tonight. He held a beer bottle in his large hand and she tried not to notice the new marks on his knuckles. At the door’s soft click, he glanced upward, and their gazes met. The buzz in Mina’s chest calmed and nearly dissipated entirely. “Ademina Santini.” He breathed out, his dark blue eyes scanning her up and down. He detected her state, recognizing the flush in her cheeks and the look in her eyes, though he’d only seen her like this a few times. He took another swig from the bottle in his hands. “Tim Shepard,” she acknowledged lowly. He said nothing as she opened the fridge and removed the jug of cold water. She served herself a glass, drinking slowly. Tim watched her intently, occasionally taking more swigs of his beer. Snores emanated from the living room, coloring the silence between them. Later, she’d discover Ponyboy and Curly, who’d knocked out on the living room floor. She refilled the glass and put the jug back, almost forgetting to get another beer for Darry. As nice as Mrs. Curtis was, her boys drinking was something she wouldn’t put up with. It made Darry a careful drinker, always sipping water in-between beers and making sure his stomach was full. “Thanks for lookin’ after Angel.” She turned to him and nodded slightly, avoiding his eyes. “I hope you had a nice time because I’m not doing it again.” They both knew that was a lie. Mina didn’t need an excuse to watch over Angela, she’d been doing that since she was thirteen. But things had been different then, before the Shepard gang, she had taken Angela under her wing because she wanted to, not because her big brother was away. “I’ve learned my lesson.” He hid his smirk; Mina’s intensity never bothered him. She was simply trying to make a point now, he knew they understood each other.

“Have a nice Thanksgiving, Tim,” she said, nearing the backdoor again.

You too, Mina.”  ____

AUTHORS NOTE: I have been working and planning and nurturing this fic and character since June of 2017. Mina Santini and her story is something I hold really close to my heart. So I hope you all enjoy it! Feel free to comment all your thoughts and opinions below! (I desperately need the feedback.)

Mina and her family are Italian, so this story will feature plenty of Italian dialogue, below are some translations.

Zia - Aunt/Auntie Topolina - Little Mouse

[mellomedia]

Mental Health Crisis in Media

This month’s blog post for Media & Society class is a good fit for what many people are dealing with during this never ending pandemic - the mental health crisis. Our list of films to watch were American Psycho, Donnie Darko, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Black Swan, and Parasite. Mental health is something we all need to talk more about. We’ve come a long way since 1975 when One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was produced, but sadly there’s still many misconceptions about mental health. Most people associate mental health with violent behavior. The vast majority of people with mental health problems are no more likely to be violent than anyone else (“Mental Health Myth,” 2017). 

In all of these films, the main characters are coping with a mental health issue. All of them go through a stage of catharsis by the end of the film. Once again, I learned a new word - catharsis. According to Dictionary.com, it is defined as the process of releasing and/or relieving from stronger repressed emotions. The purpose of catharsis is to bring about some form of positive change in the individual's life (Cherry, 2020). Since mental illness is so complex, there are many interpretations of what each viewer thinks someone went through by the end of each film. If you haven’t seen any of the films above, I’ll warn you now about spoiler alerts. 

For this assignment we were asked to pick two out of the five films mentioned above, explain the ending of each, and then discuss the connections between these films and their ambiguous endings. I’ll also explain whether I thought each main character went through catharsis. I decided to go with the two films I felt were more challenging for me to understand. I’d also like to add that the two films I’m going to write about really opened my mind to a deeper awareness of mental health. Chan School Dean Michelle Williams makes a powerful statement about mental health during the pandemic. “The past year has been terribly damaging to our collective mental health,” Williams said. “There is no vaccine for mental illness - It will be months, if not years before we are fully able to grasp the scope of the mental health issues born out of this pandemic” (Powell, 2021). Even though these films were all produced pre-pandemic, they provide a better understanding of what someone with mental health issues go through. 

First on my list is One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. The ending of this film definitely had multiple meanings. And I think it had many meanings based on how you perceived McMurphy’s existence at the mental hospital. The way I saw it, McMurphy was the ‘cool guy’ that the other patients looked up to. Throughout the film he shows the other patients they aren’t as mental as Nurse Ratched makes them feel. He “frees” each patient of their mental health issue by having them step out of their comfort zone and literally out of the mental hospital. One part that really gave me a whole different insight of mental illness is when McMurphy hi-jacked a bus with all the patients on it and brought them on a boat ride. As they board the boat, the owner of the shipyard approaches them asking who they are. McMurphy introduces them one by one, “Dr. Martini, Dr. Taber… .” Instead of mental patients THEY were the doctors. As he said each man’s name, they stood tall and proud. It really was a cool moment in the film. I was actually cheering for them in my head. Fast forward to the end of the film, McMurphy ends up getting punished for hosting an out of control party at the mental hospital. 

Normally the punishment would be shock therapy, but this time it was a frontal lobotomy. Chief is one of the patients that McMurphy became close with. They planned on escaping the mental facility together after the party. But when Chief saw McMurphy’s scars from the lobotomy, he knew he’d never be himself again. To “free” McMurphy, Chief suffocates him to death, just as McMurphy freed each of the patients he met during his stay. By freed, I mean they were temporarily freed of their mental health disorders, their fears, their anxieties. I do believe that the ending was cathartic for McMurphy. He was released of the suffering he would have to live with after the lobotomy. I was really hoping the ending went like this: McMurphy’s punishment was the usual shock therapy...Chief wakes him up and the two escape. In the closing scene you’d see them walking away from the mental health facility. But the actual ending had much more meaning and made me really understand mental health further. I have a very open mind about mental health issues - I never judge. But this film gave me a deeper understanding of how misunderstood mental health is. Each of the mental patients was dealing with their own anxiety - but how it is handled is key. Nurse Ratched kept each of them in their shell while “think outside the box” McMurphy put their anxiety right in front of them. With mental health, we really need to think outside the box more.

Next on my list is Black Swan. While we caught glimpses of Nina’s dual personality, it was in our face by the end of the film. Nina’s doppelganger is shown through the use of mirrors. We see how she sees herself and at times we see the evil side of her that is emerging. The mirror presented to her the darkness within herself that metaphorically depicted the evolution into the black swan (Nelson, 2013). The pain she inflicted on other people was actually herself. Between Nina being so repressed from herself, and her mom, she really had no chance of escaping her mental state. In my opinion, this film showed how mental health might be a coping mechanism. Nina’s mom kept her in a secluded, isolated world. Nina’s repression was learned from the person she was closest to - her mom. But as Lily and Thomas try to pull Nina out of her confined world, she starts to hurt herself. She’s only able to become the Black Swan after she stabs her perfect white swan self. The way I look at it, once Nina freed herself of who she was, she became who she wanted to be - the perfect ballerina who could fulfill the role of a lifetime. Unfortunately that freedom was death. As with McMurphy, Nina’s motives also led to catharsis by the end of the film. I was hoping that her catharsis was in her head and that she finally achieved her dual role of the swan. But in reality the only way Nina could do that was out of self mutilation and eventually suicide. So obviously I was hoping for a different ending of Black Swan, but it would not have had the eye-opening impact into the reality of mental health. 

What connects these two films is their ambiguous endings. I think it’s actually symbolic that a film about mental health has more than one interpretation. Mental health is a complex issue, which would only make sense for the film’s ending to be just as complex. As I mentioned already, I would have written happier endings where Nina realizes she can be both the black and white swan and McMurphy leaves the mental hospital with Chief. But then what would I have learned by endings like that? That everyone gets cured from mental health? That mental health is easy to overcome and prevent? It would send the wrong message. In fact it would send a stereotypical message that people struggling with mental health can easily be ‘fixed.’ Many people don’t understand the very basic concept of mental health - your brain is in control - often there is a chemical imbalance or genetic predisposition to mental health problems (newroadstrmnt, 2018). If you think you know what mental health is and looks like, I urge you to watch these films. They both really showed me a side of mental health I wasn’t aware of.  

On a side note, during this pandemic I learned about a very close friend who is going through depression. I had absolutely zero clue he was dealing with this. Just like I didn’t realize at first what Nina was dealing with. I am relieved he is talking to a professional and getting help. But I also know that might not be enough. I don’t harp on it but I always ask him how things are. If he’s having a bad day, I remind him he doesn’t have to deal with anything alone. If you have a friend that is struggling with something, don’t walk away from them. Just be there and listen. Remind them that it’s nothing to be embarrassed about and reaching out for help takes a lot of courage. 

Below is a photo of myself I tried some effects on. I was trying to find artwork to share that shows an imbalance of the brain - although that wasn’t my intention when I created it. 

Artwork by Marcello Laudato, 2017.