FACE TO FACE

Jenny—eventually all her safety nets are gone

     Face to Face throws a lot of major themes at you. Maybe too many. I can’t deal with them all without writing way too much.
I will concentrate on some realistic, down to earth themes. They all go back to this; what makes Jenny reach a crisis where she attempts suicide, then returns to work before dealing with most of her baggage? The first theme may sound like trivial, mundane
bullshit…but it is not. You can describe it as the price a lot of us pay for saying everything is great…all the many, many times people ask us.
Jenny, the main character (Ullman) was brought up to speak
this way…or suffer some major consequences. Ironically, Tomas, the only character with enough motivation, skills, and knowledge to help Jenny, gives people virtually the same answers Jenny does. I’m doing fine. I’m happy wherever I am, blah, blah, blah.
At times, he shows he is growing past this. And for much
of their time together, he keeps his promises to her. But
like Jenny, he is feeling pain of his own…plenty of it. Watching him, I thought of the drawing Sean Maguire (Robin Williams) in Good Will Hunting had sketched and hung on his office wall. A man in a rowboat, waves all around him, hoping he might survive the coming hurricane.

Tomas—determined to be there for Jenny, but suffering his own pain

Of course, people will ask, “So Jenny was pressured to say
‘I’m fine’ all the time; I know plenty of people who got a
lot worse abuse than that.” Sounds convincing, but only on the surface. So often, kids like Jenny was, are going through additional tough times:perfectionistic, alcoholic, dysfunctional families desperate to keep secrets. Parents intensely afraid of the
outside world seeing them as they are. Pressure they feel to keep up the facade is brutal, and even worse for their kids.

The movie is not detailed about Jenny’s family secrets. Jenny knows her dad was an alcoholic. That he likely molested her before dying when she was nine. Her mom died too, in the same auto accident.
Her memories are scattered but some were always clear. The
contempt her mom and grandma had for her father…contempt
they eventually revealed to him. Then Jenny began to do
the same. She felt guilty for what she perceived as her
mean-ness. More so because her father spoke so much about
needing her love. And confusing too, because often this
was when he molested her.
Her grandparents took her in. But they did their share of
abuse too, though they meant it only as discipline, “tough
love.” When Jenny got them angriest, they threatened to
send her to an orphanage. The pressure to show the smiley-face for the world continued…maybe worse. Where does that leave Jenny’s present family—herself, husband Erik (a psychiatrist too) and daughter Anna?
Erik seems to have grown up in a similar atmosphere. The textbook answer predicts two people striving to be who their families wanted. Barely valuing the people they are. That is how I saw them now.
Erik has been in the USA, chairing a conference. He flies back to see Jenny after her suicide attempt—then stays
less than a day. Shocked by her actions, disappointed with
himself in not realizing her pain, and for not knowing what to say now. Concerned for her, yet not enough to let go of his professional commitments. You feel his sense of being unequal to this situation; he has enough of a heart to feel his own helplessness.

Anna—a strong need to be reassured; the words Jenny
rehearsed are not enough

Jenny’s daughter Anna visits too. So much Jenny wants to tell her…but she has never learned how. Jenny believed that telling her the truth about the suicide attempt was the right decision—I don’t disagree. At first, that honesty brings Anna closer to her. But
honesty brings demands with it. Anna needs reassurance—much more than Jenny realizes, much more than she knows how to give. Her daughter needs her to say, Don’t ever worry about me doing this again.
Now it is Jenny who is unequal to the situation. Too many
years building the mask and fitting it perfectly over her face. The mask is the sum of all our little white lies—-definitely not an evil thing but a force that drains our energy and makes us unable to ask for help. You realize suddenly—how would she know she is allowed to ask?
For so many people like Jenny, life continues on, mostly
unexamined. But one sudden, traumatic event can stop them
in their tracks…waking them to a reality they are unprepared for.
Another theme—one I have not seen in other Bergman movies.
How we deal with the psychos wandering loose in the
world—the ones we hear about on the news…that we pray we
never run into?
One more news story from years ago, that always stuck with
me. A retired suburban lady, walking home, murdered by a
stranger. The man is caught, quietly explains he never
meant to hurt anyone…only he was so furious at getting
lost in her town, not knowing the way out. Nothing personal.
The judge sentences him to life, tells him he is sorry the
death penalty is outlawed. The killer praises the judge’s insights. Tells him, your honor, right now, if I could get to where you’re sitting, I’d kill you too.

Monsters worse than childhood nightmares

Jenny runs into two men like that—in her own house, just
recently emptied and put on the market for sale. One tries
to rape her—clearly she is just a piece of meat to him. No
surprise; she is flooded with memories of her father’s
abuse.
Both men were acquaintances of Maria, an inpatient in
Jenny’s hospital. The two women had spoken, days before.
Strictly doctor to patient…at least Jenny thought so. Then
out of nowhere, Maria stared at her. “Poor Jenny,” she said quietly.
Could Maria read the future? I can’t judge her psychic powers. But possibly, her own pain gave her perceptions into Jenny. Emotions she guesses Jenny experiences but will not admit…that will someday reach the surface. A whole sea of issues not dealt with. Somehow Maria knew.

Maria

But what could her intuition tell her about Jenny? It struck
me—this list feels endless. So much that Maria sees coming; so many possibilities she fears for Jenny. To mention just one: Jenny has heard some of the horrors that Maria has experienced personally. But from a safe distance—she has not lived them since her childhood.
Jenny is a good person—cares about her patients—wants the best for them. But in most ways she is a child in a mean world—not prepared for the monsters out there. The two waiting at Jenny’s house are the kind of monsters Maria knows to exist…people she knows herself. And when the monsters’ world collides with Jenny’s more refined, more genteel world, Jenny must learn some painful
lessons. Generally the older you are, the more painful.

Jenny sees herself as sexually sophisticated. The way she casually tells Tomas, early on, about having an affair. (With a man “not half as nice” as her husband.) But look beneath the surface; you see a woman still feeling the strong grip of the church where she grew up. A conservative Protestant tradition, almost Fundamentalist in its view of sin and guilt.
Jenny may be an MD, a psychiatrist. But part of her still
feels the incest and near-rape were her fault. Those gut
responses die hard. You might have the psychological
resources to reason with them…it doesn’t matter. You can’t
expect insights to cancel out old feelings.
Her nightmares—familiar to Bergman fans, with medieval
castles and heartless condemnations from merciless
judges—underline the beliefs Jenny grew up in. Bad girl—a
big part of her is still expecting that verdict—she never
left it behind.
People may be wondering, “Is this guy going to write about anything besides psychology and relationships? Believe me, I’m
asking myself too, keeping in mind that these are Jenny’s
world; the search to help her patients—people with
problems in their minds.
Hand in hand with that search are other concerns—how can you be there for the people who need you…without being overwhelmed by the pain they have experienced? Jenny gets some unexpected insights from Tomas, the doctor who treats her. He had met Jenny on a social basis—at a party. You feel him struggling hard to hold onto his surface charm, keep up the social graces. Because his own loneliness is eating him up from the
inside.
What would have happened socially between them we will never know; Jenny’s suicide attempt turns their relationship to a professional one—Tomas becomes her doctor. Erland Josephson gives a subtle performance, subdued yet devastating; you watch him striving to maintain his professional self while screaming
in pain at his loneliness. He says little that is dramatic; knows he will be riding a roller coaster with Jenny until they figure some answers…but he keeps those insights to himself. At some
quiet moments, he lets out secrets—for example, his
disappointments in losing a relationship with someone he clearly loved deeply.
Another time, he talks about his commitment to his patients…in
almost spiritual terms. He mentions “an invocation for us non-believers”—something that struck me as Zen-like. A wish to be fully present in the moment, to feel completely what is in his patients’ hearts, holding nothing back.

Finding her way back—a long road ahead

An intense challenge for any of us who feel the darkness pressing in on us, but allowing him to keep his commitments to the people he is treating
I am hesitant about preaching what psychiatrists “should” or should not do; I am not qualified. But I started remembering a novel I read about 25 years ago; Mount Misery.
Dr. Basch, a young psychiatrist and the narrator, finds a mentor, Dr. Malik. Like Tomas, he works at giving his patients his
best. He says to Dr. Basch: “‘Think these people are fragile? Just try ‘n’ change ‘em.
“But hey, I know you’re scared. I was too.” His eyes locked in again. I felt a kind of rush, a “click”—he was the first person there who had talked to my fear.”
Soon after, Malik advises him: “’ Listen up:
all you gotta do to learn here is to keep your eyes open,
your fly zipped, your feelings up front, and ask for help.
Don’t read any bullshit articles. Don’t read, do. See. Feel. Do.”
Most likely you will feel as I did—that Jenny is going back to work way too soon. Yet the invocation Tomas has spoken may be the first step on a path to becoming real, in dropping the smiling
mask, in asking for help, in really hearing her patients, in gaining their trust. The “crazy” people probably know, better than the normal ones, when someone is reading from a script, when someone cannot work without a script. Perhaps the answer is there, as I feel Tomas and Dr. Malik are saying, in dropping the script, and in the process, becoming real, being real.