Because the Netflix algorithm has started to know me a little better, earlier this year I was aggressively wooed by two stories in particular: the controversial TV show 13 Reasons Why (whose second season was released recently), and the much lesser-known 2011 documentary The Woodmans , about the life and works of Francesca Woodman, a photography prodigy who committed suicide at 22. Both of these narratives prominently feature themes of anxiety, depression and suicidal tendencies ( The Woodmans also throws in the art/artist dichotomy in the mix). They are part of a growing wave of recent films and TV shows that places mental health issues front and centre: BoJack Horseman , Jessica Jones , This Is Us , Shameless , Broad City , Please Like Me and many, many others.
Rewind to the ’90s
This is not surprising by itself: after all, back in the ’90s, after the stigma around HIV-AIDS was beginning to dissipate, we saw a bunch of excellent stories that involved AIDS, including the Tom Hanks classic Philadelphia , or the assorted works of artist and AIDS activist David Wojnarowicz. What is surprising about television in 2018 is that in most cases ( This Is Us and Jessica Jones , in particular), the depiction of mental health issues is sensitive, often directly helpful for patients or caregivers. And in several cases, it is conceptualised by writers with first-hand knowledge of, say, the mechanism and physical symptoms associated with a panic attack. Nick Sheff, one of the writers of 13 Reasons Why , wrote a Vanity Fair op-ed not too long ago, defending the show’s treatment of its protagonist Hannah’s suicide (the scene, although well-shot, makes for deeply uncomfortable viewing). Sheff pointed out that the depiction was drawn accurately from the writer’s own suicide attempt — and similar experiences that he knew of.
It is not as if mental health issues were never touched upon by previous generations of filmmakers. But two things held back the quality of these stories. First, the undeniably widespread nature of the stigma against it. Second, the lack of scientific knowledge meant that characters on the entire mental illness spectrum were all painted with the same broad brushstrokes of ‘madness’ or ‘ paagalpan ’ in the Indian context. Take Beyhadh , the smash hit Sony soap opera of last year, for example: almost every episode has somebody slagging off the show’s villainous leading lady for being a ‘ paagal aurat ’ (mad woman).
Modern narratives
Today, however, things have changed for the better. The iconic mental health narratives of the ’70s and the ’80s had focussed steadfastly on the ‘covert’ or ‘private’ aspects of mental illness. Stories were set in lunatic asylums ( Asylum , One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest ), and key scenes invited viewers into the deeply private moments of mentally ill protagonists (think of Robert De Niro’s masterful mirror scenes in Taxi Driver and Raging Bull ). The premises of the asylum were very important because the malefactor, the unspeakable mental illness itself, must be ‘contained’ effectively.
The major mental health narratives of the ongoing epoch are, conversely, concerned with the public — the negotiation of public spaces (schools, offices) while being mentally ill. BoJack Horseman must figure out how not to melt down while talking to Charlie Rose on primetime television. Hannah Baker (from 13 Reasons Why ) curses the day she read out her confessional poetry (dealing with anxiety and peer pressure, among other things) in private to a friend; she is soon ‘outed’ as an anxious, probably depressed person.
Public vs private
The case of Jessica Jones (from the eponymous show) is the most instructive one. She is a private investigator recovering from PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder) — on the surface, the kind of person who would never be publicly noticed. It is her business, after all, to be discrete, hidden away. But her other life, that of a superhero, forces her to take on viable threats in an ‘open and notorious’ manner: the climactic battle of the show, notably, is an open-air sequence with the oodles of space emphasised.
Jones must negotiate the outside world and all that it can throw at her, while being mindful of her PTSD. Her best friend and foster-sister Trish Walker’s case is the converse, although it also involves PTSD. Trish is a radio show host and former child actor, a blond, attractive celebrity. She is also a survivor of physical and mental abuse at the hands of her mother. As an adult, therefore, she is secretive, paranoid, almost to the point of being anti-social. Her flat has panic rooms and deadbolts.
For both Trish and Jessica, the public has bled into the private, against a backdrop of mental illness. And that is the primary conflict that reels in viewers: we see our own stories in these characters’ struggle to function in the public sphere.
Trigger warnings
This is not to say that there aren’t missteps along the way. For all its peccadilloes, I found 13 Reasons Why extremely compelling in parts. However, I do agree that Netflix goofed up big time initially, by not tagging the show with trigger warnings. If you are making mental illness one of your show’s draws, it is surely germane to anticipate the impact on your target audience? In this case, we had a show with brutal, unflinching depictions of rape, clinical depression and suicide. And for a while, it was easily accessible to anyone, without a single trigger warning. Thankfully, this was corrected soon after users spotted it and called out Netflix for the oversight.
Closer home, we do have the odd feature film like Margarita With a Straw or A Death in the Gunj , that treats this subject with empathy. But looking at the likes of Beyhadh , it is fair to say that we will not be getting a This is Us or a Jessica Jones of our own anytime soon.
