If I got paid for every time I tried to convince someone to watch Dear John, I’d probably have quite the sum of money. Honestly, all it takes is hearing the theme by Deborah Lurie, and my emotional state heightens at the possibility of something great, even with the lingering undertones of hurt and heartache.

Whether it’s Dear John, The Notebook, or other romantic flicks that require Kleenex, I appreciate films that showcase what many deem as “unrealistic” narratives.

In a post called Movies versus Your Relationships, Psych Central blogger Nathan Feiles highlights a few sound rationales as to why these films may be dismissed as idealistic.

He’s correct: Your relationship is not “frozen in time” (on screen, it builds to a “stereotyped big moment” at the end, putting past issues aside). Relationships aren’t scripted, and women don’t need to be saved. “The strongest relationships tend to be two people who have already rescued themselves,” he noted.

However, Bhadra Kamalasanan’s article, “10 Love Lessons Movies Teach Us,” conveys valuable insight regarding how this genre actually serves a purpose. I compiled a list of some of my favorite explanations here:

• Chance your encounters.

  Sleepless in Seattle uncovers the prospect that you may meet the right person even after you’re already in a committed relationship. Maybe it’s not going to come to fruition on Valentine’s Day at the top of the Empire State Building, but finding a better fit is still feasible.

• Even death shall not do us part.

  PS: I Love You demonstrates that despite the passing of a loved one, the root of that love never has to fade. Even though you eventually move on, he or she will always be a part of you and that’s okay.

• Hold onto memories if they motivate you.

  Titanic illustrates that “love never sank with the ship.” The past doesn’t have to be a bygone, but thought of as a reminder to go after what you really want. Even when a relationship doesn’t survive, you may still savor the positive aspects of what was once shared, with more of an idea of the kind of connection you’re looking to embrace.

• Learn from bad memories.

  Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind features a world where painful memories can be erased. Yet, this movie upholds two succinct lessons: “One that, while it may seem attractive to erase all the painful memories, one must use them to learn and move ahead. The second lesson is that one must understand the very essence of love.” When two people are compatible for each other, they will still experience ups and downs within their relationship, but they’ll desire to work on these conflicts in order to go forward together as a strong team.

• Learn to seize the day. The protagonist in American Beauty is unhappy with his life (which strains his relationship with his family), and he finally comes to terms with how he must exert control and make important choices. While you have to accept what you cannot change, it’s definitely plausible to change how you cope with life’s obstacles.

Jennifer Rose, a freelancer who studied communications, maintains an optimistic spirit regarding romance movies. “A small part of us uses that fictional element just as an outlet,” she said. “However, there is no reason why we can’t take some hints from these films. Each of them tells you to be true to yourself and take risks in love.”

Although romance films may have a reputation for not reflecting reality as we know it, I find there to be real value and takeaway lessons that we can garner from these stories.

What did I gain from my (multiple) viewings of Dear John? Regardless of whether the relationship lasts, some significant experiences stay with you, plain and simple. Can you learn and grow from its history? Absolutely.

One of the things you may have also missed, though, was Oscar-winner Jennifer Lawrence speaking about mental illness and the stigma and prejudice that still surround people with a mental health concern.

In the movie she won the Best Actress Oscar for, Lawrence plays a character who befriends Bradley Cooper’s character, who has bipolar disorder. Her performance is simply wondrous, and given her age at the time of the filming — just 21 — also quite extraordinary.

“I think that there’s such a huge stigma over it [mental illness], that I hope we can get rid of, or help… I mean, people have diabetes or asthma and they have to take medication for it. But as soon as you have to take medication for your mind, there’s this instant stigma. Hopefully we’ve given those people hope, and made people realize that it’s not–”

Click through to watch the interview…

She also said in a separate interview, “I don’t think we’re going to stop until we get rid of the stigma for mental illness. I know [director] David O Russell won’t, and I hope that this helps.”

By the way, if you haven’t seen Silver Linings Playbook, now’s a good time to fix that.

We hope Lawrence goes on to do more great work in Hollywood, making movies with meaning and a message. But using her voice during the Oscars to speak up for people with mental illness and mental health concerns is a great start. Thanks, Ms. Lawrence, for that effort!

However, it wasn’t the great acting or directing that had me so glued to the screen that I was afraid to reach for popcorn.

Lincoln has been my mental health hero ever since Joshua Wolf Shenk, who has since become a friend of mine, published his acclaimed book, “Lincoln’s Melancholy: How Depression Challenged a President and Fueled His Greatness.” Shenk took seven years to research and write the masterpiece, and it gained attention right as I had graduated from one psych ward unit and was going into another one.

The afternoon I sat in the lobby of the Johns Hopkins Mood Disorders Clinic waiting to be evaluated by a team of psychiatrists (after my first hospitalization), I read Shenk’s interview with Karen Swartz, M.D, the Director of Clinical Programs and one of the physicians who evaluated me.

I learned that Lincoln shared my greatest fear: that he would go insane only never to regain his sanity.

In one of his depressive spells, he wrote:

“I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were distributed to the entire human family there would not be one happy face on the Earth.”

He had all of the same symptoms of acute depression that are found today in the DSM-IV: social isolation, suicidal ideation, loss of appetite, difficulty concentrating. He told one of his friends that he felt like committing suicide often.

Shenk writes,

“One friend recalled, ‘Mr. Lincoln’s friends … were compelled to keep watch and ward over Mr. Lincoln, he being from the sudden shock somewhat temporarily deranged. We watched during storms, fogs, damp gloomy weather … for fear of an accident.’”

Another neighbor recounts, “Lincoln was locked up by his friends to prevent derangement or suicide.” An older couple in the area took him into their home to keep him safe for a short while. The fact that Lincoln’s behavior provoked a suicidal watch meant that he must have suffered intensely.

Yet, despite his acute pain, our president was able to transcend the crippling nature of his depression and hold on to hope. Explains Shenk in his interview with Johns Hopkins:

“The essential question that Lincoln grappled with during his lifetime was how you have hope in the face of great suffering. That question never ceases to be relevant for him. To me, Lincoln was a main who suffered more than anyone in his circle of contemporaries, and a man who achieved more than anyone in his life. And the reason he was able to succeed all came down to hope. It’s as if Lincoln were saying, ‘In my darkest moments I am still capable of seeing a great life.’ It is a matter of belief: No, it can’t be demonstrated empirically. But the peculiar and grand mystery to it is this: If you believe in hope, then you are on your way to making it true.”

Whenever I remember the story of this great man, I breathe a sigh of relief that I am not alone in my chronic struggle with sadness. His happy ending makes me feel less pitiful and weak about my obsession with death. And I wonder if there may be hope for me even if I, like Lincoln, never stop battling the beast of melancholy.

Last month we talked about Alan Turing, Carl Jung and the famous Robbers Cave Experiment.

This month we’ve got quite the array of topics and in various mediums, including a podcast and a few videos. You’ll learn about the first sport psychologist, the infamous Wolf Man, the history of treating depression, mental asylums and a recent film featuring psychology’s masterminds.

America’s First Sport Psychologist

In this piece in Monitor on Psychology, York University professor Christopher D. Green, PhD, reveals how experimental psychologist Coleman Griffith became the first sport psychologist. Green focuses on Griffith’s work with the Chicago Cubs in the late 1930s.

(I’ve also written about the history of sport psychology.)

The Wolf Man

Writer Richard Appignanesi and artist Slawa Harasymowicz discuss their graphic novel The Wolf Man in this fascinating six-minute video. The Wolf Man was a famous patient of Freud’s. In fact, he played a pivotal role in Freud’s theory of psychosexual development. The Wolf Man was a Russian aristocrat named Sergei Konstantinovitch Pankejeff. Freud called Pankejeff the Wolf Man to protect his identity. You’ll find more interesting info about the Wolf Man here and here.

Treating Depression

In this New York Times piece, oncologist and author Siddhartha Mukherjee discusses the science and history of treating depression. Specifically, he discusses the birth of Prozac and other psychiatric drugs and the theory that serotonin contributes to depression. He also shares a slew of studies and explores other theories of depression.

Mental Asylums

This 30-minute podcast features various historians discussing the factors that led to the rise and demise of mental asylums along with how people became patients at these asylums and how they were treated. They also dispel a few common misconceptions. Check out other podcasts here.

Reviews of “A Dangerous Method”

“A Dangerous Method” is a 2011 film that chronicles the relationships between Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung and Sabina Spielrein. Spielrein became a patient of Jung’s after she was brought to a psychiatric hospital in Zurich suffering with hysteria. Eventually, she becomes Jung’s colleague and even his lover. (It’s unclear whether they had a sexual relationship in real life.)

You can watch the movie trailer here. Geoffrey Cocks, who teaches at Albion College, recently reviewed the film at the excellent blog H-Madness, which explores the history of psychiatry.

We also reviewed the film on Psych Central (here and here.)

A successful effort on a multitude of layers, the movie offers us a rollercoaster ride in a car filled with a motley group of historical characters in psychology and psychoanalysis. The movie depicts the life of Jung and Freud’s relationship from the time they first met in 1907 until their professional relationship collapses in 1913 — a short 6 years. I saw a screening of the movie earlier this month.

But it would be wrong to characterize this as a story only about Jung and Freud’s relationship. Instead, it’s a larger-than-life tale about the first days of psychoanalysis and Jung’s career, set against the backdrop of pre-war Europe, artfully relayed on many different levels.

The story is largely told through Jung’s fascination, treatment and eventual affair with one of his patients, Sabina Spielrein (played by Keira Knightley). She is brought to the hospital where Carl Jung (played by Michael Fassbender) works in 1904, against her will and at the behest of her father. Jung takes her case and decides to try something different than the usual treatments of the day (such as having the patient submerged in a cold bath or bloodletting). He undertakes the “talking cure” — a method he read about in a paper by Sigmund Freud (played by Viggo Mortensen).

The talking cure — what we’d refer to as psychotherapy today — was practiced according to Freud’s standard early routine of psychoanalysis. The therapist sits out of view of the patient, in order to allow the patient to more freely associate and talk about the issues in their lives. The “dangerous method” refers to the fact that, at the time, this method of treatment was largely untried and came under attack by the existing medical profession as being potentially dangerous for the patient.

For dramatic effect, therapy sequences are shortened and what might take a typical patient months or even years to acknowledge and discuss, Sabina exposes her dark secret fairly early on in a therapy session with Jung.

Jung eventually gets to meet with Freud after some correspondence passes between them. Jung’s initial meeting with him is like two lovers meeting for the first time — they talk and talk for hours (13 by the movie’s reckoning). Instant Best Friends Forever, Jung and Freud continue talking and corresponding over the intervening years.

Otto Gross, a minor character and one of the Freud’s earliest disciples, was played by Vincent Cassel. Cassel’s performance almost stole the movie. Gross was sent to be a patient of Jung’s by Freud early on in their relationship. Gross was having some troubles with substance abuse (as we would say nowadays), and Freud was hopeful that under Jung’s supervision, the psychoanalyst Gross might be helped.

But what Gross did, according to the movie, was help transform Jung’s way of thinking and cement his belief that Freud didn’t have all the answers. Gross also confessed with pride his conquests with getting his patients to sleep him. This opened the door in Jung’s mind to the possibility of sleeping with one of his patients — Sabina.

After Sabina moves away (and is technically no longer Jung’s patient), Jung gives in to his desires for her (and her for him), and they begin a torrid affair.

Freud and Jung’s relationship begins to show cracks as Jung continues to insist that sexuality must not be all there is at the core of people’s problems. There must be exceptions, Jung suggested. Freud thought that while perhaps possible, it was important to stay focused and keep to the party line. Freud also became increasingly concerned with Jung’s fascination with the supernatural and mystic. He did not believe such theories were the proper pursuit of science or his psychoanalysts.

But perhaps the relationship’s end was cemented with Freud learning of Jung’s affair with his former patient. Although Jung eventually calls an end to the relationship (forcing Sabina to contact Freud and let him know of the affair), the damage has already been done. Freud rightfully believes such relationships to be inappropriate.

That is, as they say, the surface analysis of the movie and the characters moving within it.

Underlying such a shallow analysis, however, is the deeper depiction of Freud’s theory of personality — that there is a super ego, id and ego all battling within us to help us make decisions and shape our behavior. The simplest of explanations is that the super-ego is your conscious — all that is critical, moral, ethical and just. The id is your desires and all that appeals to your basest instincts. The ego is the the organized, realistic part that tries to make sense of the id’s drive and balance it out with the super-ego’s focus on perfection and morals.

In the movie, we see this theme played out in at least two ways.

First, with Jung’s romantic relationships, we see Sabina act as the id — driving all that is instincts and violence in their sexual liaison. Jung’s wife, Emma (played beautifully by Sarah Gadon), acts as the super-ego — the perfect wife and mother of Jung’s children, living in a perfectly idealistic home. Jung himself is the ego, trying to balance his life between these two driving forces, between lust and passion on one side, and responsibility and duty as a father and loving husband on the other.

Second, with psychoanalysis itself, we see Otto Gross act as the id — suggesting all of the new “talking cure” psychoanalysis should be in the service of having patients enjoy unencumbered “freedom” (freedom from society’s norms and sexual mores, in his mind at least). Freud acts as the super-ego — setting up the ideal model of psychoanalysis with a rigid, unwavering theoretical model behind it. And again, Jung himself is caught in-between, acting as the ego, trying to satisfy the id’s desires of helping free patients from their miseries, while acknowledging the father-figure and wisdom of Freud’s super-ego.

Once you begin to see all the different ways this movie can be viewed, it takes on even greater depth and meaning. The enjoyment of the performances becomes amplified, and the story even more nuanced (suggesting a second viewing will both further enhance and explain these meanings).

Unfortunately, I was unmoved by Fassbender’s portrayal of Jung, as he seemed to play Jung with a wooden detachment that didn’t give you much to latch on to. Yes, Jung was an intellectual himself, and an aristocratic Swiss Protestant too (his wealthy lifestyle thanks to his wife). These are not characteristics that suggest an emotional or intense personality. But at the same time, I just didn’t feel the same presence on screen as I did when Mortensen or Cassel was in the scene. My viewing partner disagreed and thought Fassbender’s performance was spot-on, so I leave that for you to decide.

My viewing partner was less impressed with Knightley’s performance, suggesting she couldn’t get it out of her mind that it was Kiera Knightley playing the character. I didn’t feel the same way and thought that while Knightley’s performance often bordered on the theatrical, she was well-suited for the role. Knightley plays Sabina with all the physical tics and fits that, back then, would’ve been characterized as “hysteria” — perhaps to too great an effect, as it becomes a bit distracting whenever she’s in a scene and starts with her physical tics.

Mortensen, playing a more restrained role than you might typically expect, was delightful to watch as he brought Freud to life. Constantly chomping on a cigar throughout the movie (after all, sometimes a cigar is merely a cigar), Mortensen’s emotional range and nuances were perfect. Sometimes when playing such a well-known historical figure, it’s easy to go over the top. Mortensen never did, making his scenes more engaging than most others in the movie.

Some purists will inevitably whine about how this isn’t a realistic portrayal of Jung and Freud’s relationship, and glosses over many finer academic points. Perhaps the story too casually treated the topic of inappropriate doctor/patient behavior — that a professional such as Jung would sleep with one of his patients (keeping in mind that while the movie suggests their relationship was sexual, historically we can’t say for certain one way or another). I would just remind people that it’s a drama — in this case, a fictionalized account of a historical set of facts.

The movie is based upon a play, so don’t be surprised by the lack of action after the tumultuous opening and a few sex scenes (with brief nudity). There is, however, a great deal of two people talking on screen. Because of its intellectual nature, the movie may have a hard time finding a large audience. It will find a natural audience, however, in anyone who’s ever studied psychology seriously, and indeed in anyone who’s tried psychotherapy.

In the end, Cronenberg’s film is a historical psychological masterpiece. Would I go see this movie again? Yes, in a heartbeat. As long as you don’t confuse it with the action-oriented new “Sherlock Holmes’” films, I think you’ll be in for an enjoyable look at what Freud and Jung’s relationship might have been like.

A Dangerous Method is now playing in New York and Los Angeles and is coming soon to a theater near you.