On Therapy Everywhere All at Once
Where were you on Sunday, March 12th around 5:30pm PST? If you’re anything like me, you were watching Ke Huy Quan win the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor in Everything Everywhere All at Once. If you’re anything like me, you were also sobbing.
Part of that emotion was seeing a phenomenal Vietnamese actor receive decades-overdue recognition in such a white space. Part of it was the catch in his voice when he said, “Mom, I just won an Oscar!” And part of it was reveling in the first of seven awards of the night going to a POC-led film that hit me like a ton of bricks.
Movies do that. They take us on emotional journeys, foster connection with certain characters, animosity toward others, and sometimes, if done well enough, help us sort out our own stuff along the way. “Well enough” can mean the usual: the cinematography, the direction, the music. But it also means a lot of things for which they have no awards: the authenticity, the representation, the accessibility. Does it not just tell a story, but tell it responsibly? Whether or not it does changes the viewing experience. It changes how you feel. It’s the difference between a movie that makes you feel something and a movie that makes you feel better.
the gift that movies give to us
Take the relationship between Evelyn Quan Wang (Michelle Yeoh) and her daughter Joy Wang (Stephanie Hsu) in the film. Did anyone’s chest tighten when they argued, at once chasing each other and pushing each other away? Then there’s Evelyn and her husband Waymond Wang (Ke Huy Quan). Was there a pit in anyone’s stomach watching them merely co-exist, Evelyn quite unhappily so? And of course there’s Joy and her girlfriend Becky Sregor (Tallie Medel). Did anyone’s breath grow shallow watching them navigate Evelyn’s homophobia? It’s something of a placebo effect, your body reacting as if the story you’re watching is reality. Maybe, for you, it is. And in this case, the film did so well at telling its story and fostering your connection to it that your body can’t tell the difference.
You may find yourself reflecting on your own life, the choices you made, the people you have. The characters can become surrogates for these people, yourself included, deepening your viewing experience. You’re along for the ride, for better or worse. Eventually, you find yourself at the movie’s end. Evelyn and Joy reconnect, as do Evelyn and Waymond. Homophobia loses in multiple realities. You’ve cried at falling rocks. Your body relaxes, feeling lighter where perhaps you hadn’t noticed a heaviness. You exhale when perhaps you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding anything in. It’s the catharsis of a happy ending, whether the same was true in your own life or not.
a place for movies in therapy
When done well, film is a powerful healing tool. It promotes connection to yourself, the people in your life, your story, and the stories of others. It creates a sense of belonging when there are people who look and live the way you do on screen. And it allows for a safe distance from which you can process your own feelings as a viewer. It has true therapeutic value.
Enter cinematherapy, or the art of inviting movies into the clinical space. Maybe you’re a movie buff who’s having trouble connecting with your therapist. Maybe you’re someone who relates more easily to fictional characters than to other people. Maybe you find it safer to point to a movie that details a specific experience than to admit that you’ve lived it yourself. Or maybe you just watched a movie on your own that brought up feelings you didn’t know you had. Movies can be the way your therapist improves their connection with you, guides you in improving your connection with others, and helps you process what you’ve been through yourself. They can help you prepare for challenging future situations and find peace in past ones. Therapy works best when it’s designed specifically for you and your needs. Cinematherapy can be a great way of doing just that.
a matter of inclusion over diversity
When it comes to both movies and therapy, inclusion matters. It’s not as simple as writing a queer character into a film or taking on a Black person as a client. Is the Black client held with care and intentionality? Does their therapist have experience working well with Black clients? Is the therapist Black themselves, which can greatly impact the therapeutic relationship? And what of the queer character? Are they a fully formed person, intersectionality and all? Do they exist beyond their queerness? Did they put everything on a bagel?
It’s not enough to merely invite in “diverse” perspectives and experiences, but then not make them feel valued once they’ve arrived. It’s not enough to nominate the rising queer Asian actress for her scene-stealing, universe-altering queer Asian character or, while we’re at it, to nominate the legendary Black actress for her elegantly powerful, life-saving Black character (Hey, auntie), but then pass over both to award the white actress who, talented and beloved as she is, didn’t outperform her peers. Stephanie Hsu’s character was handled beautifully in the film, but when it came to her (and Angela Bassett’s) category at the Oscars, whiteness reigned. While we may have less control over the inclusiveness of an awards show, the inclusiveness of a therapeutic experience, including any films that may be brought into it, is very much within reach.
freedom of cinematherapy
Cinematherapy, despite much discussion in the field, does not have set parameters attached to it, which allows for much freedom as you determine how to make it work for you. As a therapist with a background in film, I personally welcome it in my work with clients. And as a person who just loves movies, I welcome conversation about them in general, especially ones as impactful, daring, and fun as Everything Everywhere All at Once. If you’re a therapist who’d like to chat more about it or a potential client who’d like to explore it together, please do reach out.
Taylor Nunley is an Associate Professional Clinical Counselor passionate about helping clients exploring intergenerational trauma, grappling with racial trauma, and healing from religious trauma. As a Black queer person, she know that feeling when racism pops up in a queer relationship, when biphobia pops up in a POC relationship, or when either pops up in a queer POC relationship. And is also passionate about helping clients in LGBTQIA+ intercultural relationships
Fun fact is that Taylor is an avid watcher of movies and, occasionally, a writer of them!
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