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Mr. Jones
Mr. Jones
............. Richard Gere
Libbie ................ Lena Olin
Dr.
Holland............ Anne Bancroft
Patrick
............... Tom Irwin
Howard
................ Delroy Lindo
David
................. Bruce Altman
Amanda ................
Lauren Tom
Susan
................. Lisa Malkiewicz
TriStar
presents a film directed by Mike Figgis.
Produced by Alan Greisman and Debra Greenfield.
Written by Eric Roth and Michael Cristofer. Based on the story by Roth.
Photographed by Juan Ruiz Anchia.
Edited by Tom Rolf. Music by Maurice Jarre. Running time: 114 minutes. Classified: R (for
language).
This film stars Richard Gere and was made in San Diego, making good use of the
scenery and the milieu. San Diegans
will exchange knowing nods, for example, when the film shows
planes flying low over the city. Lindbergh Field, the city airport,
is very close to the downtown area; so planes frequently fly very low
over buildings there creating all sorts of annoyance and amazement. This
phenomenon is used very cleverly in the film, in which the main character
climbs up on the roof of a building and almost feels that he can grab hold
of one of those planes as it descends to its runway.
The main character is afflicted with
manic-depression, and, like the treatment of autism in "Rain
Man," the film treats its subject convincingly. Evidently the
filmmakers did their homework. Roger Ebert says
that Gere visited mental patients to render his
performance more authentic. Of course his task was less difficult than
that of Dustin Hoffman in "Rain Man," because manic-depression
is easier to imitate than is autism. Indeed one might think that the very
nature of acting is to emulate manic-depression: the fundamental craft of
acting, before any nuances enter the picture, is to move between happy,
sad, and relatively normal.
Mr. Jones, the Gere
character, is enormously charming, and without pressing her very much he
is able to win the heart of a lady psychiatrist who is treating him.
Although he accepts treatment off and on, he profoundly distrusts it.
"This is not a disease," he tells his would-be healers;
"this is what I am." He loves his highs, and he is willing to
take his chances with the lows. But at times he realizes that he needs
help, though he is not very sure of what form that help should take.
There is not much religion in this
movie, although, significantly, Jones's one real male friend is a
black construction worker who leads his family in prayer before
dinner. That friend is not, ultimately, able to help him much, but that friend's
ministry does foreshadow the film's actual conclusion, which suggests that
human relationships are often more important than clinical treatment. At
one point, Jones explodes at his friend, using some profane expressions
which we are, I gather, to attribute to his mental condition. But at that
point he catches himself, realizing that he has offended a man of sincere
piety. At this point, the filmmakers realize that although the
"disease" influences Jones's behavior, it doesn't force him to
do what he does. And it doesn't take away his responsibility.
The most controversial aspect of the
film is the relationship between Jones and the psychiatrist, which
is consummated offscreen. She is filled with
guilt on this account: ironically, not a guilt before God, but a secular
guilt, that of having broken the professional rule against personal
(especially sexual) relations with a patient. It is interesting that at
a time when "Victorian" attitudes toward sex are
universally rejected, at least in the movies, a new Victorianism
(I don't say "Puritanism") has entered "professional"
circles. The professionals are to be commended, I suppose, for recognizing
the harm illicit sex can do in a therapeutic relationship; why,
I wonder, don't they see the damage pre- and extra-marital sex can do
in other areas of life? The film also makes clear that the "secular Victorianism"
is woodenly and rigidly enforced, without regard to the persons
involved. We must grant that Christians, also, sometimes enforce their
moral rules without love, without regard for the persons. But the film
shows us that Christians are not alone in this. The secular Victorianism is more of a bondage than any religious moralism has ever been.
Roger Ebert
sees the romance as an unnecessary soap-opera element in an otherwise
instructive movie about mental illness. On the contrary, I see the romance
as quite central to the point of the film. The film is not at all a
documentary, as Ebert seems to read its deepest
intention, but a drama. And though Ebert accepts
the professional taboo as a given, the film does not, but brings it into
serious question. The ending of the film brings the psychiatrist (now
resigned from the hospital) and the patient back together as man and woman
and projects a future of real mutual help and hope. And it is that, not
the mere portrayal of manic-depression and its treatment, that is the real
focus of the film.
The Christian will not be pleased
with the extra-marital sex presented and approved by this film, nor with
the profane language of some of the characters. But there is much food
for thought here. As Christians come more and more to question
the "medical model" of "mental illness," they must ask
what God would have them put in its place. Should we substitute for the
secular professionalism a Christian professionalism, to try to deal
with these conditions? Or should we consider this film's
implicit proposal: that what such people need, beyond drug treatment
to improve their brain chemistry, is real love? Is that a hokey Hollywood romanticism? Or is it a real insight
into the needs of these people?
Though I am not by any means an expert on manic-depression, I suspect the film's prescription is at least part of the truth. The whole truth is that these people need physical healing, they need Christ, and they need loving people to support and disciple them. We must, after all, deal, not only with the person's "disease" (if indeed we call it that) but also with "what he is."