Therapy is a funny thing. One day, you don’t understand how it works; the next, you are waiting for your fourth appointment. The same set of predicaments are analysed, reanalysed, and second-guessed countless times. This is perhaps why the third episode of Adolescence is powerful within the context of psychoanalysis. Unless you have been living under a rock, Adolescence, Netflix's latest British drama, has been opening doors across the world and providing a long and uncomfortable peek into what the manosphere looks like beyond its harmless emojis and talks of red and blue pills.
The themes dealt in Adolescence have been rarely showcased in Indian cinema. A large number of films and shows have done a disservice to the community of people grappling with severe mental health issues. From vilification of patients, showing psychologists' offices as places of controversial research, exorcism in the place of treatment, to humour around mental health issues, Indian cinema has painted a unpleasant picture of psychiatry. Contrary to this, the third episode of Adolescence is a respectful yet vivid dissection of psychiatric evaluation. It is set seven months after Jamie Miller's detention following his murder of a classmate. A seemingly unassuming guest arrives to see him. She remembers he likes hot chocolates with sprinkles on them, and carries a cheese sandwich with pickles. The devil is in the details. Although the time jump from the previous episode left many disconnected, it subtly establishes that Briony Ariston (Erin Doherty) has already developed a bond with Jamie over a few sessions. It explains why Jamie feels comfortable with her. Even after a rage-filled scuffle with the guards moments before the meeting, Jamie instantly regains his composure after seeing her. A therapist values trust over anything with their client and it isn't developed over a few days, especially not with teenagers. The jump evidently fills the blanks that are left unanswered even before their conversation kickstarts.
The questions keep coming: "Did you meet your grandparents?", "What's your dad and your granddad like?", "Did your dad have female friends?". Every question is aimed at eliciting a response or reaction from Jamie, keeping judgements, suggestions, and advice past the door. "I am writing an independent presentence offence report," she clearly states her intention here. She is building a profile of Jamie, nothing more. Her role remains limited to understanding Jamie's behavioural patterns and his understanding of the world around him. Adolescence is one of the very few shows that seems to have taken extraordinary care in truthfully representing the role of a psychologist.
The representation of mental health and therapy in media has crossed questionable leaps, with shows like The Family Man and films like Anniyan, Hey Sinamika, Atrangi Re trivialising mental health issues. For example, in some instances, symptoms from different conditions are clubbed together to serve a narrative. To see Adolescence emerging as a breath of fresh air as we navigate the stigma and misrepresentation of mental health that have pushed discussions regarding the subject back a decade is reassuring. When I started therapy, it felt like I was going nowhere with the discussions. The conversations would often revolve around the same queries: "How does that make you feel?", "Why do you feel that way?", "What makes you feel so?" followed by another barrage of questions that would put my beliefs and long-held notions into question rather than providing temporary reassurances that, more often than not, only suppress emotions. It takes a minor inconvenience to break open the floodgates. So, in the episode, when the psychologist says, "I'm interested in the fact that you feel you are ugly," in response to his feelings, it doesn't feel odd. Or when she asks, "What would someone your age do sexually with a girl or boy?" and sits and absorbs all his answers with a simple, "Okay," without judging him or offering a solution, it only provides a better purview of his thoughts. Breaking his beliefs would only make it worse.
The episode reaches a crescendo when Jamie throws away the hot chocolate in a fit of rage in order to “feel powerful” and says, “You do not tell me when to sit down. You do not control what I do in my life.” Ariston sits completely horrified by his behaviour and understandably so. Dealing with clients like Jamie is even tougher for psychologists as engaging deeply with clients' emotions, trauma, and struggles can lead to emotional and compassion fatigue, which is quite evident with Ariston. Before Jamie’s emotional outburst, her reactions are limited to, “You need to sit down,” along with a minor caution, “Or else I need to end the conversation.” Following the incident, she sits in absolute disbelief at what has transpired in front of her. It takes over a minute for her to compose herself, before entering a room that reeks of toxic masculinity. Even the half-eaten sandwich feels like poison, a communicable disease that she is disgusted to touch. Jamie is equally affected. Having probably suffered from PTSD from the night the cops broke into his house, he has stopped trusting them. He gets detached from his parents as a result of his imprisonment, and possibly the disappointment that they have faced after he commits a violent crime and probably the scariest of them all is that he doesn’t understand the gravity of his actions.
Towards the end, the series poses several pertinent questions: How are we raising young children in a world shaped by rigid gender norms that dictate their entire lives? How are we encouraging them to express emotions in the face of intense scrutiny and bullying from peers to conform to the checkboxes of manhood? How are we dealing with teenagers’ raging hormones and malleable emotions? And how do we deal with unrestricted internet access when popular media continues to stigmatise mental health? Most importantly, how do we create a world where seeking help isn’t seen as a sign of weakness? Because, at some point, we must come to terms with a simple truth—its not easy for a kid to remain a kid anymore.
