Movies Saved My Life: Looking at Mental Health Month Through the Lens of Film

**This article contains frank discussion of suicidal ideation.**

When I say “movies saved my life,” I am not being hyperbolic, but it is also not telling the whole story. Often, I tell people that I am a lifelong cinephile. That is not strictly true. Sure, when I was younger, I watched movies. But we all know that there is a difference. I was not 10 years old and exploring The Rules of the Game or Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror. When I was that age, it was 1989, and I was standing in line with my dad to see Tim Burton’s Batman. And for the next few years, I saw movies in this exact context. Simply, a method of spending time and being entertained. That was the absolute limit. I was not having deep thoughts about the nature of the human experience in 5th grade.

But now we live in a very different world of cinema, and my own views are also varied. It seems to me that every day, it seems that we are either in a golden age of new cinema or the theatrical experience is dying. Every time there is a lull in original filmmaking, we wonder aloud if this is the end. But then, we have a Barbenheimer or a Sinners that reminds us of the importance of the movie theater. But conversely, we have moments when billionaires like Ted Sarandos of Netflix tell us that the theatrical experience is on its last legs. When asked if the theater model was outdated, he responded “I think it is — for most people, not for everybody. If you’re fortunate enough to live in Manhattan, and you can walk to a multiplex and see a movie, that’s fantastic. Most of the country cannot.” In the midst of being wrong, he is correct about the lack of theatrical service to those not lucky enough to be in major cities. Now, I am not going to get into the hypocrisy of that particular company, given that they owe their entire being to the love of the movies because that would be about 5000 words too long. Instead, I am here to give a personal defense of why going to the movies is so important. Given that this Mental Health Awareness month, I can honestly say that movies saved my life.

Like many people, I had a hard time in my pre-teen and teenage years. I felt picked on, misunderstood, bullied, and most of all alone. I don’t feel that I really need to go into intense detail because this is a fairly common experience. As a young queer kid, even being lucky enough to be in California, I lived a hidden life. I never felt that I could be myself, I just knew that I had to be someone else, or at least some other acceptable version of myself. As I moved slowly and painfully through 7th and 8th grade, I felt what I thought might be hope in the form of graduation. I truly thought that everything would change when I went to high school. Naive? Possibly. But I thought that it would be a reset. I could make new friends, be whoever I wanted to become. A lot of things did change, but certainly not everything, and definitely not always for the better. 

It will not surprise you to hear that, in some way, the opposite was true. Everything was intensified. If 12 and 13-year-olds are mean, then high schoolers can be downright cruel. I don’t talk about this a great deal, but, for the first time in my life, I was suicidal. I would come home crying daily due to some perceived or actual slight, and in the worst cases mild violence. These thoughts began with what mental health professionals would call “passive ideation.” Put simply, this meant I wanted my life to end, to escape, but without a real idea of how I would accomplish this goal. I would consistently have the thought that I wished I would not wake up in the morning. It would just be so much easier if I drifted away. This would all be bad enough, but it didn’t stop there. 

When therapists explore ideation with their patients, they look at several factors. A wish to die, suicidal thoughts, suicidal means, and a specific plan. My ideation became more active. I thought constantly about my own death. I even made a plan of how I would do it. I shudder to think of this now and do not speak about what my plan was because I feel that this would be counterproductive and damaging. Given that I was an impetuous teenager, every day, I am grateful that my parents are not gun owners. As a side note, removal of means (as in taking away weapons or pills) is one of the best ways to save the life of a suicidal person. During this time, I found myself aimless, upset, and lashing out. I had few friends and my relationship with my family was distant. Certainly not their fault, but I was a teenager and pushing all sorts of people away. Even if we had been close, I am not sure I would have been able to vocalize these thoughts. And more than that, I would have been afraid that I would have been hospitalized against my will.

If this were today, I might have been more likely to seek therapy. I am thankful that this is much more acceptable now, but for a teenager in a Jesuit high school? This was not a viable option in my head. Most likely, I would have been speaking with a priest who would tell me that suicide is a sin and hope that would be enough to stop me. I know now, especially after working in the field, that therapy can be the beginning of an answer, a real lifeline. But luckily, it is not the only one available. I was fortunate enough to find another savior, purely by chance.

For me, that lifeline was The Towne Theatre. It has a bit of a storied history and I hope to do it some amount of justice. The Towne opened in 1928 and was originally called The Hester Theatre. At the beginning, it held 800 people for a single screen. The first film shown was Harold Teen. They remodeled it in 1950 and gave it the name I know it by, The Towne. It has had many strange periods, including a moment in time in the 1970’s in which it played mostly adult films. In 1990, it became the theater that I recognize. A 3-screen, 600 seat movie house, complete with a Wurlitzer organ for silent film showings. Sadly, this version closed in 2000, with a final showing of Metropolis on New Year’s Eve. After this, it became an Indian film theater. Recently, even that closed and it stands vacant to this day. The irony of the outcome of this movie theater does not escape me as I defend the theatrical experience.

In what seems like fate, but is probably luck, The Towne Theater was on my bus route to school. I would literally pass it every single weekday, not giving it a second thought. They were always playing films I had never heard of, so I had no interest. But one day, something changed. I don’t know why I did it specifically, but I got off the bus and I walked in. I have no idea what was playing. But I do remember my state of mind. I wanted to end my life, desperately. But I bought my paper (!) ticket and took a seat. To speak frankly, I view this as one of the most important, and spiritual, moments of my life. The theater was about half full and I was able to sit in the back row, by myself. The lights went down and the screen illuminated. For those that are open to it, there is a moment when it all washes over you that is transformative. It also, oddly, feels like you are a part of something together. I didn’t talk to any of my fellow passengers that day, but we are forever connected by light and sound.

Yes, I had seen movies before, but never in this state. At that moment, as the film’s opening credits began, I wept. I did not understand why, and the truth is that I am not sure that I understand it now. Was it my own sadness and hopelessness? Being connected to something larger than myself? Having my brain and soul opened to art? A feeling of true escape? Maybe all of these things at the same time.  I didn’t know it, but I was engaging in what a therapist would call Behavioral Activation. It is a part of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and, put simply, it states that if an individual is struggling emotionally, they should figure out the things that bring them joy and, well, do them. This might seem silly on the outside, but anyone who struggles with depression can tell you just how difficult that can be to accomplish.

This was the first time I walked inside that theater, but was nowhere near the last. Every time I had a bad day (which was very often back then), I would find the nearest showtime and sit. It didn’t matter what was showing, I just needed to escape. And this was the best decision I could have made. It stopped me from hurting myself, from making a permanent decision over temporary problems. It forced me to open my mind to not only what a film could be about, but what it could do to me personally. We have all heard that movies are empathy machines, but long before I knew what that really meant, I felt it and experienced it. 

I vividly remember seeing a double feature of Blade Runner and Brazil. This is the moment I point to that really jump started my cinephile brain. I doubt I will ever engineer my own watch that will rival this. I had never heard of either movie so, suffice to say, it was impactful. The Towne Theatre is also where I was introduced to Reservoir Dogs, Party Girl, My Own Private Idaho, and Clerks. I could write entire pieces about why these movies became important to me, but none of them are as important as the experience of seeing them in a theater. And although mine was The Towne Theatre, the exact space doesn’t matter quite as much.

Yes, presentation certainly matters. I would rather see every movie in 70mm IMAX. But pristine prints and perfect audiophile-approved sound did not save my life. The community experience, the diversity of stories, the church of cinema is what saved me on that day and on many others. When the lights dim (after the incessant commercials), there is a real change if we are willing to open ourselves to truly experience it. At that exact moment, it all goes away. My problems, my successes, my failures, my own life. For just a few hours, we are offered the privilege of being transported and transformed. When the lights go up, the spell is broken, but we can come back every chance we get. The theatrical experience must not die and I hope that people younger than me get to have the same experience, the same saving grace that I was granted.

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Dave Giannini

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