Freudian theory has many limitations and a lot of the original ideas are so sexist they are not even worthy of serious discussion. Nevertheless, Sigmund Freud was the very first to identify and explore the existence of the unconscious mind – a concept that has become central to modern psychology and to understanding human motivations and intimate relationships. Streaming Richard Linklater’s new film, Hit Man, I found myself thinking about the unconscious mind and contemplating a central Freudian concept – projective identification. A projective identification refers to an unconscious defense mechanism in which a person attempts to rid themselves of some part of their being that they find utterly unacceptable. They do so by identifying this problematic trait in another person and focusing on where it resides in the other. Projections – to use the term’s shorthand – can be useful in understanding what might motivate racism. A racist person might refuse to face some part of themselves – let’s say laziness, dishonestly or limited intelligence – and instead they direct their unconscious internal resentment and angst toward an entire group of people, criticizing their supposed (though unlikely) embodiment of that very same unacceptable trait.

But, back to the hilarious and entertaining dramedy Hit Man. Early in the film, we meet Gary who is an unfortunately dressed professor who lives alone with his cats and likes birding and motivational psychology. His ex-wife has moved on and is expecting her first child, and she wishes that Gary could learn to cultivate more passion and try to move on from their relationship and maybe even go on a date. To earn additional income, Gary does some tech work for the New Orleans Police Department and when an unexpected event forces Gary undercover, he begins accessing new corners of his personality that are as unexpected and thrilling to him as they are to the colorful cast of felons he encounters. The subversive criminals spark his inner bad boy – and he likes it!

(Hit man is loosely based on a true story!)

Gary relishes the chance to become Ron, as his subversive journey demonstrates an innate understanding of human psychology and the unconscious mind. Ron’s experience with love interest Madison illuminates what some Freudians understand as a deeper and more complex meaning of a projective identification. Some clinicians believe that projecting is more than a straightforward albeit unconscious defense against an unacceptable impulse. Instead, a projective identification can take the shape of an unconscious contract between intimate partners. According to this more niche corner of the theory, sometimes one person makes an unspoken agreement to take an unacceptable trait away from the other and to hold it or embody it in service of the other and in service of the relationship. Rather than become a spoiler – let’s just say that if you want to develop a deeper understanding of the fascinating concept of a projective identification, this film is worthwhile viewing.

As a therapist, what the review leaves out that will be relevant to viewers in therapy, is its exploration of grief, traumatic loss and depression. A lot has changed since the 1970s — during which the film is set and captures magically — but the shame and secrecy that plagues so many with depressive disorders remains. And the Holdovers treats this topic with seriousness and sensitivity.

As an empty nester I feel reasonably grounded when I reflect on my approach to raising our daughters. I wish that we had found a way to live abroad at some point. It never felt like the right time, and though my husband had professional opportunities that would have allowed for postings abroad, I did not want to pause my psychotherapy practice. Overseas adventures aside, I have little regret. Correction, I HAD little regret until I streamed the academy award nominated 28-minute documentary How Do You Measure a Year?

Director and father Jay Rosenblatt films his daughter Ella every year, on her birthday, asking her a series of the same questions. What would you like to do when you grow up? How do you feel about our relationship? What are dreams? And so on. An intense range of emotions surged through my experience viewing this super short film. Some moments are so hilariously funny and remind me that no one is funnier than a toddler. Some moments I felt such worry and wanted to make Ella a chocolate milkshake and connect her with a good therapist. Oddly, I became distracted by the sofa’s fabric and felt relieved the year it is reupholstered. Family love infuses each slice of conversation, from a grandmother’s doting interruption to an unexpected burst of song. Most of all, I felt regret that my husband and I did not think to structure a similar annual video tradition to mark the passage of each year.

It’s too late for us, but not too late for others. And I assume that any parents with young children will find surges of inspiration from this magnificent film and will follow through to build similar traditions. But the most important takeaway is not the idea of annual filming, it is the impact of the annual segments, spliced together into less than a half an hour, showing us that it all goes by so lightening fast. How Do You Measure a Year? Hopefully it is measured by cherishing each and every moment you possibly can.

As a systems therapist, family roles and dynamics are an important area of exploration. Developing a deeper understanding of the roles directly or indirectly assigned in childhood helps therapy clients reflect on how such roles are internalized and carried into adult careers and adult relationships. Developing a grasp of how past roles play out in the present makes the space to cultivate the adaptive elements of such roles and to challenge the maladaptive elements.

In this mode, the term “parentified child” is quite common. A parentified child references a child in a family unit who is directly or indirectly assigned an adult-like role. This assignment represents a family’s effort to compensate for parental shortcomings, limitations, adversity or absence. Many children raised by alcoholics, for example, will describe memories of caring for drunken parents or being sent by the sober parent into mature missions such as extracting the inebriated parent from a bar. For obvious reasons, memories of a parentified childhood may be quite painful and traumatic. But like so much in human relationships and in memory, relationships are complicated, families are unique, and parentified childhoods might also be laced with genuine happiness, joy and love.

Best picture academy award winner Coda is a beautiful film on many levels. From a therapeutic perspective, it captures the emotional complexity of a parentified childhood. The term Coda is an acronym standing for a child of deaf adults. (The word coda is defined as a concluding passage of a musical movement.) Coda’s protagonist, Ruby, has deaf parents and a deaf older brother. The film opens aboard the family’s fishing boat. Ruby and her father and brother are reeling in the day’s catch and preparing the fish for market sale. Music plays loudly, but Ruby’s father and brother seem oblivious. Only Ruby sways to the rhythm of the robust tunes. Viewers soon learn that Ruby is needed on the boat each day to meet regulatory requirements. All boating vessels must have a hearing individual aboard who can respond to coast guard alarms and notifications. Each morning, Ruby sails before sunrise and then dashes to high school where she doses off in class and struggles to balance the demands of academics with her familial obligations.

Ruby acts as her parents’ translator, protector and price negotiator. She must accompany them to doctor’s appointments and union meetings. The family’s livelihood seems completely dependent on Ruby’s engagement and support. Ruby embodies the quintessential parentified child. Her accountability toward her family is extreme. And yet, what makes Coda such a captivating film is the deep rapport and love and depth of Ruby’s family bonds. As Ruby and her parents struggle with the essential task of separation, the strengths and the complexity of the family dynamics are as challenging as they are endearing.

Ruby signs up for choir and the revelation and expression of her musical talent is entertaining and elevating. But Coda’s more substantive contribution is the complex portrayal of the strengths and dilemmas imbedded in the characters’ familial emotional life. Ruby is overly-responsible for her brother and parents’ welfare and safety. She cannot realize her full potential if she remains fully devoted to this parentified role. But the bonds framing her parentification demonstrate how sometimes one’s most unfortunate family role simultaneously illuminate both beauty and pain. Coda challenges a conventional understanding of what it means to operate in the parentified role and celebrates that sometimes our heaviest burdens also illuminate defining strengths.

This blog post is one of many exploring Encanto from a family systems perspective. In this contribution, I am focusing on how each of the songs depicts a concept from the “father” of family therapy, Dr. Murray Bowen’s, original concepts. For more information about Bowenian System’s Theory, here is a brief overview from the Bowen Center for Study of the Family:

https://www.thebowencenter.org/core-concepts-diagrams

SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t seen the movie yet, please be aware that there may be spoilers in my examples below.

Bowenian System’s Concepts Illustrated by The Songs of Encanto

Relevant to all of these Bowenian concepts illustrated in Encanto is the goal of Differentiation. Differentiation means that a person experiences a healthy balance of feeling whole as an individual and also connected to their family members. The opposite of differentiated is “undifferentiated.” Experiencing Cut-Offs or Enmeshments can both be undifferentiated because differentiation is about balance and not going to either extreme.

 Genograms

 A genogram is like a therapeutic combination of a family tree and a family diagnostic assessment. When depicting the family, we look at several generations. Ideally as far out, or farther, as the “identified patient’s” grandparents.  Genograms show family structure, family roles, individual issues within the family, and family dynamics.

In “The Family Madrigal” we learn about the family structure, individual qualities and roles, and some dynamics such as who is close and who has conflict.

Family Projection Process

 In short, the family projection process is how we talk about older generations’ values, strengths, fears, and anxieties affecting their view and behavior toward the younger generations. Depending on the view, this process can help or hurt the child. The child can either be seen disproportionately as a “problem child” or a “golden child” depending on what the older generation is projecting on to them.

In “Waiting on a Miracle,” Mirabel is reacting to the family value that you must have a magic power to help and belong in her family. Since she has no magical talent, she is seen as a problem and doesn’t feel like she belongs. As we see through the film, this projection process creates a whole system of anxiety for the family.

Family Fusion 

 Fusion occurs when a family member takes on the anxieties of others to the point that they lose themselves. It creates an unmanageable amount of stress for the individual and also enables disfunction in the family system.

In “Surface Pressure,” Luisa sings about the intense pressure of carrying so many family burdens. In the song’s bridge she dreams of living a more differentiated life where she could let go of family pressures and take better care of herself.

Cut-Offs

 Cut-Offs can be both physical and emotional, or just emotional. They occur when the family system cannot handle the anxiety of maintaining a connection with one or more of its members, so it shuts people out. This is a reflection of the system itself and not the individual(s) it is shutting out.

In “We Don’t Talk About Bruno,” the family sings about how this member is both physically and emotionally cut off from the family to the point they (unsuccessfully) avoid even talking about him. The family sings about the anxieties this member brings up for them. As we learn, failing to resolve these issues and connect with this family member harmful effect on everyone.

Differentiation

Again, differentiation means being able to feel both whole individually and connected to your family. It means breaking free from becoming an exact replica of previous generations, molded by their values. Differentiation means you find your own unique, often creative, existence. Bowen theory recognizes that even just one person differentiating themselves can begin the healing process for the entire family system. Once someone differentiates themselves, it makes it hard for the family system to continue churning along with the same patterns of disfunction.

In “What Else Can I Do?,” Isabel breaks free of the perfectionism projected onto her by her family. She celebrates with a burst of vitality and creativity. She and her sister reconcile tension, and together stand up to dysfunctional family processes. This ultimately breaks the old dysfunctional family system so that they can build a healthier one.

Intergenerational Trauma

 With intergenerational trauma, the anxiety created from the older generation’s trauma affects the younger generations. Family healing requires either the older generation to heal and make amends, or for the younger generation to recognize the challenges experienced by the older generation and work towards forgiveness, acceptance, and differentiation. When both generations can engage in healing, we have a miracle!

In “Dos Orugitas,” Abuela is able to recognize how her trauma has affected the family. She is able to make amends for the harmful pattern of behavior towards her family, especially her granddaughter, Mirabel. Mirabel expresses understanding of all that her Abuela went through, and the two experience a beautiful reconciliation.

Discovering infidelity leads many couples to seek therapy. The road to repair such a betrayal is a painful one that takes patience, commitment and hard work. As a couples’ therapist who believes in the power of prescriptive film-viewing, I often suggest that couples working through the discovery of infidelity watch movies on this topic. The Last Kiss, Away from Her, Maybe He’s Just Not that Into You, Take This Waltz and The One I Love are some of my favorites. Being the Ricardos recently dropped on Amazon and could also offer a meaningful viewing experience for people suffering in the aftermath of a betrayal of this nature.

Most of the film unfolds on the turbo-charged set of the I Love Lucy show, in 1952, and traces the rehearsal and production process of a single episode. The cast convenes to read the lines the day after Walter Winchell reported that Lucille Ball was listed as a member of the communist party. Nicole Kidman is entirely convincing as Lucille Ball and Javier Bardem is equally captivating as Desi Arnaz. The episode’s assembly timeline frames a plot which is interspersed with flashbacks documenting how each half of this couple factored heavily in the other’s stunning professional success.

From a psychological perspective, what is most interesting about the film is its ability to capture the deep the bond between this prolific power couple while simultaneously exploring their marital pathology. Lucy and Desi are creative soulmates. Desi commands the big picture of their artistic vision and Lucy pays meticulous, relentless attention to every minute detail of their performance. When they first meet and fall in love, it is Desi who pushes Lucy to conceive of herself as more than a typical Hollywood starlet. It is he who notices her natural comic genius. It is Lucy who challenges powerful male executives and faces down brutal racial stereotypes, refusing to sign onto the I Love Lucy show if she cannot have Desi as her co-star. (She is warned by bullying studio bigwigs that America will not accept their marriage and that if Desi plays her husband, the show will fail.) Their creative chemistry seems so magical that viewers may understandably long for the couple to prevail. It is so easy to see why Lucy is drawn to Desi. He gets her – he protects her – he respects her artistry and he has her professional back. Their ability to complement each other’s strengths and limitations offers a rare window into how suspecting or unsuspecting partners can overlook infidelity. The film is a compelling essay on the pulls of denial and the pains of discovery.

Leo Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina opens with the sentence: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” The same could be said about happy and unhappy marriages. Few couples have shared the level of synergetic collaboration and shared professional success as Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz. And one distinct feature of this “unhappy” marriage is the tremendous joy and pleasure that their union brought to the American public.

As the film King Richard opens and viewers meet the Williams family, there are a lot of healthy relational dynamics to admire. Richard and Oracine Williams are fiercely devoted to their 5 daughters and work tirelessly to build an enriching childhood and a safe secure home. The daughters work hard, do chores, have manners and embrace each other with laughter and love. As the characters develop and Venus and Serena’s legendary tennis careers careen forward, the complexity of these relationships are the anchor of the film. King Richard, streaming on HBO and in theaters, is a riveting and inspiring story based on the true events of how Venus and Serena became the greatest women tennis players and possibly the greatest athletes of all time.

Both Venus and Serena are producers of the film which serves as an ode to their childhood that conveys deep respect for the role their parents played in shaping their dual paths to greatness.

The Williams home is humble, busy, loud and organized. Expectations are high, not just for tennis but for school, manners, and attitude. Both parents work hard and model resilience. When gang members harass them during local practice and later beat Richard to his knees, the family remains undeterred and even more determined to find a coach at an exclusive tennis club so that the girls can play safely.

Once this goal is achieved and persistence lands Venus an opportunity to work with legendary coach Paul Cohen and later Rick Macci, the family discovers that the parents on the elite tennis circuit are as dangerous as the gang members. Richard is adamant that Venus exit the junior circuit despite the frustration of the coaches. He insists that the game remain fun and that Venus’s inner confidence be protected. As a black family in a white sport, he consistently intuits what is best for his daughters despite the aggressive advice from experienced coaches and brands who keep insisting that they know better.

When Venus and her sisters act cocky in the privacy of their family van after a big win, Richard forces the family to watch the fairy tale Cinderella to emphasize the importance of remaining humble.

Late in the film, as the cracks in Richard and Oracine’s marriage widen, viewers may wonder if the tennis stardom keeps the couple together or tears them apart. The answer is not explored but the complexity of the strengths and challenges in the marriage enhance the story. Richard never fails to annoy and frustrate the tennis pros, his wife, his neighbors and his daughters. But the film is a clear tribute to his vision, commitment, grit and prescience.

In addition to asking about parents, grandparents and siblings, I also inquire about role models and mentors. It is fascinating how many times an unexpected adult plays an essential role in a person’s development. Mentors are especially meaningful to children raised by single parents, and some take on a psychological significance that is life-shaping.

Director Andrew Ahn’s quiet film Driveways celebrates the transformational role a non-familial adult can play in during a child’s formative years. The film delicately explores grief, loss, longing and absence. But it is also about finding parental love and protection in unexpected places, like rickety front porches, bingo halls, and deserted suburban driveways.

Eight year old Cody (Lucas Jaye) arrives in an unassuming New York suburb with his mother Kathy (Hong Chau). Their mission is to clean out the home of Cody’s recently deceased Aunt April. We soon learn that April was a recluse and a hoarder who fell out of touch with Kathy and most of the outside world. The dead cat in April’s bathtub is one of many unpleasant discoveries left behind, highlighting April’s loss and isolation. We also learn that Cody’s father is not around much and that Cody is anxious and sensitive and shy. The process of cleaning out April’s home to prepare it for sale turns out to be much more work than expected. Unfortunately, the house is not habitable and finances are tight, so Cody and his mother camp out on the porch for the bulk of the film, as they sort through piles of April’s hoarded belongings and sort them in her yard and on her driveway.

Across the driveway sits Del (Brian Dennehy, in one of his final performances), a widower and retired Korean war veteran who slowly strikes up a bond with Cody that frames the film’s understated plot. Kathy is wary of Del in the beginning and has raised Cody to avoid strangers. Any responsible single mother would take this approach. And yet Del becomes less of a stranger and more of a neighbor, cultivating a bond with Cody that is part surrogate grandfather and part friend. The psychological distance between them creates an entryway for Del to become the father figure Cody craves. Their relationship also frames an opportunity for Del to succeed with Cody where he failed with his own daughter when she was young and he was too busy. So the corrective emotional nature of the paring is mutual.

Driveways is exceedingly subtle but its understated plot intersperses memorable scenes that punctuate Cody’s formative experience. Cody, Kathy and Del’s shared journey demonstrates how grief can be an opportunity for growth and how deep connection can form in the most surprising places.

Martha (Kirby) & Sean (Shia LaBeouf) are young and full of chemistry and closeness. They exude mutual sexual attraction and enjoy playful, intimate banter. But the cracks in their relationship also show through even before their loss. Martha’s mother (Ellen Burstyn) buys the expectant couple a new minivan, and the family tension related to the young couples’ inability to afford the car on their own feels as potent as the couples’ erotic charge.

When Sean relapses after years of recovery, soon after losing their baby, the relationship spirals. It seems natural to assume that, despite the couples’ bonds, some other life challenge would have inspired a relapse even if their baby had survived.

Whether she is pushing out a baby, trying to have sex with her husband in the wake of immeasurable loss, or fighting with her mother about whether to sue the midwife who delivered the baby, Martha is a wholehearted and believable character who is flawed, relatable and memorable.

Martha’s turbulent path in the wake of her baby’s death is a lesson in human suffering and inner resources that demonstrates how authentic healing often comes from within and rarely involves a path dictated by the requests, demands or advice of others. The heroine’s visceral pain will resonate with anyone suffering through grief, and will also inspire those who are trying to heal.