What is explored in "Unsane"
more than anything else is the horror of finding outside one's class
protections and subject to all the hoary hells of abuse that are routinely
afflicted upon those society has clearly designated as containers for hopelessness.
#MeToo has exposed how society had one large category of them, namely women,
who could be subject to harassment and where they'd quickly learn that those
they might have come to for support and redress functioned more to confirm that
society was rather hoping that all the rage that had been situated upon them by
the perpetrator... would remain contained there, to their detriment, or even to
their full inability to survive at all, and so to their therefore consequent
contemplating and following through with suicide.
But our society has another category of
designated victim and I think it is actually rather this one that is the focus
here in this film, and it is to find oneself removed from consideration from
one's literate, well-educated, high-income-earning peers -- the professional
class -- and rendered so that within the phenomenology of this class they'd see
you as actually more one of the ordinaries, the permanently afflicted,
evolutionarily unfit people, they fled to the refined urban neighbourhoods to get
away from and whom they've intentionally endeavoured to disown for such a
lengthy period of time they'd cease in any way to any longer resemble. Owing to
a situation that was unlikely to repeat itself, Sawyer Valentini finished off a
day where she was mercilessly manipulating clients into thinking they were
lucky to have her services rather than vice versa, where she contrives a
situation where initially two equal parties meet into one where one will
function as her unpaid gigolo while idiotically believing that he won, that he
had control, that he himself "having gotten what he wanted," and
managing her mother, whom she has moved hundreds of miles apart from, with
details of her life which keeps her own self mostly withheld, by confessing to
a warm blanket of a therapist, a patient broad Labrador at a desk, that she
sometimes does have inklings of maybe committing suicide; that she has indeed
imagined the very exact, controlled way she would in fact do it.
Despite the pleasures of administrating,
of telling others how it is, she weakly still could be lured to assume the
passive so that she might herself be heard, and it may have been a way of
actively punishing herself -- you weak stupid bitch!... you're just like
everyone you despise -- for having done so that, or maybe that plus being
within a setting that prompts poses of infantilism, she foolishly signs forms
without quite entirely reading them -- not exactly something which would seem
her daily... and for this double mistake, this expansion of initial error into
concomitant, self-punishing, highly-momentarily reveal of herself as one of the
dependent asinine, she becomes perhaps permanently one of the rare losers that
would remind everyone else of her class that as safe as they are in their
protectiveness, to never allow themselves to get too presuming or sloppy. The
abyss you could find yourself dropped into, is too terrible. Suddenly she's the
Jerry McGuire sundered into the dreaded cloak of failure. A scary cautionary
tale to warn others by.
She's now a mental patient, by law; a
danger to herself and to society. Worse, she's one of those insurance agencies
use to augment their stock valuation, their income reports, their reports of
"success," making her one of the tens of millions of Americans who
are used and abused each year by companies invested in making sure they are
kept healthy when it's in the company's financial interest that they
"become" so, and remain diseased and unhealthy when not. She's one of
the ordinary Americans all members of the professional class are at some level
aware are containing all the humiliation and hopelessness and unaddressable
powerlessness that seem somehow to need to be felt by a large body of afflicted
someones, in order for their own selves to be experiencing such unrequited long
spells of accomplishment and advantage.
The nurses, guards, police, react to her
as if they can't see that she in fact is special -- which the film establishes
that she certainly is, a smart, observant, hi-IQ Soderberghian type -- but
rather just an ordinary varietal of the insane: the hysterical and
self-righteous type. Normally this is how she would have them, the kind of
limited human monstrosities that make it seem that if they in their lives face
most of society's burdens, their own moronic, stunted selves makes them
certainly deserving of it. It's not clear whether they're suffering from the
Stanford Prison Experiment syndrome, where an institutional setting prompts the
activation of their own hidden sadism; in fact, it actually rather seems that
they've become what all people become when they realize that being loyal first
to the administrator and not to the patient is the way to get through their job
unscathed. View things as the administrator would -- all patients are people
who may or may not advance the financial interests of the company: they are to
be viewed skeptically and with intolerance -- and you feel the relaxed state
that comes in knowing that the corporation you work for would never see you as
a problem to their interests. You're a child; you go about as a dictated-to
somnambulant; but your parents will never be angry with you. And you've got
subjects you can aggress upon if they ever raise a note of complaint, because
there's nothing they're going to be able to do about it unless your harassment
is in the coinage law enforcement will recognize, which it never will be.
But it is not just a sojourn for her to
have further proof of how asinine most people are, a narrative she starts
developing for herself out of increasing frustration, but a lethal full
depositing of her amongst them in the eyes of people just like her. This is
confirmed for her when she meets her psychiatrist. Unlike with the nurses, whom
she engages with in a way which would show to any savy ostensible onlooker just
how stupid the nurse is for her falling for an appeal so overtly obviously
false and manipulative -- a strategy which actually shows that what is alarming
her most isn't simply her being kept against her will but her being kept as if
she is one of the people she must always be self-identified as being
distinguished from, for she's too savvy to not recognize it as counter-purpose
to the former -- she appeals to him as a member of her class; straight,
unadorned appeal. She's maybe a little off-balance -- but who in her situation
wouldn't be? -- but surely the sheer anthropology of her, the whole
clearly-educated, full-of-class-markers aspects of her, would signal to the
psychiatrist that a colossal crime of the worst sort had transpired and one of
the deserving winners of society has been managed by their own instrumentation
into the routine dehumanizing treatment only due people ostensibly deserving of
them, the out-of-luck, worthily-suspect ordinary. But without blinking: No, he
can't see anything about her above and beyond what is reported in his charts.
But without blinking: She'll be filed in such a way that is profitable for the
company and career-sustaining/enhancing for him.
She's requited to her situation; she's
out of luck. She experiences the horror that many people who are being
designted as #MeToo perpetrators are coming to feel as their peers who once saw
them as fellow luminaries, see them now as fully exposed/denatured in a
item-list of the accusations put to them: perpetrator, only; member of a
despised out-class that is pushed out as far not-akin to you as possible so
that it can be more believably seen as alien and other. She experiences the
horror that many who are being designated as members of the "witch
hunt" crew are being encouraged to feel, in retaliation. This particular
situation of two who should be fundamentally class-loyal finding themselves
actually disowning the other, is an exposure of the disruption currently
beginning to afflict the professional class vs. the working class paradigm
that's been society's sure norm for several decades. Now the professional class
is landing one-another into newly created "death camps" that dissolve
one's hard-won reputation and credibility to zero.
Fortunately, one of her fellow
"inmates" deems her actually sane, obviously so, self-evidently so,
in fact: he confirms her in every way possible, even sexually; and fortunately,
though he hasn't revealed this to her, he acts in such a composed and
intelligent manner throughout it's hardly a surprise when it turns out he's a
reporter who's infilitrated the institution who's pure from the genuine
contagions ACTUALLY contained therein -- for who else amongst all the
"sick" actually seems even slightly norm in this institution? no one
we see. Some may lapse, but fortunately some of the same type will never not
recognize their own... "you've" still got some buttressing, and
therefore a bit of time to recalculate strategy.
At the finish of the film, where her own
intelligence and superiority has contrived the death of her stalker and the
humiliation and full destruction of the fellow patient -- a woman-witch,
possessed, as I remember it, even of a cackle -- who was the bully in the
institution, who's own obnoxious assaults on her prey were never noticed but whose
profit-enhancing prompted violent retaliations by her victims always were, and,
through her own luck, the death of the one person in life who could still
humiliate her by proving her required cavalry despite all the efforts she had
put into always being her own -- her mother -- whom, lets face it, is usually
the one who prompts our moving several hundred miles to a big city, and whom
usually requires our own covering up of this real reason -- by falsehoods large
or small -- to absolve our sense of guilt and fear of discovery over having
abandoned her and leaving so far from home, she finishes two steps ahead, in a
higher echelon job, and with more power to dispatch those who might even begin
to consider crossing her.
She ends "all kinds of bitch,"
as her most recent prey asserts, the fellow-employee who looked at her aglance
at the beginning of the movie. And so too all the execs right now who are only
pretending to be engaged in the political process, and who are secretly
thinking ahead to the survival centre they might be building for themselves in
some apocalypse-safe zone.
There's the business of her projecting
onto select men a sudden vision of a terrible predator, that remains just as
manifest in her at the end as it is in the beginning. I have not addressed it.
I experienced it in the film almost like it was a tendency of the brain that
could affect her as hard as an epilepsy attack, and which she'd learn to treat
through a kind of isolation of stimuli... a large black spot of cancer that
could appear suddenly to ruin any frame of reality, removed as a possibility
for good. Not for her the recommendations to be eternally vigilant of stimuli,
that a hired stalker-defence professional gives her, the always feeling out of
things for their ability to invite predation -- an invite to a perennial
potential victim's perspective -- but to edit them out of view entirely. I
suspect she'd ask all future lovers -- all now overt gigolos, surely -- to come
to her masked in garb proven to avoid triggering her. Just as she'd subject a
fellow woman to a possibly carried-out act -- if things went wrong -- of rape
for her own convenience, she'd possibly make use of the friendly reporter who
died in "the error" of showing sympathy and support for her (she didn't
figure this could happen? hyper-intelligent and aware her couldn't find way to
warn him? the stalker was noted for being non-observant and was as well that
rare type of perpetrator who wouldn't mind sharing?), as a kind of model she
could mask her gigolos with that would reliably prove to counter the prompt in
men that has historically allowed stimulation of exactly the wrong memory
centres. One further part of life -- the part of her brain that sometimes has
its own ideas -- controlled.
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