It's an interest, more-or-less straightforward story of a woman with multiple personality disorder, named Sybil here, and played by Sally Field. Sybil was a real woman who lived in Kentucky. She was treated by a psychiatrist for many years, charged on a sliding scale that evidently had a zero point, because nobody in Sybil's position is going to afford twelve years of private psychiatric treatment. The complimentary treatment is provided by Joanne Woodward as Dr. Wilbur.
Most of the popular stories about people with MPD have a convenient three personalities, one of which -- the most fully integrated one -- "wins" in the end, leading to a happy ending. Sybil, like so many real patients, had so many alter egos that it was hard to keep track of them. The film only introduces about half a dozen, all with different names and ages, and skips the remaining fifteen or so. Thank God for small favors. I have enough trouble keeping up with my own roles.
This story has a happy ending too, a kind of dream sequence in which the original Sybil gets to meet and embrace her other personalities and they are absorbed into her. She evidently did manage to pull herself together because she went on to a successful career as a professor of art, a position she wouldn't have held long if she'd showed up on campus one day as an eight year old child.
The story has been modified, necessarily, in other ways too. As a representative of Sybil's spare contacts with others, we have Brad Davis in the role of a street musician and concocted clown. It's a sympathetic role and he does well by it, but he disappears from the narrative rather abruptly.
The splashiest role by far is Sally Fields'. She gets to mope, to mumble, to shriek, to put her fist through windows, to pull her face into gargoyle masks, to be sophisticated, to be petulant, to be mean, and to scuttle along the floor and hide under the piano. She's given it her all, because she's completely put aside that usual fey quality she carries with her -- girlish, provocative, and abundantly sexual. She has pretty toes too. If you go for that sort of thing.
But I admired most the performance of Joanne Woodward as the psychiatrist. She's delightfully mature after we've spent some time with Sybil. She can be nurturing, tolerant, firm, and directive. She's attractive and wears a becoming hair do or hair style or whatever it's called. A good shrink, in other words. My shrinks were never like that. After calling me names like "paranoid" right to my face, they all sneaked around telling dirty stories about me behind my back and writing letters of recommendation so condemnatory that I wouldn't have sent them to someone who wanted to hire a dog. Years after this treachery and they're still dunning me for unpaid bills.
Clearly, a lot of effort on everyone's part went into this production. The only real problem I had with it is what one might call the psychoanalytic ploy. In these tales, the patient must always have symptoms caused by some repressed memory of childhood trauma. All you have to do is bring the trauma to conscious awareness (and the emotions associated with it) and BINGO -- no more disorder! B. F. Skinner would have a lot to say about that, but it DOES make for a smoother ending, emotionally more satisfying if not very realistic.
Most of the popular stories about people with MPD have a convenient three personalities, one of which -- the most fully integrated one -- "wins" in the end, leading to a happy ending. Sybil, like so many real patients, had so many alter egos that it was hard to keep track of them. The film only introduces about half a dozen, all with different names and ages, and skips the remaining fifteen or so. Thank God for small favors. I have enough trouble keeping up with my own roles.
This story has a happy ending too, a kind of dream sequence in which the original Sybil gets to meet and embrace her other personalities and they are absorbed into her. She evidently did manage to pull herself together because she went on to a successful career as a professor of art, a position she wouldn't have held long if she'd showed up on campus one day as an eight year old child.
The story has been modified, necessarily, in other ways too. As a representative of Sybil's spare contacts with others, we have Brad Davis in the role of a street musician and concocted clown. It's a sympathetic role and he does well by it, but he disappears from the narrative rather abruptly.
The splashiest role by far is Sally Fields'. She gets to mope, to mumble, to shriek, to put her fist through windows, to pull her face into gargoyle masks, to be sophisticated, to be petulant, to be mean, and to scuttle along the floor and hide under the piano. She's given it her all, because she's completely put aside that usual fey quality she carries with her -- girlish, provocative, and abundantly sexual. She has pretty toes too. If you go for that sort of thing.
But I admired most the performance of Joanne Woodward as the psychiatrist. She's delightfully mature after we've spent some time with Sybil. She can be nurturing, tolerant, firm, and directive. She's attractive and wears a becoming hair do or hair style or whatever it's called. A good shrink, in other words. My shrinks were never like that. After calling me names like "paranoid" right to my face, they all sneaked around telling dirty stories about me behind my back and writing letters of recommendation so condemnatory that I wouldn't have sent them to someone who wanted to hire a dog. Years after this treachery and they're still dunning me for unpaid bills.
Clearly, a lot of effort on everyone's part went into this production. The only real problem I had with it is what one might call the psychoanalytic ploy. In these tales, the patient must always have symptoms caused by some repressed memory of childhood trauma. All you have to do is bring the trauma to conscious awareness (and the emotions associated with it) and BINGO -- no more disorder! B. F. Skinner would have a lot to say about that, but it DOES make for a smoother ending, emotionally more satisfying if not very realistic.