Georges
Devereux credited his time in the field with Native Americans for turning back
towards Freudian analysis, because they convinced him of the power of dreams.
Fittingly, his “Dora” would also be a Native American patient, whom Devereux
treats at the behest of the VA in Arnaud Desplechin’s Jimmy P. (trailer
here), which
opens this Friday in New York.
James
Picard saw just enough action in the waning days of WWII to have his skill
fracturing. Suffering from debilitating
headaches and dizziness, Picard checks into the Topeka VA hospital, from where
he is soon transferred to the nearby Menninger Institute. There is nothing
physically wrong with Picard, but the good Dr. Menninger never doubts his pain.
Trying a different tact, Menninger calls in the controversial Dr. Devereux for
a one time referral, hoping his anthropological expertise will facilitate a psychiatric
diagnosis.
Like
anyone, Picard made plenty of mistakes in life, which may weigh on his psyche.
Devereux will do his best to untangle them for the sake of Picard’s well being
and his own checkered career. Representing the best of Jimmy P, Desplechin’s scenes of their analysis sessions are written
and performed with intelligence and unusual sensitivity. However, there is a
great deal sluggish connective tissue, wherein Desplechin establishes and
compulsively re-establishes the dry and sleepy late 1940’s Kansas setting.
Still,
there is something to be said for the restraint exhibited by Desplechin and
lead actor Benicio Del Toro, who draws us into Picard’s interior torment,
rather than howling at the moon and bugging out his eyes, like a Blackfoot Meryl
Streep. Wisely, Desplechin allows Picard to maintain his dignity instead of
using him as an easy figure of victimhood.
In
fact, Desplechin and co-writers Kent Jones and Julie Peyr maintain an ambiguous
stance regarding Devereux’s ethical sensibilities, allowing space for viewers
to interpret him as either exploiter or altruist, which is usually how life
works. Clearly, the film is deeply informed by revisionist criticism of
manifest destiny, but it never hyperventilates with outrage. Frankly, aside
from an orderly calling Picard “Chief,” the VA is largely depicted in positive
terms.
As
Picard and Devereux, Del Toro and Mathieu Almaric play off and complement each
other quite other quite well. Almaric brings an especially welcome roguish
energy as the Austro-Hungarian born French-American psychoanalyst (who happened
to be Edward Teller’s cousin). While Del Toro’s lack of histrionics is a
blessed relief, his extreme reserve sometimes has a lulling effect. In support, Larry Pine does right by American
psychiatry, conveying Menninger’s authority and compassion (anyone who has not
yet seen him in Vanya on 42nd
Street should catch up with Louis Malle’s ultra-New York take on Chekhov at
their earliest convenience), while Misty Upham adds a note of graceful tragedy
as Jane, Picard’s great flashback love.
