Uncomfortable Films, Honest Emotions: Cronenberg and the Therapeutic Mirror

This year, I've found myself drawn to the work of Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg. On the day I'm writing this, his latest film The Shrouds is being released in France. Leading up to the premiere, La Cinémathèque Française hosted a full retrospective of his work, with guests such as Viggo Mortensen, Coralie Fargeat, and Cronenberg himself presenting screenings and speaking about the films.

Although I didn't win the tirage au sort (raffle) for the opening night, I still managed to see most of the retrospective. During an especially bleak Parisian winter, riding my bike down to Bercy to watch these films—often shown on original 35mm prints—became a strangely comforting ritual.

Discovering The Brood: When Pain Takes Shape

One of the standout films for me was The Brood (1979). At first glance, it seems like a conventional horror film. A divorced father struggles to protect his child from mysterious, monstrous creatures that begin attacking people in a frozen Toronto suburb. But the real horror lies beneath the surface. The film gradually reveals that these creatures are somehow connected to the suppressed rage of his ex-wife.

Cronenberg wrote and directed The Brood shortly after his own painful divorce. He wanted to express the emotional devastation he felt at the time in a way that felt more honest and personal than the more polished and mainstream Kramer vs. Kramer, released that same year.

What struck me as a therapist was how powerfully this film visualises what we so often try to hide. Unacknowledged emotions do not just disappear. They fester. They can erupt in surprising ways, harming both ourselves and others. This is something I regularly work through with clients—the way pain and anger can become distorted when we don't have space to express or understand them.

Crash and the Complexity of Desire

Another unforgettable film in the retrospective was Crash (1996), which follows a group of people who eroticise car crashes. It's an intense watch, and it was controversial when it was released. Many people saw it as shocking or gratuitous, but what stood out to me was its refusal to judge.

Rather than pathologising these characters or treating their desires as perverse, Cronenberg observes them with a kind of detached curiosity. The characters form a subculture based on their shared experience of trauma, desire, and risk. It is unsettling, yes, but it also asks an important question: what happens when our inner worlds don't align with what society expects or accepts?

In therapy, I often meet people who feel shame around what they want, what they fear, or who they are. Crash reminds us that it is possible to explore these aspects of ourselves with curiosity rather than condemnation.

A Softer Entry Point: A Dangerous Method

For those who are new to Cronenberg or were traumatised by his more disturbing work (Naked Lunch, anyone?), A Dangerous Method (2011) offers a more grounded entry point. It tells the story of the early days of psychoanalysis, focusing on the complex relationships between Freud, Jung, and their patient-turned-colleague Sabina Spielrein.

This was a personal highlight of the retrospective for me. Viggo Mortensen, who plays Freud, introduced the film and spoke movingly about the pressure of portraying such a famous figure. He also praised Keira Knightley's performance, which had been unfairly dismissed by critics. I agree with him. Her portrayal of Spielrein captures the emotional vulnerability and sexual openness that challenges Jung's rigid worldview.

In many ways, Spielrein's character reflects the therapeutic journey itself—the courage to feel deeply, to express fully, and to break from the restrictions of what is considered acceptable. Jung's transformation in the film only begins when he allows himself to be moved by her openness.

What Cronenberg Reveals About Therapy

Cronenberg's films are not comfortable. They deal with pain, trauma, and transformation in ways that can feel brutal. But they are also honest. They don't offer moral reassurance or tidy resolutions. Instead, they challenge us to look at the parts of ourselves we might prefer to avoid.

This is what good therapy can do too. It creates a space where we can examine the uncomfortable, the unspoken, and the confusing. It helps us find meaning, not by avoiding pain, but by understanding it.

Questions to Reflect On

1. When was the last time you felt something deeply uncomfortable and allowed yourself to sit with it rather than push it away?
2. Are there desires, fears, or memories you've hidden from others—or from yourself?
3. What stories, films, or moments in your life have reflected something you weren't ready to see?

A Therapeutic Invitation

If you're someone who finds meaning in film, storytelling, or the deeper layers of experience, therapy might be a powerful space for you to explore your own story. Whether you are navigating grief, identity, desire, or change, I would be honoured to support you on that path.

If any of these reflections resonate with you, feel free to get in touch. Sometimes, the most unsettling stories are the ones that open us up to new ways of living.