What shows like Sex Education and Luther teach us… | Little White Lies

Not Movies

What shows like Sex Edu­ca­tion and Luther teach us about therapists

17 Jan 2019

Words by S.L. Page

Two young people, a man and a woman, sitting closely together on a patterned sofa in a warm, cosy room.
Two young people, a man and a woman, sitting closely together on a patterned sofa in a warm, cosy room.
Gillian Ander­son and Hermione Nor­ris’ char­ac­ters fuel the myth that ther­a­py is some­thing to be feared.

Artists and writ­ers have been fas­ci­nat­ed by ther­a­py since Sig­mund Freud, and have spent the last cen­tu­ry weav­ing the meth­ods of the talk­ing cure into their sto­ries. It’s not sur­pris­ing, then, that in this age of high qual­i­ty TV dra­mas we are see­ing an increas­ing num­ber and vari­ety of ther­a­pists por­trayed on our screens. Yet the lay­ers of his­to­ry that fic­tion­al ther­a­pists have, has led to some very ingrained stereotypes.

Ther­a­py is cen­tral to Netflix’s lat­est big release, Sex Edu­ca­tion. In the eight-part series, Gillian Ander­son plays Sex and Rela­tion­ship Ther­a­pist Jean Mil­burn, while Asa But­ter­field plays her son, Otis. Anderson’s char­ac­ter has some depth, but when it comes to her ther­a­peu­tic prac­tice the cre­ative team behind the show rely on sev­er­al exag­ger­at­ed stereo­types as a source for their humour. For starters, Jean analy­ses every­one who comes into con­tact with her, even in casu­al con­ver­sa­tion – a real ther­a­pist would be very unlike­ly to pro­vide this ser­vice for free, and would also be acute­ly aware that peo­ple gen­er­al­ly don’t want to be con­front­ed with ther­a­py in their every­day lives.

The process is con­duct­ed in pri­vate for a rea­son. In a sim­i­lar­ly clichéd man­ner, Anderson’s char­ac­ter exudes con­fi­dence at all times, in a way that seems almost inhu­man. Show­ing that ther­a­pists have doubts and trou­bles, just like any­one else, wouldn’t play as well for laughs. Of course, height­ened char­ac­ters and sit­u­a­tions are typ­i­cal of this brand of com­e­dy, yet Sex Edu­ca­tion is not the only recent show to deploy well-worn tropes when por­tray­ing a therapist.

Smiling woman in blue top standing in office.

Instead of focus­ing on the pos­i­tive qual­i­ties of ther­a­pists, the fifth sea­son of BBC’s Luther uses the stereo­type of the ther­a­pist-as-vil­lain – an arche­type most com­mon­ly asso­ci­at­ed with Han­ni­bal Lecter. Ever since Jonathan Demme’s 1991 film The Silence of the Lambs, it has been per­mis­si­ble to see the work of ther­a­pists as slight­ly (or sig­nif­i­cant­ly in Lecter’s case) creepy. In Luther, Hermione Nor­ris gives a per­for­mance that is every bit as chill­ing as Antho­ny Hop­kins’; her char­ac­ter is arguably all the more men­ac­ing because she doesn’t con­duct acts of vio­lence her­self. Instead she uses her inti­mate under­stand­ing of the human psy­che to exert con­trol over her hus­band, and exer­cise both of their sadis­tic ten­den­cies in mur­der­ous ways.

Char­ac­ters like Lecter and Nor­ris’ Vivien Lake are not par­tic­u­lar­ly help­ful when view­ers are con­sid­er­ing whether or not ther­a­py might be an option for them in their real lives. Although it might be dra­mat­ic to show ther­a­pists get­ting into their client’s heads for mali­cious rea­sons, shows like Luther add to the myth that large num­bers of ther­a­pists have nefar­i­ous ulte­ri­or motives for choos­ing a pro­fes­sion in which patient trust and con­fi­den­tial­i­ty are paramount.

Sit­ting some­where between these two extremes is Julia Roberts’ Hei­di Bergman in Ama­zon Orig­i­nal series Home­com­ing. A ther­a­pist with whol­ly good inten­tions, but lit­tle prac­ti­cal expe­ri­ence, Bergman is shown to be manip­u­lat­ed by the sys­tem just as much as her clients. She knows that some­thing is wrong at her work­place, a treat­ment cen­tre for war vet­er­ans, but lacks the con­fi­dence and know-how of Sex Education’s Jean Mil­burn. Indeed, she is the polar oppo­site of Anderson’s char­ac­ter, and a bad ther­a­pist in a very dif­fer­ent way to Nor­ris in Luther. Until the bit­ter end, Bergman only inad­ver­tent­ly caus­es harm to her clients, includ­ing the man she has fall­en in love with.

She is also the most true to life. I have spent years see­ing ther­a­pists, and have stud­ied Trans­ac­tion­al Analy­sis, and in all of my expe­ri­ence Bergman’s mis­judged opti­mism – her will­ing­ness to see the pos­i­tives not only in her clients but every per­son she meets – is far more com­mon among ther­a­pists than an infal­li­ble self-assur­ance or mur­der­ous intent.

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