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- Girl, Interrupted.
Rarely are any of them seen without a cigarette between their lips. Susanna chases a bottle of pills with alcohol in her suicide attempt. Revelers drink at a dance club. Patients at Claymoore trade pills for favors.
When Susanna and Lisa break out of the hospital they share a marijuana joint with a group of hippies. Summary: Susanna is diagnosed with a "borderline personality disorder" that results in severe depression—a state of mind that's likely to follow audiences out of the theater. Girl, Interrupted is a dreary indulgence into the world of mental disorders, despair and hatred with little offered to lift the gloom.
Many teens may find affinity with Susanna's disenfranchised existence, but they won't get much hope in return. Potts; Vanessa Redgrave as Dr. Wick; Whoopi Goldberg as Valerie. James Mangold. Steven Isaac. Plugged In helps college student stand-up for his belief "Thanks for the great job you do in posting movie and television reviews online. No Rating Available. Watch This Review. We hope this review was both interesting and useful. Please share it with family and friends who would benefit from it as well. Positive Elements. Spiritual Content. Sexual Content.
Crude or Profane Language. Drug and Alcohol Content. Other Negative Elements. Pro-social Content. Objectionable Content. Summary Advisory. Plot Summary. Christian Beliefs.
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Why doesn't anyone reach in and rip out the truth and tell me that I'm a fucking whore, or that my parents wish I were dead? Susanna: Because you're dead already, Lisa! No one cares if you die, Lisa, because you're dead already. Your heart is cold. That's why you keep coming back here. You're not free. You need this place, you need it to feel alive. It's pathetic. Wick: Is there something about sex which lifts your feelings of despair?
Lisa: I bet. With every inch of his manhood. Lisa: And everybody knows.
Everybody knows that he fucks you. What they don't know Alternative Title s : Girl Interrupted.
Girl, Interrupted Movie Review
Show Spoilers. It was there as a sort of secret note to myself, a reminder of the slippery, tricksy nature of this season. Two months after the publication of my suicide essay, I woke up one morning and knew I was going to kill myself that day.
Why drag myself through another miserable day on the increasingly remote chance that things might get better? My mind moved in rapid circles, the same awful cycles of thought over and over again. My muscles ached from a body that was locked in constant state of fight-or-flight. I tried breaking my days and nights down into hour-long increments, then into quarter hours. I told myself that if I could survive from am to am, then I would be all right. But of course after that I always found myself staring down the barrel of another fifteen excruciating minutes. I downed a bottle of sleeping pills and some whiskey, wrote a note, and got into bed.
A few minutes later I got out of bed, shoved a few things into my backpack, stumbled down to the street and took a cab to the hospital. I wound up on an involuntary hour hold in the psychiatric ward of downtown hospital. I had a lot of time to read on the ward.
Dinner is at I spent my first two days in my bed, which was in a cozy sort of alcove up against a window, with the lights dimmed and my curtains drawn. I felt like the rest of the world was a stormy sea and my corner of the ward was a raft; as long as I clung to it and clung hard, then I could ride out my time in the hospital and go home to my family.