Sometimes Forever Is Just A Second

I wasn’t looking for a “good movie” about eating disorders. I think the notion is somewhat paradoxical, idyllic and, frankly, unattainable. With To the Bone recently released on Netflix, and having watched it, it’s not that I think Marti Noxon did a “bad job” per say. It’s just that I’m not sure “good movie” and “realistic depiction of an eating disorder” are complicit. I don’t think they can coexist in the way we hope/ “need”/want them too. And I think, maybe, that’s a good thing.

My eating disorder does not work with life. My eating disorder would make an awful film. It is simply not malleable or functional in the way that films so often portray mental illness, and the concept of making a “good movie” about anorexia is just not practical. And that is not a challenge.

For what it’s worth, I totally admire Lily Collins (who plays the lead role of Ellen in To the Bone, and also wrote about her struggles in her book, Unfiltered), her bravery in breaking her own silence is inspiring, courageous and heart-felt – I very much hope she is her own inspiration. I also know the risk she took in the hope of raising awareness, but more fundamentally, encouraging, indeed opening, conversation. She returned to unchartered waters, waters she spent so long, and so much of her younger years, drowning in. (Collins "physically" embodied the anorexic character and lost a rather significant amount of weight for the role.) It’s a risky business, and testament to how powerful a good support system, armed with floats and life jackets, ropes and warmth, is to recovery. It is, however, and this is where my criticism begins, an unnecessary risk and one that only feeds the “underweight” stereotype – forcing a mental health disorder onto the body.

Firstly, I think it's important to say that any "mental health film" is only ever going to be relative; To the Bone's "success" - or otherwise - can only ever be "relatively good" at best. Relative, that is, to the time constraints: an hour and a half is only ever going to offer a snapshot and is more often than not going to adopt a “sick à better” narrative, by its very nature. Oh how I wish the reality was as simple! 

Admittedly, there are, I think, raw issues with certain shots of Ellen’s frail body – specifically her back: snapshot/snap-able. As the film went on this did indeed wear closer to the bone, did we really need that many shots of jutting shoulder blades? That said, Noxon does go someway in suggesting some of the lesser talked about side effects of such a cruel illness: Ellen’s bruised spine offers a perhaps unwanted glimpse into the pain that lies beneath the surface and the length of suffering one will inflict at the hands of such an unforgiving, demonic dictator. This, like the painful family therapy appointments, holds a mirror to the parts of anorexia that cannot be measured in numbers on a scale.

Moreover, Ellen is neither the entirely whimsical fairy figure, nor the totally consumed “anorexic” character, with no hopes/ambitions beyond her own shrinking, that these films usually depict. Whilst the name change is a questionable therapy technique (Ellen's therapist suggests she rename herself), and one I think is a bit unrealistic/simplistic, on a deeper level, Noxon does shine a light on the way in which both our pasts and our diagnoses/illnesses shape our identities. Ellen’s name change does not cure her, but what Noxon does do is imply a freeing/re-indentifying, that, whilst undeniably simplistic, does go someway in deconstructing the stereotypical “anorexic” identity. Ellen is malleable because she is human. She is not her diagnosis – she was human before it and she is human within it, and maybe, one day she will be someone without it.

Noxon interweaves humour in a way that at first may seem somewhat dismissive, or reductive to the severity of the situation she deals both with and within. Again, I think such a claim is somewhat two-dimensional. Many a time, humour has been my sole coping strategy. I cried a lot in hospital, but I also laughed a lot too, because sometimes, that really is all you can do. Ellen is blunt and witty, her one-liners are so close to the mark – or the bone – that they have you inhale sharply before laughing a laugh you’re probably not totally sure is “permitted”. There were a lot of rules on the ward, but a ban on laughter was never one of them. We laughed about the painfully sorry state we’d landed ourselves in because, well, because sometimes, words alone fall short. We laughed because the menu for the next day was so horrendous that if we didn’t laugh we’d probably cry. One dreary January afternoon, in my first few days, we laughed our way through Obama Lama and Scrabble, because, well, onwards and upwards. When I choked on the first bite of anything other than cereal/veg I’d eaten in years, and sobbed/coughed my way through that first mouthful, swearing down that the fish finger was out to get me and food was, as feared, “dangerous” (I’m still not sure to what extent I was joking, or deadly serious), all my family could do was laugh, because no words would have comforted the fish finger debacle…and I bet you won’t find advice on that!

There were, of course, darker moments too, moments where humour wouldn’t have fixed, or stemmed the overflowing problem. Yeah, those moments weren’t all that pretty – and sadly, there was no romance, or beer, to dull those ones, but again, I guess that’s the stark reality that wouldn’t exactly “sell”. And maybe that’s okay? Yes, maybe it would raise awareness, but maybe it would also just come across as being “too irrational/ludicrous” to comprehend and engage with? There is nothing rational about an eating disorder and whilst Noxon depicts this, at least partly through the voids only laughter can fill, there would come a point where the film, and its representations, would just dissolve and instead of offering insight, the stage would be set and a serious mental illness framed as a puny game/laughing stock/"freak show". To be totally honest, those are the moments I wouldn’t wish on anyone – not even as a bystander. No one wants that kind of viewing, whether in real life or on screen. These are the moments I hope you never understand.

Whilst, sadly, I’d argue the progress Noxon makes in avoiding making Ellen’s body the sole focus is disturbed significantly by those back-shots, that is not to say that Noxon does not encourage alternatives to the “diet gone wrong” assumption many give to eating disorders - oh how I wish this was as simple as a "vanity issue"... What Noxon does do is present a deeply unhappy character, the roots of which are never entirely determined – as with anything in life – who self-punishes and self-destructs as a means of dealing with a fundamentally weakened self-worth. A large percentage of the film focuses on the role both Ellen and Ellen’s anorexia has on her family…and also the role the family has on both Ellen and Ellen’s anorexia. As a sister myself, one of the scenes that really stuck was Ellen’s sister’s protest that she missed out on having a sister. I can only assume that living with someone deep in the grasps of anorexia is like living with a shell of a person. On the day of my brother’s Year 11 prom, I had my first of many 4 hour round trips to the hospital and down the corridor to the ED unit, pausing briefly to beep those scales. It was one of the worst appointments of my life and it was one that will stay with me forever. I’d been waiting for the appointment to come through for ages and was on the brink of being admitted, it was touch and go whether I’d be back in time to see my brother go off to prom and I was so so angry that I had to choose hospital over my little brother. As it was, I got back just in time and hid tearful, puffy eyes behind big sunglasses.

I really struggle with the idea that anorexia is glamorous. Trust me, there was nothing glamorous about those sunglasses, there’s nothing glamorous in counting counting counting, there’s nothing glamorous about being so detached from life that nothing else even gets a look in. Noxon attempts to remind viewers of this, with the bag of vomit under the bed as one of the most stand-out examples. However, again, this is compromised by the romantic, and romanticised, relationship that emerges between Ellen and Luke. Idyllic in all senses, Noxon's only saving grace is that Luke is not entirely depicted as Ellen’s “knight in shining armour”; at least by the, rather neat, ending, Ellen is beginning to fight for herself. That's the crux: you can be admitted to many hospitals and see many professionals, you can fall in love, fall out of love, study, or put your life on hold, but ultimately, the only person who can save you is you. To suggest otherwise is simply ignorant and, frankly, a waste of time. 

I think it’s probably worth noting that the approach of the clinic/house is very different to the majority of units/wards I know of in the UK. For one, food is the focus. Whereas, in To the Bone, believe it or not, this seems to take a backseat, allowing therapy and the therapeutic environment to take the front seat – an interesting concept. I’ll admit, as I watched that first meal time and saw the patients pick and choose their meals, part of me wondered how this was ever going to work. Unsupervised and deeply disordered, I dare say, the reality is it quite probably wouldn’t work. That said, the support and unspoken strength that was shared at the dining table is something that I’ll never forget – staff were the pillars of that support, but other patients who fought their battles at my side, whose eyes I caught across the battlefield, and whose hands I squeezed - battles won, and lost - really did keep me going. Whether Noxon’s model is fit for purpose or not, the friendship, hand-holding and moral support is more realistic than you can imagine.

To the Bone is far from perfect. But maybe we are wrong to be looking for perfect? I’ve barely even touched on the potential impact this film could have on impressionable/vulnerable viewers, largely because I think a lot of that stands of its own accord and because criticism has covered this area in abundance. My argument, therefore, perhaps neglectfully, places that to one side, not because it is not incredibly important in considering what Noxon has done, but because I think we need to rethink what it is we, individually, wanted/needed/expected To the Bone to be upon initial viewing? To the Bone could simply never be a “good film about anorexia,” because such a notion is as unrealistic as aspects of the film and as idyllic as its romance – because ultimately, whilst Noxon and Collins may have wanted to raise awareness and encourage conversation, their primary goal was to make a film and therefore, such conversation and storytelling had to be screen-worthy. With that in mind, I ask that you simply refrain from judging reality by a film. Noxon does make progress here, but there are, certainly, gaping holes in her representations and depictions of an incredibly complex and personal illness, largely, because, more than anything else, one size simply does not fit all.