The Seventh Continent (Michael Haneke, 1989)
It may seem a strange thing to say, but I love bleak films. (Here’s a Letterboxd list of the bleakest films I’ve seen and loved.) On the other hand, it’s not really that strange, given that some of the bleakest films ever made are also considered masterpieces by many, and films full of despair with no happy endings continue to be made. So there must be something – besides conventionally good filmmaking and acting – that attracts people to bleak films. So, why do bleak film lovers want to watch a film that evokes feelings of loneliness and hopelessness, and leaves them feeling down and dispirited after? Surely this isn’t an enjoyable experience?
Not all aesthetic experiences have to be enjoyable, however (in the sense of feeling pleasure or joy through the aesthetic experience). The allure and value of bleak films is because of their capacity to portray the darker sides of human experience, as well as the creative and novel ways in which they evoke negative emotions. On episode 191 of the mental health podcast Depresh Mode, host John Moe talks with film critics Drea Clark, Dan McCoy, and Dana Stevens about depressing movies. The episode notes read:
There are sad movies that nonetheless offer some sort of hope and optimism. And then there are the ones that offer no hope at all, just bleakness and despair and the cinematic versions of major depressive disorder. Those are our focus on this episode as a trio of film critics and pundits offer their picks for the most depressing films and offer analysis on whether there is value in watching works that present worlds with zero hope.
During the episode, one of the benefits of bleak films discussed, or one reason people love them, is that they help people feel less isolated; the negative experiences on screen help to validate those of the viewer. Reflecting on bleak films – and why many cinephiles love them – I think an additional (potential) benefit of them is feeling more human (through the stirring of strong feelings, which one may not have felt for a while). It is these benefits of bleak films that I want to focus on.
But this is not to say that everyone will, or should, like bleak films; they also have their time and place. Here, I would refer to philosopher Matt Strohl’s concept of aesthetic slots: some contexts suit certain film experiences more than others. Depending on one’s current mental health and life circumstances and concerns, a seriously bleak film could either feel worthwhile and valuable (despite the negative feelings involved) or it may simply be too disturbing and unsettling (so that one feels neither emotionally nor aesthetically enriched by the experience).
Bleak films can be ‘bleak’ because of their portrayal of themes like grief, loneliness, addiction, mental health problems, trauma, abuse, and senility. Some of the films I included in that Letterboxd list linked above accurately and realistically portray the lived experience of some of these forms of emotional distress. These include the depictions of depression in Louis Malle’s The Fire Within (1963), Joachim Trier’s reimagining of Malle’s film in Oslo, August 31st (2011) – which I wrote about here – and Lars Von Trier’s Melancholia (2011). Potent films about grief and loss include George Sluzier’s The Vanishing (1988), Kurt Kuenne’s documentary Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (2009), Kenneth Lonergan’s Manchester by the Sea (2016), Ari Aster’s Hereditary (2018), and Charlotte Wells’ Aftersun (2022). Unsettling films about addiction include Uli Edel’s Christiane F. (1981), Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream (2000), and Aronofsky’s The Whale (2022). Movies about trauma and abuse that many (myself included) find hard to watch include Gary Oldman’s Nil by Mouth (1997), Tim Roth’s The War Zone (1999), Gaspar Noé‘s Irréversible (2003), and Denis Villeneuve’s Incendies (2011).
Michael Haneke’s Amour (2012) and Florian Zeller’s The Father (2020) both powerfully convey the tragic and heartbreaking nature of dementia. We can find accurate depictions of human desperation and deep-seated loneliness in Mike Leigh’s Another Year (2010) and Charlie Kaufman’s Anomalisa (2015). We also see the serious toll that loneliness can have on people in Andrew Haigh’s deeply moving film All of Us Strangers (2023). And although Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray (1986) isn’t in my Letterboxd list (because of its happy ending and non-bleak elements), I want to give it an honourable mention, as I was impressed with how convincingly Marie Rivière (who plays the protagonist Delphine) portrayed the feeling of isolation. Crucially, this is the kind of isolation that occurs when surrounded by others: feeling unable to connect, be comfortable, express oneself, and be accepted and validated by others.
The appeal of these films (for many people) is that they provide an accurate display of the things people feel, think, say, and do when experiencing severe emotional distress. For those who have personally experienced the form of distress on display – who went through the experience themselves or witnessed it in loved ones – the viewing experience can feel uniquely validating. In filmic form, one sees and hears people going through painful experiences in the moment (the fact that it’s fictional doesn’t stop the portrayal from seeming real, if it’s done in an authentic and convincing way).
This visceral, sensory form of emotional validation is distinct from other forms of validation (e.g. therapy, support groups, conversations with loved ones, watching documentaries, and reading books, articles, and forum posts). A related benefit of this kind of validation is feeling less alone. Abstractly knowing that others have gone through, or are going through, the same experience as you is different to witnessing a realistic depiction of it. Bleak films, in other words, can add emotional depth and realness to what we already know about human suffering.
Watching bleak films that one can personally relate to can be unsettling in a way that it isn’t for someone who hasn’t experienced what the characters have. But this discomfort doesn’t discount or preclude the benefit of recognising or strengthening one’s appreciation for just how painful and difficult certain events in one’s life have been. (Again, there is something to be said about ‘individual readiness’ when it comes to certain bleak films: a recent traumatic event may not make watching a film about that same kind of trauma a wise decision; whereas, in other cases, such films may act as powerful sources of self-compassion and catharsis.)
The other benefit of bleak films, as mentioned already, is their ability to stir up one’s emotions. And this can be valuable whether or not one personally relates to the particular form of distress that the film is exploring. For example, if someone has recently been dealing with feelings of numbness and disconnection from others, being able to strongly empathise with the suffering of characters on screen can feel humanising. It can be a reminder that, despite feeling empty and emotionless in everyday life, the human capacity to feel and care for others’ pain still exists. This may be a reassuring experience, perhaps even helping to quell (at least temporarily) the feeling that one is helplessly ‘broken’. And for those who don’t feel emotionally numb, film-induced empathy can be useful if it helps one recognise and appreciate the very real forms of suffering that many people experience. Additionally, some bleak films may help one confront one’s own fears and anxieties surrounding painful events that will occur (e.g. the ageing of a parent, losing a loved one, one’s own mortality) or those that could occur.
A related (potential) benefit of experiencing intense emotions when watching bleak films is the building of emotional resilience. By confronting the reality of human suffering (one’s own and that of others), one has the opportunity to respond to such suffering in healthy and adaptive ways. Developing an attitude of acceptance and compassion after watching a bleak film doesn’t mean that certain scenes won’t continue to seem disturbing, of course, but it is a way of gaining value from the discomfort. This is also possible even if you watch a bleak film only once (many people have no desire to watch certain bleak films again, but this doesn’t stop them from being deeply appreciated).
For all of the above reasons, to be confronted with despair and feel it oneself when watching a film can be a source of an emotionally and aesthetically rich life.
