We saw Steven Spielberg’s new autobiographical film, The Fablemans over the weekend. I was twelve and had just moved back when Jaws, his first blockbuster came out, and like pretty much everyone who has seen it, that music by John Williams became part of our family lexicon. One of us would swim sideways underwater in the pool with one arm bent to stick out of the water like a shark’s fin while another sibling would hum the “Do do…do do…dododododododo” theme to terrorize the third sibling.
Spielberg’s films have had such an impact on our culture that I can pinpoint where I was in my life’s journey by them. Raiders of the Lost Ark the summer after my first year of college. I remember wanting desperately to see Jurassic Park, but having just had my first child a few months earlier and being overwhelmed with motherhood (and a bit of postpartum depression, in retrospect) I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever be able to go to the cinema again. Schindler’s List came out about less than a year later, and as we lined up for the showing, I looked at my fellow moviegoers and thought about how we’d have fared in a ‘selection’. I realized that with an infant, I’d have gone straight to the gas chambers. Munich in 2005, when I was a relatively new columnist for Hearst and was receiving hate mail for criticizing how the government was prosecuting the ‘War on Terror’, worrying that in our quest for revenge for the 9/11 attacks we were forgetting who we were supposed to be as a nation. My own father was telling me that I “shouldn’t criticize the president during wartime.” Given that the Global War on Terror lasted for well over a decade, that’s a long time for the press to refrain from criticism of POTUS, and it’s antithetical to the whole idea of the First Amendment.
The Fablemans is fascinating, and shows how a kid with a difficult childhood and adolescence made sense of his world through film. Once you’ve seen it, I’d recommend watching Susan Lacy’s 2017 documentary Spielberg on HBOMax. In it, Spielberg says, “I avoided therapy because movies are my therapy.” The documentary is also fascinating because it reveals how Spielberg recreated almost directly footage he shot as a teen in The Fablemans. It’s as if I wrote an autobiographical novel taking quotes directly from my teenage diaries.
Two and a half hours isn’t even enough to cover the broad range of films in Spielberg’s career to date, but it’s heartwarming to see how Spielberg reconciled with his father, and how his divorced parents eventually had a wonderful relationship together, prior to his mother’s death.
When we finished the Spielberg documentary, HBO Max suggested another documentary: Robin Williams: Come Inside My Mind. It provided a fascinating, but deeply tragic compare-and-contrast.
Both Williams and Spielberg were gifted geniuses, who had difficult upbringings. Spielberg was deeply affected by his parents’ relationship and their divorce, antisemitic bullying, and a disturbing secret he discovered when he was 16.
Williams was a lonely, only child, with distant parents. He was raised by nannies and domestic staff, and made up voices and characters to keep himself company, and was also bullied. He was able to connect to his mother by making her laugh. He also saw his normally detached father laughing at stand-up comedian Jonathan Winters on The Tonight Show and realized that comedy was a way to reach him, too.
Watching the documentary reminded me of just how great a comic genius he was - of the speed and brilliance of his mind in an improv setting. Having taken an improv class myself recently, I’m even more in awe of him, because I know just how hard it is.
But Williams had his demons - depression, cocaine use, and alcoholism. But he was also fighting another battle, one that tied in to his deepest fear, as expressed when asked if he was afraid of anything in an interview: “I guess I fear my consciousness becoming, not just dull, but a rock. I couldn’t spark.”
Williams was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease prior to his death by suicide, but it wasn’t until an autopsy that the true cause of the confusion, paranoia, and inability to remember lines that he experienced while filming before his death was revealed: Lewy Body Dementia. Having lost my father to Alzheimer’s disease, I share that anxiety, and can understand the despair that losing the rapid fire wit that made him who he was would cause.
A while back, I did a workshop at a WCSU MFA residency called “Making your Crazy Pay.” I was frank about managing my own mental health issues while on deadline, and when writing with difficult subjects.
Before we got into some writing exercises, I showed attendees a study of participants of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, which revealed why managing mental health is so important for us as creatives:
We might never reach the level of genius and the worldwide renown of a Steven Spielberg or a Robin Williams. But as creatives we owe it to ourselves and our families to recognize our vulnerabilities, and ensure that we’re engaging in self care as we work.
If you are contemplating self-harm, call or text 988 to reach the National Suicide and Crisis Hotline.
A Tale of Two Creative Geniuses
What a wonderful article about two absolute geniuses in their respective arts. Mr. Spielberg's movies have touched many lives. For me, it was Jaws first, after seeing the movie with my best friend, Mike Ferguson, while staying at his family's "Shore house" in Stone Harbor, we went to see Jaws, after the movie, as two pumped teenagers we decided to go swimming in the ocean. While in the deeper water, Mike suddenly disappears in the darkness, at first I figured he was messing with me but I could not get the visions of that shark out of my head. Just as I began to feel the first pangs of a growing panic, and was just about to strike out for shore my right leg was grabbed and I felt sharpness beginning to pierce my skin as the pressure quickly strengthened, then suddenly I was yanked underwater like a fishing bobber being hit by a large-mouth Bass. I was suddenly gripped by a terror so strong that I completely froze for a brief second, seeing nothing but a sheet of bright white light and hearing my heart pounding like a bass drum in my ears. Then, I was released, I really do not remember swimming back to the beach, or walking out of the water. The next thing I remember was Mike by my side laughing his arse off at what he had perceived as the best practical joke of all time. After breathing deeply and calming myself down and realizing that my harrowing brush with the digestive system of a great white shark had all be the brain-child of my best friend, and brother from another mother, I was able to see the humor and forgive Mike for giving me the scare of a lifetime. HOWEVER, there were repercussions for the both of us, for me, I have never again gone into the ocean deeper than maybe 2 or 3 feet of water as once I can no longer see the bottom my anxiety begins to ramp up and I am out of the water in a flash. For Mike, well that is a story for a different time, I will just say it has to do with a letter he received at his father's house from Playgirl Magazine regarding his recent submission. A very official looking letter, that was received and opened by his father. Karma is a bit*h isn't it?
Great Article, Ms. Darer thank you for your insight and the memories that were brought to mind.