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everybodyliesmd at 11:17am on 01/04/2009 under locked in
everybodyliesmd at 11:17am on 01/04/2009 under locked inThis is one of the most moving and insightful reviews I've ever read. You need to read it for yourself, but I wanted to post a couple of excerpts here.
What was House doing in New York? And how did House, an experienced and able biker, manage to crash his beloved Honda? As he had with the brain implant in “Half-Wit,” the methadone treatment in “The Softer Side,” House goes to great lengths to conceal from Wilson what is actually going on. An intensely private man (whose bombast is an effective cover for his extreme introversion), House never wants people to know his business.
I think House’s efforts to “change” his story are something especially personal for him. Outwardly, House refuses to let his leg define him. But he makes his leg “not matter” so much that it defines him anyway. (He even admits this during his “No Reason” hallucination in season two — as Wilson.) So when he tries to do something about it, he can’t admit it. "I'm fine," is House’s automatic response. Even when he knows he’s not.
Confronted with a bleak and lonely future and so many losses (and near losses) this year, House finds himself wanting to make changes. If he can change, maybe there’s a slim chance he can finally accept his greatest loss (his leg) and finally move past it. If he can’t, then he has no future with Cuddy; no way to believe in even the slightest chance of happiness with her (or anyone else). Locked in. Isolated. Forever. Although he’s adamantly opposed to the concept of therapy, he is now desperate enough to try even that most hated option.
In one of their one-sided conversations, House reminds Lee that it is he and Lee’s wife Molly who are helping him get through his ordeal. “Although the MRI is more useful than four hours of hand holding… I think,” reflects House, wondering (uncharacteristically) if that’s actually true. It’s the tiniest of moments — almost a throwaway line — but in the greater context of House’s trip to New York, knowing in retrospect that he’s seeing a psychiatrist, the comment takes on greater meaning. It’s a moment of introspection that, for House, is incredibly significant.
Of course, Wilson’s curiosity about House’s New York trip immediately leads him to think drugs. Sometimes, House leaves Wilson little cookie crumbs so he can figure out the great mystery, but not this time. Therapy for House is a desperate measure, and if it fails, or he can’t go through with it, House would be unable to return to his public state of denial. It would be “out there.” House is trying to change; House is trying to “get better.” It would be an admission that the drugs aren’t the panacea House insists they are for him. And so when Wilson finally discovers House’s secret, his reaction is to shut down, pretend it doesn’t matter. Like many of their confrontations over House’s pain and emotional issues, Wilson has pushed one button too many. (emphasis mine)
And this just moves me:
House is with Lee in every fearful moment, as each plays out in his mind. In Lee’s “quiet place,” whether it is with the cool MRI glasses or in Lee’s dreams, House is there as guide and guardian. He is there to see Lee through his ordeal—relaxing on a sandy beach as he watches his children build sandcastles or discussing philosophy cynic to skeptic. This is how Lee understands House. Someone who has saved rescued him from certain death; listening to him when (literally) no one could — or would. I wonder how many others of House’s patients, near death, finally able to find the one doctor to listen, see House in the same way.
Go read her review. It's amazing. http://blogcritics.org/archives/2009/03/31/185628.php
What was House doing in New York? And how did House, an experienced and able biker, manage to crash his beloved Honda? As he had with the brain implant in “Half-Wit,” the methadone treatment in “The Softer Side,” House goes to great lengths to conceal from Wilson what is actually going on. An intensely private man (whose bombast is an effective cover for his extreme introversion), House never wants people to know his business.
I think House’s efforts to “change” his story are something especially personal for him. Outwardly, House refuses to let his leg define him. But he makes his leg “not matter” so much that it defines him anyway. (He even admits this during his “No Reason” hallucination in season two — as Wilson.) So when he tries to do something about it, he can’t admit it. "I'm fine," is House’s automatic response. Even when he knows he’s not.
Confronted with a bleak and lonely future and so many losses (and near losses) this year, House finds himself wanting to make changes. If he can change, maybe there’s a slim chance he can finally accept his greatest loss (his leg) and finally move past it. If he can’t, then he has no future with Cuddy; no way to believe in even the slightest chance of happiness with her (or anyone else). Locked in. Isolated. Forever. Although he’s adamantly opposed to the concept of therapy, he is now desperate enough to try even that most hated option.
In one of their one-sided conversations, House reminds Lee that it is he and Lee’s wife Molly who are helping him get through his ordeal. “Although the MRI is more useful than four hours of hand holding… I think,” reflects House, wondering (uncharacteristically) if that’s actually true. It’s the tiniest of moments — almost a throwaway line — but in the greater context of House’s trip to New York, knowing in retrospect that he’s seeing a psychiatrist, the comment takes on greater meaning. It’s a moment of introspection that, for House, is incredibly significant.
Of course, Wilson’s curiosity about House’s New York trip immediately leads him to think drugs. Sometimes, House leaves Wilson little cookie crumbs so he can figure out the great mystery, but not this time. Therapy for House is a desperate measure, and if it fails, or he can’t go through with it, House would be unable to return to his public state of denial. It would be “out there.” House is trying to change; House is trying to “get better.” It would be an admission that the drugs aren’t the panacea House insists they are for him. And so when Wilson finally discovers House’s secret, his reaction is to shut down, pretend it doesn’t matter. Like many of their confrontations over House’s pain and emotional issues, Wilson has pushed one button too many. (emphasis mine)
And this just moves me:
House is with Lee in every fearful moment, as each plays out in his mind. In Lee’s “quiet place,” whether it is with the cool MRI glasses or in Lee’s dreams, House is there as guide and guardian. He is there to see Lee through his ordeal—relaxing on a sandy beach as he watches his children build sandcastles or discussing philosophy cynic to skeptic. This is how Lee understands House. Someone who has saved rescued him from certain death; listening to him when (literally) no one could — or would. I wonder how many others of House’s patients, near death, finally able to find the one doctor to listen, see House in the same way.
Go read her review. It's amazing. http://blogcritics.org/archives/2009/03/31/185628.php
contemplative
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