脆弱治癒：麥可・漢內克《鋼琴教師》中開放性之轉化潛能

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(1)國立臺灣師範大學文學院英語學系碩士論文 Department of English, College of Liberal Arts. National Taiwan Normal University Master’s Thesis. 脆弱治癒：麥可‧漢內克《鋼琴教師》中開放性之轉化潛能 Healing Through Vulnerability: Transformative Openness in Michael Haneke’s The Piano Teacher 楊靖 Yang, Jing 指導教授 Advisor: 黃涵榆博士 Ph.D. 中華民國 109 年 1 月 January 2020.

(2) Acknowledgements My deepest gratitude goes to my advisor, Professor Cory Han-yu Huang, whose kindness and generosity render the formation of this thesis a healing experience. He has given me the invaluable liberty to work on a topic that derives from my true interest and my innermost conviction, for which I am greatly obliged. I am also indebted to my other two committee members, Professor Jessie Yuh-chuan Shao and Professor Robin Chen-hsing Tsai, who patiently take their time to read my thesis and inspire me with their insightful comments and warm encouragement. I learn and benefit profoundly from them, both intellectually and spiritually. My appreciation also goes to all my friends who have accompanied me throughout my graduate studies. I owe a great deal of thanks to Gini, Yi-mo, and Yuhsuan for their heartwarming affection and encouragement, which help me go through the nerve-wracking process of preparing for my final defense. I cannot thank Gini enough not only for being a genuine friend and a patient listener but also for the irreplaceable memories that I have had because of her, which make my graduate life a tremendously transformative phase for me. Special thanks also go to Rachel and Bing-fang, with whom I share many unforgettable trips and exhilarating jokes. Their random sense of humor is indeed a spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine go down. There are many other friends to whom I am indebted, among which I especially want to thank Yu-ta, whose attentive support and friendship help me accomplish the final stage of my graduate studies smoothly and cheerfully. Last but not least, I wish to thank my family: my father, mother, sister, and brother, who have always been unquestioningly supportive of my decisions and nurtured me with their unfailing love and affection. I am beyond fortunate to have their trust and tolerance, which make the completion of this thesis possible.. i.

(3) 摘要本論文以艾琳・吉爾森（Erinn C. Gilson）的脆弱論述作為開展，探討脆弱的治癒潛能。相對於一般將脆弱與衰弱、無能、易受傷害等特質掛鉤的傾向，本文援引吉爾森賦予脆弱的定義，視其為一種開放性，且為一種人類與生俱來的固有本質。透過此開放性，主體得以在人際互動中被形塑、改造，並進而產生蛻變。然而，現今大眾對於脆弱仍多採一過於化約且偏向負面的認知。「反脆弱」因此普遍被視為理想的指標。其產生的後果不僅攸關人際間的疏離與隔閡，亦可能因開放性的封閉而衍生出壓迫性的社會關係。於此方面，本文以精神病態為主題，探究精神病態如何體現對脆弱的拒斥，以及其「反脆弱」行徑對主體之人際互動之影響。然而，有鑒於吉爾森視脆弱為人類固有且無法完全摒棄的本質之主張，本文將聚焦在精神病態者的脆弱面向，並分析脆弱與反脆弱的辯證張力如何影響其對於「愛」的認知與體現。本篇論文共分為三章。首章旨在破除一般大眾對於精神病態的迷思，強調精神病態並非必然與暴力犯罪掛鉤，而是有豐富的多元呈現層次。另外，此章亦探究精神病態者的脆弱層面，以及其諸如愛、歸屬、陪伴等情感需求。第二章以奧地利導演麥可・漢內克（Michael Haneke）的電影《鋼琴教師》（The Piano Teacher, 2001）為主題，剖析電影中對於精神病態的詮釋，以及該作品對脆弱與反脆弱的辯證張力之呈現。末章建構出脆弱的治癒潛能，主張脆弱的開放性使主體間得以建立起治癒的人際互動關係。此外，該章除論述《鋼琴教師》中的脆弱治癒潛能，亦審視現今社群媒體平台引發人際互動疏離之危機，希冀藉此突顯脆弱治癒的重要性。. 關鍵詞：精神病態，脆弱，治癒，開放性，《鋼琴教師》，麥可・漢內克，艾. 琳・吉爾森。. ii.

(4) Abstract This thesis seeks to explore healing through vulnerability, on the basis of Erinn C. Gilson’s conception of vulnerability as a fundamental condition of human existence. Defined by openness to uncertainty and unknown others, vulnerability is the inherent human capability of being altered and affected, in ways one cannot predict or control. Nevertheless, vulnerability is generally understood in a reductively negative way, as weakness, passivity, and powerlessness. Consequently, invulnerability becomes a habitually cultivated quality, and is commonly reckoned as a token of social success and an impervious identity. In this regard, this thesis examines how general attributes of psychopathy reflect the pursuit of invulnerability, which inevitably results in intersubjective detachment and oppressive social relations. However, in light of Gilson’s conception of vulnerability as a fundamental and ineludible human condition, this thesis proposes how psychopaths are vulnerable human beings, who are not unequivocally incapable of love and emotions, but are predisposed to perceive these elements in a deviant fashion. The thesis consists of three chapters. Chapter One aims at de-demonizing psychopaths, and examines how psychopaths are vulnerable and in need of love. Chapter Two probes into Michael Haneke’s 2001 film, The Piano Teacher, and illustrates how the film’s protagonist Erika Kohut can be construed as a psychopath, as well as the film’s delineation of the dialectical tension between vulnerability and invulnerability. Finally, Chapter Three explores healing through vulnerability not only in The Piano Teacher, but also in our current time, where social media gives rise to an expanding degree of detachment in interpersonal relationships.. Keywords: psychopathy, vulnerability, healing, openness, The Piano Teacher, Michael Haneke, Erinn C. Gilson iii.

(5) Table of Contents. Acknowledgements. i. Chinese Abstract. ii. English Abstract. iii. Table of Contents. iv. Introduction: Background and Motivation. 1. Chapter One “The Suffering Soul”: Can Psychopaths Be Vulnerable? I.. Not Monsters, But Humans: Diverse Manifestations of Psychopathy. 7. II.. Openness to Alteration and Affection: Erinn C. Gilson’s Conception. 14. of Vulnerability III. All You Need Is Love: Psychopathy and Vulnerability. 19. Chapter Two Love of a Psychopath: Exploring Psychopathy and Vulnerability in Michael Haneke’s The Piano Teacher I.. “I Love You, Mother”: Psychoanalytic Studies on the Mother-Daughter 24 Relationship in The Piano Teacher. II.. “I Have No Feelings”: Viewing Psychopathy Through a Different Lens 32. III. “How Powerless I Am”: Dialectical Tension Between Vulnerability and Invulnerability. Chapter Three Healing Through Vulnerability: Transforming the Detached Self into an Interconnected Self iv. 42.

(6) I.. The Door Towards Openness: Healing in The Piano Teacher. 62. II.. An Era in Need of Healing: Are We Being Disconnected by Social. 72. Media?. Conclusion. 77. Works Cited. 80. v.

(7) Introduction: Background and Motivation To this day, “psychopath” remains a term widely exploited to refer to someone extremely dangerous, violent, impulsive, and predisposed to criminality. In light of the connotation of the prefix “psycho-”, a psychopath can easily come across as a lunatic individual severely disturbed by mental disease, thanks to Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 classic, Psycho. As a matter of fact, for those outside the realm of psychiatry and forensic science, a major part of their understanding of psychopathy generally derives from popular culture and media coverage, which do not always aim at offering a precise and authentic delineation of psychopaths. In contrast, these sources frequently depict psychopaths as monstrous and invulnerable individuals, for the purpose of enticing sensation-seeking customers. Cinematic portrayals of psychopaths, in particular, are prone to overstate the capability of these characters in the interest of dramatic tension. As a result, psychopaths in films are mostly characterized as highly memorable villains, who are often excessively evil, powerful, resourceful, ruthless, and predestined to commit brutal crimes, such as serial murders and sex offenses. Famous examples of these psychopaths in cinema include Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs (1991), Catherine Tramell in Basic Instinct (1992), John Doe in Se7en (1995), and Amy Dunne in Gone Girl (2014). These characters are portrayed as diabolical and invincible antagonists, who are capable of committing savage murders, and perpetually outwitting others under any circumstances. In view of the stigmatizing characterizations of psychopaths presented by popular culture, clinicians and researchers are prompted to provide accurate and objective descriptions of psychopathy, in which they demonstrate the diverse manifestations of psychopathy, testifying that psychopathy is not unequivocally associated with criminality. Nevertheless, whereas recent studies have worked 1.

(8) towards an impartial and reliable analysis of psychopathy, few have called attention to psychopaths’ perception of general feelings that most people share, particularly the positive ones such as love, trust, happiness, and companionship. The relatively scarce scrutinization of such matters is likely to result from the widely accepted premise that psychopaths are emotionally dysfunctional, and consequently are incapable of love and perceiving its presence. However, in this thesis, I attempt to associate the two ostensibly mutually exclusive terms – “psychopath” and “love” – and shed light on how psychopaths are not unequivocally immune to love and affection, but are predisposed to perceive and manifest these notions in a deviant fashion. Furthermore, in order to give a concrete shape to my conception, I will explore Austrian filmmaker Michael Haneke’s 2001 film The Piano Teacher, a cinematic adaptation of Austrian writer Elfriede Jelinek’s 1983 eponymous novel, and elucidate how the film vividly portrays “the love of a psychopath.” The story revolves around Erika Kohut, a forty-something piano teacher at the Vienna Conservatory, whose life is disturbingly supervised by her domineering mother. As a piano teacher at the music academy, Erika is cruelly demanding towards her students, consistently displaying a facade of rigor and aloofness. Nevertheless, at night she secretly indulges in numerous deviant sexual behaviors, including voyeurism, self-mutilation, and masochistic fantasies. At a piano recital, Erika meets a young male student Walter Klemmer, who instantly becomes infatuated with Erika, and begins to romantically pursue her. However, Erika’s perception of Walter’s courting is more than simply a matter of love affair: it is also an opportunity for her to finally fulfill her longrepressed and perverse sexual fantasies, which eventually leads their relationship awry. The 1983 novel is widely regarded as Jelinek’s avowedly autobiographical work, despite the author’s refusal to discuss the extent to which the novel is based on 2.

(9) her life. Born in 1946 in Mürzzuschlag, Styria, Austria, Jelinek is awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2004, for her “musical flow of voices and counter-voices in novels and plays that with extraordinary linguistic zeal reveal the absurdity of society’s clichés and their subjugating power,” as proclaimed by the Nobel Committee’s website. Like The Piano Teacher, most of Jelinek’s works center on examining female sexuality, sexual abuse, and the battle of the sexes, such as Women as Lovers (Die Liebhaberinnen), published in 1975, and Lust, published in 1989, among others. In addition to the prominent issues often explored in Jelinek’s works, The Piano Teacher also probes into the problematic mother-daughter relationship, as well as how the relationship hampers the daughter’s attainment of a stable feminine sexual identity. Even though Jelinek states that she would prefer The Piano Teacher not to be seen as autobiographical, she admits that it contains numerous autobiographical elements, in particular the fact that she grows up as a classically trained pianist and organist driven by a tyrannical, middle-class Catholic mother (Duke). Beatrice Hanssen refers to the novel as an anti-Bildungsroman and anti-Künstlerroman, and underscores the satirical critique it offers of the literature, popular during the 1970s and 1980s, that idealizes the pre-oedipal mother-daughter bond (99). In a similar vein, Simranjeet Kour and Isha Malhotra highlight that while piano-playing in Viennese culture symbolizes superiority and is the best way of attracting a suitor for a woman, Erika’s mother spares no effort to prevent her daughter from obtaining sexual attractiveness (492). Deeply disturbed by the unrelenting proximity of the mother, which entails a relationship of domination and subjugation, Erika can only resort to sexual perversion and sadomasochism, in order to liberate herself from the repression of female sexuality. The overproximity with the mother as an impediment to sexuality naturally situates the novel within a psychoanalytic framework, which Jelinek 3.

(10) endorses by referring to Erika as a “phallic woman,” who appropriates the male right to watch through her voyeurism, and subsequently expresses her unlived, oppressed sexuality resulting from the inseparability with the mother (Jelinek). Nevertheless, the conspicuous psychoanalytic basis is something that alerts Haneke during his preparation for the adaptation of the novel. Born in 1942 in Munich, Germany, the filmmaker is known for his bleak, unflinching, and minimalist style. His films often scrutinize violence and morality in a realistic but detached fashion, to the extent that viewers constantly find his works disturbing and bewildering. In regard to his 2001 cinematic adaptation of Jelinek’s The Piano Teacher, Haneke proclaims that the film differs vastly from the novel, given that he completely rearranges the structure of the latter, which describes Erika’s entire childhood by means of a psychoanalytic explanation (Haneke, “New Interview with Haneke”). The exhibition of Erika’s backstory as an explanatory approach is deliberately omitted in the film, on the ground of Haneke’s belief that a film should allow its viewers to come up with their own interpretations, as opposed to offering explanations (Conrad). Like most of his films, the cinematic version of The Piano Teacher leaves ample room for ambiguity and ends without a resolution. As Haneke puts it, “It is the duty of art to ask questions, not provide answers. And if you want a clearer answer, I’ll have to pass” (Bond). Nevertheless, in order to retain the essence of Jelinek’s story, Haneke invents another mother-daughter relationship in the film (i.e., Erika’s pupil Anna Schober and her mother) as a parallel narrative, in place of adhering to the psychoanalytic clarification offered in the novel. In this way, the viewers are allowed the freedom to associate the two pairs of relationships, and come up with any interpretations to their liking, without being constrained to solely one reasonable explanation (Haneke, “New Interview with Haneke”). Moreover, in addition to making structural changes, Haneke also alters the characters to some 4.

(11) extent, such as mitigating Walter’s atrocity, and rendering Erika less a cynically selfcritical character than she is depicted in the novel (Haneke, “New Interview with Haneke”). As the filmmaker points out, whereas film is an independent art form that employs literature as an intellectual quarry, the narrative form of the novel – which is the essence in Jelinek’s literature – is nevertheless not transferable (Haneke, “Michael Haneke talks about The Piano Teacher”). Given that language can only be used in dialogues, Haneke excludes Jelinek’s language and invents a few scenes which do not appear in the novel. As a consequence, while the film describes the same internal universe in the novel, the alterations Haneke intentionally contrives render his The Piano Teacher strikingly distinct from that of Jelinek. Regardless of Haneke’s reluctance to situate the film within a purely psychoanalytic context, the overt tension in the mother-daughter relationship has aroused numerous critics’ interest in providing a Freudian/Lacanian interpretation of the film. As a result, critics and reviewers of the film have chiefly emphasized Erika’s sexually deviant behaviors, elaborating on the causal association between Erika’s relationship with her parents and her perversion. However, apart from a psychoanalytic analysis of the film, I aim to demonstrate that Erika can also be studied as an interpretation of psychopathy. What’s more, I argue that the representation of psychopathy in The Piano Teacher differs strikingly from that regularly seen in cinema, considering that the film focuses not on Erika’s prowess as a ruthless, intelligent, and unconquerable psychopathic villain, but her perception of love and her strenuous quest for it. In this regard, I will invoke Erinn C. Gilson’s conception of vulnerability as a fundamental human condition, and illuminate how The Piano Teacher accentuates the dimension of vulnerability of a psychopath, which is frequently overlooked by most studies and textual/cinematic portrayals of psychopathy. Ultimately, through examining how The Piano Teacher probes into 5.

(12) Erika’s vulnerability, I will contend that the film indicates the prospect of the heroine’s healing at the end of the story. Generally speaking, I aim to achieve two main objectives through this thesis. First, I seek to de-demonize psychopaths and explore their vulnerable side, by drawing on Erinn C. Gilson’s conception of vulnerability as a fundamental dimension of human existence. In other words, I propose that psychopaths are also vulnerable human beings, despite the differences in the ways their mind and emotions may operate from most empathic individuals. Secondly, with my exploration of Haneke’s The Piano Teacher, I seek to illustrate how vulnerability is crucial to one’s inner healing. I maintain that the film’s ending implies, both visually and narratively, layers of openness, which is the defining attribute of vulnerability and consequently gives potential for a healing prospect for the heroine, where she could transform the detached self into an interconnected self. In order to fully demonstrate how The Piano Teacher probes into “the love of a psychopath,” I would like to first and foremost provide an overview of psychopathy, in which I will lay stress on its progressive detachment from criminality and an irrefutably negative implication.. 6.

(13) Chapter One “The Suffering Soul”: Can Psychopaths Be Vulnerable?. I.. Not Monsters, But Humans:. Diverse Manifestations of Psychopathy In order to unfold the mystery of psychopathy, it is crucial to dispel the myth that psychopaths are all outwardly violent and destructive individuals, as often depicted in films and on television. On the contrary, psychopathy is multifaceted and difficult to precisely define. In this chapter, I look into how recent studies have delved into the diverse manifestations of psychopathy. Moreover, I contemplate on the role that the notion of love plays in psychopathic individuals’ well-being, which is an aspect frequently overlooked. By examining the multiplicity in psychopathy, I maintain that rather than regarding psychopathy as a clinical concern, we may as well consider psychopathy as an embodiment of the complex and ambiguous nature of the human mind. The first description of psychopathy dates back to the beginning of the nineteenth century, in which French physician Philippe Pinel describes a group of patients afflicted with manie sans délire, or “insanity without delirium” (Sutker and Allain 445). Several decades after Pinel’s publication, German psychiatrist Julius L. A. Koch coins the German term psychopastiche, literally meaning “suffering soul,” to refer to all mental irregularities, whether congenital or acquired, that influence an individual’s personal life and give rise to degeneration of mental capacities (Kiehl and Hoffman 362; Millon et al. 8). However, it is not until the early 1940s that psychopathy begins to be examined with more diagnostic precision. Among the contemporary studies of psychopathy, The Mask of Sanity, written by American 7.

(14) psychiatrist Hervey Cleckley and published in 1941, is widely regarded as the most substantial clinical description of psychopathy in the twentieth century. The Mask of Sanity provides the first truly comprehensive descriptions and detailed case studies of psychopathic individuals, from which Cleckley distills sixteen diagnostic criteria for psychopathy, including superficial charm and good intelligence, absence of delusions, absence of nervousness, unreliability and untruthfulness, lack of remorse or shame, pathologic egocentricity, incapacity for love, and unresponsiveness in general interpersonal relations, among others (Cleckley 338-39). It is widely acknowledged that Cleckley’s work builds the foundation for the clinical and forensic assessment of psychopathy in modern days. Inspired by the Cleckley criteria, later researchers begin to devise reliable measures for the assessment of psychopathy, including the PCL-R (Psychopathy Checklist-Revised), developed in 1991 by Dr. Robert D. Hare. The PCL-R consists of twenty traits that Hare notices recurring among the prison population, and it is mostly accepted as the current standard instrument of measuring and diagnosing psychopathy. It is worth noting that unlike psychotic individuals, who are deranged and delusional to a certain extent, psychopaths are rational and fully aware of what they are doing, as well as the motive behind their behavior. To this day, the pivotal forces that produce a psychopath are still obscure to researchers. While American neuroscientist James Fallon has provided studies proving how psychopaths’ brains differ from those of normal people, Hare favors the position that psychopathy emerges from a complex interplay between biological factors and social forces (Fallon 60-61). Differently put, while genetic factors contribute to the biological bases of brain function and influence the way an individual responds to the social environment, parenting practices and childhood experiences also play a defining role in shaping what nature has provided (Hare, Without Conscience 173). As a 8.

(15) consequence, even when two individuals are born with the similar forms of brain damage that produces psychopathic symptoms (e.g., they both display inability to feel empathy or to develop a conscience), they may manifest different behavioral expressions of the disorder shaped by different social factors and parenting practices. More precisely put, if a person is endowed with psychopathic personality traits, but grows up having access to positive social and educational resources in a secure family, he or she may have a better chance of becoming a conniving entrepreneur or politician. In contrast, another person who shares the same personality traits but from a disturbed background is relatively likely to end up as a vagabond, mercenary, or violent criminal (Hare, Without Conscience 174). The diversity in the behavioral expression of psychopathy also calls attention to the growing consensus that psychopathy does not amount to criminality. On the contrary, as the aforementioned example of the well-educated psychopathic individual suggests, a psychopath can also be one of the successful figures in society, possessing a prestigious reputation and has never been involved in illegal or criminal activities. The existence of these noncriminal psychopaths affirms the obstacle in precisely identifying a psychopath, given that an individual’s ulterior motivations are much more obscure and difficult to truly identify than observable behaviors. Furthermore, the non-criminal psychopaths also exemplify what Harvard psychiatrist Martin Kantor classifies as mild psychopaths, or “the psychopaths of everyday life” (4). These individuals are also referred to by Hare as “white-collar psychopaths,” or “subcriminal psychopaths,” who appear to function reasonably well – as lawyers, doctors, psychiatrists, academics, police officers, businesspeople, artists, entertainers, so on and so forth – without breaking the law, or at least without being caught and convicted (Hare, Without Conscience 113). As Hare further points out, “These individuals are every bit as egocentric, callous, and manipulative as the 9.

(16) average criminal psychopath; however, their intelligence, family background, social skills, and circumstances permit them to construct a facade of normalcy and to get what they want with relative impunity” (Hare, Without Conscience 113). The presence of such individuals indicates that psychopathy should be studied as a spectrum of personality traits, as opposed to a clear-cut disorder. As underscored by Hare, “psychopathy is dimensional (i.e., more or less), not categorical (i.e., either or)” (Hare, “Comments by Dr. Robert Hare”). In a similar vein, Kantor suggests that just like most disorders, psychopathy is a continuum where “normal” is on the left of the mean and “pathological” is on the right. In this regard, the aforementioned mild psychopaths would fall on the left, given that they are generally opportunistic individuals who consider personal gain more important than truth or the collective good. On the other hand, contrasting to these “normals” on the left are the antisocials positioned on the right, whose conduct has crossed the border into the realm of severe deception and criminality, and are entirely unfettered by anxiety and completely unbridled by conscience (Kantor 14). The distinction of psychopathy from criminality is also evinced in several researchers’ accentuations on the positive attributes of psychopathy over its detrimental influence. For instance, Kantor maintains that personality disorder does not necessarily lead to the destruction of self and others; in fact, under certain circumstances where it takes an unusual mind to accomplish an arduous task, having a personality disorder like psychopathy is likely to add strength to the individual, given that psychopaths are relatively immune to feelings like guilt, remorse, and anxiety (23). Accordingly, a psychopathic surgeon could quickly make difficult decisions in regard to the patient’s life and death, just as a psychopathic police officer could remain calm and cool-headed during an intense crisis or when investigating a ghastly crime scene. To put it another way, when utilized within the right context, 10.

(17) psychopathy does not irrefutably result in an individual’s destruction or maladaptation. Conversely, in view of the relatively high immunity to stress and anxiety concomitant with this disordered personality, psychopathy might have its beneficial side, and could be employed to enhance effectiveness and productivity within proper contexts. Moreover, the positive aspects of psychopathy are also expounded with details in M. E. Thomas’ memoir, where the pseudonymous author confesses herself as a sociopath (she views the term as interchangeable with “psychopath” and chooses the former over the latter because of the negative connotations of “psycho” in the popular culture),1 and explains how her psychopathic personality has benefited her life as an accomplished attorney and law professor. Realizing that she is skilled at manipulation and immune to emotions such as guilt and remorse, Thomas conceals herself among other people by mimicking the way they interact with others, in order to circumvent the negative consequences induced by a disorder plagued with pejorative connotations. The meticulous disguise of her psychopathic character guarantees Thomas a close circle of family and friends, as well as the exceptional, albeit superficial, charm that easily attracts people to adore and befriend her. As a result, Thomas is not shy when it comes to endorsing the beneficial side of the personality disorder, claiming that, “[s]ociopaths are part of the grease making the world go round” (7). Thomas further elaborates that, in order to obtain what they desire from their target – often money, power, or simply enjoyment – psychopaths are like. 1. The terms psychopath and sociopath are often used interchangeably, as in Thomas’ memoir. Therefore I select her work as a source of studying psychopathy, despite the author’s avowed preference for the term sociopath over psychopath. Nevertheless, the extent to which the two terms can be used interchangeably is still under debate. Some researchers have contended in recent studies that the two terms should take their own proper place in brain science. However, since this thesis works toward an ethical account of psychopathy and its relation to vulnerability, I leave out the explanation of the nuanced distinctions between sociopath and psychopath, and only stress that Thomas views the two terms as interchangeable in referring to herself as a “sociopath.” 11.

(18) chameleons that can effortlessly blend into their surroundings, transforming their speech and behaviors into the ideal version that tallies with the target’s expectation (7). As a consequence, a psychopath may not wind up a social outcast, but a desirable employee, boss, or lover. By virtue of their expertise in manipulation during the course of the transaction with the target, psychopaths know how to make the target satisfactory without realizing their ulterior motives. In addition, Thomas even concludes that if psychopathic children are treated more like prodigies and less like monsters, they might profit and sustain society by directing their unique talents toward prosocial activities, as opposed to antisocial or parasitic behaviors (286). Looking in retrospect at her childhood and upbringing, Thomas gives credit to her parents for teaching her the skills to manage her psychopathic traits in a productive way. According to Thomas, the way her parents raise her makes her feel like there is a place for her in the world, and that she is not a pariah just because she is endowed with psychopathic genes, which she believes is the key to making her a successful psychopath in place of a criminal one (286). On top of that, Thomas also calls attention to the importance for psychopathic children to be consistently exposed to a loving and admirable empathic figure, for the purpose of helping them comprehend actual concepts like “love” and “goodwill,” and that other human beings are much more than mere objects for their own benefit and desires (284). The influence of the empathic figure could also help sensitize psychopathic children to the understanding that not only are there others who are different from them, but that human beings are essentially different from one another (285). By dint of the comprehension of human diversity at an early stage of life, psychopathic children may have a higher chance of learning to respect the differences among individuals, in a way that would render them uniquely sensitive to the needs of the empaths. 12.

(19) To further expound how a positive empathic figure could affect a psychopathic individual, Thomas invokes her own experience with a girl named Ann, whom she meets in her early twenties and greatly impacts the way she understands not only empaths, but also human beings in general. As stated by Thomas, Ann is the first person that she feels she can truly trust and regards as a human being, rather than an object to heal or benefit her (259). The relationship with Ann enlightens Thomas on what it means to love and develop a long-term relationship with another person, in lieu of objectifying him or her as a tool for mere exploitation and manipulation, which has been the way she views her relations with others prior to Ann (284). The affectionate influence from Ann illuminates for Thomas that it is important to expose psychopathic children to an empathic role model, who can help them understand the existence of other empaths, whose mind and emotions operate in a way relatively different from theirs. In this way, the psychopathic children could subsequently learn and respect the needs and wants of others. Differently put, much of what role a psychopath plays in the community hinges on the extent of the individual’s openness on the interpersonal level – that is, how much he or she is open to affection and alteration, particularly by a loving and empathic figure, with whom the psychopath could potentially develop a bonding relationship. All in all, if we reflect on the acknowledged difficulty, if not impossibility, of precisely defining psychopathy and finding its root source, we may consider reevaluating psychopathy from a non-clinical perspective. That is to say, the “criteria” for psychopathy can also be viewed as the manifestation of the multiplicity and complexity of the human mind. Recent studies have agreed that psychopathy is not an illness to cure, which raises the intractable question of whether it is justifiable to differentiate psychopaths from “normals,” given that psychopathy can be a form of demonstrating how human beings are essentially different from one another. The 13.

(20) question of where to draw the boundary between psychopathic and normal individuals thus becomes an issue worth debating. Nevertheless, if it is true that some people are genetically endowed with psychopathic traits, the existing research on psychopathy may help them gain an insight into how they can harmoniously coexist with their idiosyncrasies, so that they are not incontrovertibly doomed to social isolation and maladaptation. To put it another way, instead of a diagnosable condition, psychopathy can be reckoned as an indication of the ambiguous nature of the human mind and emotions, which operate in myriad fashions, and, as I will later elucidate, are susceptible to unforeseeable transformations.. II.. Openness to Alteration and Affection:. Erinn C. Gilson’s Conception of Vulnerability Thomas’ account of how she is affectively altered by Ann evinces the fact that human beings are constantly shaped through their relationships with others, and it is likely that psychopaths are no exception, regardless of the variation in their response to emotions. In this respect, I will draw on Erinn C. Gilson’s conception of vulnerability to propose the possibility that psychopaths, like all human beings, are also affected and shaped by interpersonal relationships. In The Ethics of Vulnerability, Gilson contends that vulnerability is generally understood in a reductively negative way both by definition and in terms of its value (5). Common presumptions regarding vulnerability often equate it with liability to injury, weakness, dependency, powerlessness, incapacity, deficiency, and passivity; as a result, vulnerability is frequently disparaged and considered as a pernicious condition or quality (5). Nevertheless, Gilson maintains that vulnerability is a common feature of the human condition, a basic susceptibility that all possess (15). It is a fundamental and unavoidable property of human existence that is present from 14.

(21) the beginning and never goes away; in other words, being vulnerable is the basic precondition for experience in general (15, 141). Furthermore, Gilson emphasizes that vulnerability is defined by openness; in other words, to be vulnerable is to open oneself to affection in ways one cannot predict or control (2). The definite openness, which is constitutive of vulnerability, builds the basis for empathy, connection, and community, rendering vulnerability an ethical disposition through which individuals are linked and become responsive to one another (2). Differently put, being vulnerable does not amount to exposing oneself to harm. Conversely, vulnerability should be understood as openness to alteration in ways that destabilize a previously stable, or seemingly stable, state, allowing oneself to experience reassurance, sustenance, and love through the interconnectedness induced by such openness (64). Although vulnerability is a fundamental dimension of life shared by all human beings, Gilson highlights that intersubjective vulnerability, as an ethical disposition, is a matter of practice that is far from given and can only be cultivated (2). As a matter of fact, the difficulty of intersubjective vulnerability lies in our habitual cultivation of its absence – that is, the pursuit of invulnerability, which entails distance and detachment, the security and comfort of the familiar, imperviousness and composure (2). In contrast to vulnerability as a matter of affective openness, invulnerability is a form of closure to being affected by others, in ways that one cannot predict or control and could destabilize one’s socially established sense of self. Additionally, invulnerability is also a form of ignorance, particularly a willful ignorance that one habitually cultivates within social contexts, in order to repudiate the discomfort caused by the reductively negative understanding of vulnerability (79). In other words, the general presumption that vulnerability is an injurious and enfeebling condition prompts people to seek invulnerability, through embodying qualities highly valued in society, including detachment, self-mastery, self-containment, and control 15.

(22) (79). The perception that one is in total control produces a sense of security that ostensibly shields the subject from any outer forces that could potentially affect and destabilize his or her masterful identity. However, this invulnerable stance inevitably leads to a form of cultivated ignorance, or willful ignorance, that is virtually a systematic process of self-deception, rendering one inattentive to the oppression of others, as well as his or her role within that exploitation (77). Consequently, invulnerability is essentially illusory, in that the attainment of absolute mastery, complete control, and utter impenetrability is an impossibility (76). The ignorance of vulnerability is occasioned precisely because one does know and experience his or her own vulnerability, yet disavows it in order to ensure a sense of control, which is, in truth, an illusion (79). Nevertheless, despite the disapprobation of invulnerability as a desirable property and a token of social success, Gilson does not attempt to exalt vulnerability unreservedly. Instead, what she advocates is the renouncement of a reductively negative view of vulnerability, which identifies it with weakness, incapacity, and passivity. Taking a reductive stance on vulnerability means understanding it in a dualistic fashion, and subsequently perpetuating the series of binaries, which are integral to oppressive ideologies and practices (153). The repudiation of a dualistic position on vulnerability, as well as emphasizing vulnerability as a fundamental condition with which to reckon, signifies the ambivalent and ambiguous essence of vulnerability, which Gilson maintains is the key to rendering vulnerability a source of potential and creativity, as opposed to solely a hazard that one should avert: [Vulnerability] is an ambivalent condition of potential in the sense that it may produce results of uncertain value – harm or sustenance, affection or aggression, change or re-entrenchment – and in the sense that the differing relations in which individuals are affected vary both in their nature and in 16.

(23) their value. […] If part of what defines vulnerability as potential is its indeterminacy, then vulnerability is also ambiguous. Its effects and the ways we may experience it are uncertain. Whereas vulnerability’s ambivalence speaks to its multidirectional potential, its ambiguity speaks to the way that we cannot disentangle these various dimensions from one another because they inhere in the same condition of potential, the same basic way of being open to the world, and the same capacity for affectation. (Gilson 138) The ambivalent dimension of vulnerability leads Gilson to adopt an objective and reflective stance on vulnerability, instead of bestowing on it unqualified praise. Gilson argues that to jettison a reductive view of vulnerability entails understanding it in terms of potentiality rather than fixity, as well as ambiguity and ambivalence rather than negativity (134). Given that vulnerability is conceived as a condition of openness to the world defined by an interwoven series of affective relationships, it is a persistent openness to change that enables continuing transformation. In other words, vulnerability is a form of potential that induces change and transformation within the self, in ways that is unpredictable and uncontrollable. In this respect, Gilson invokes the Deleuzian concept of becoming, which is a process of alteration that takes place only through a relationship with another being (or, more precisely speaking, another multiplicity) (139). Put in a more specific way, a process of becoming is occasioned by a connection, which occurs at a sub-individual level and is a matter of affects, between something within oneself and something within the other being that draws one out of oneself (139). Becomings, however, are necessarily unpredictable, uncontrollable, and concomitant with unknown results, which means that in becoming, one experiences affects and undergoes changes that are neither chosen nor planned (139). Since it is defined as a nonvolitional affective transformation which 17.

(24) engenders new ways of feeling, thinking, and relating, although becoming exemplifies the positive manifestation of vulnerability on account of its receptive openness to unknown others, it is not necessarily an unequivocally progressive process, but a creative deformation that involves moving into unfamiliar territory. (139). Consequently, one is bound to experience ambivalence and ambiguity in becoming, given that it is a transformative process not unequivocally pleasant or positive. As a matter of fact, as one opens himself or herself to unknown others and moves into unfamiliar territory, the alteration of the self is in general a discomforting process accompanied by pain, loss, and danger, but not entirely negative or harmful (145). Accordingly, the process of becoming evinces the ambivalent and ambiguous dimension of vulnerability, on which the transformative experience is based. Becoming is ambivalent in light of the danger, pain, and loss that cannot be utterly eschewed in the alteration of the self. During the process, one is exhausted and becomes even more vulnerable by opening himself or herself to being affected by unknown others, as well as being transformed into a multiplicity of uncertainties, which the self cannot predict, control, or plan. The new form of strength that one acquires through the receptive openness to others is a kind of “force in fragility,” a term Gilson borrows from French feminist theoretician Hélène Cixous (143). As one opens to experiencing alterity and altering in relation to it, he or she is in a state of mobility and inclusiveness, which makes one stronger and more diverse, yet more fragile at the same time (143). Understood as both strength and dispossession, which are not mutually exclusive but necessarily intertwined, vulnerability manifests its ambiguous essence in that one cannot disentangle the various and ambivalent dimensions from one another, but is bound to experience the complex and ambiguous. 18.

(25) process of transformation, i.e., becoming, which transcends the limits of a dichotomous perception of a certain state of being. To sum up, the primary arguments I invoke from Gilson’s conception of vulnerability comprise two dimensions: vulnerability as a matter of affective openness, and a form of ambiguous/ambivalent potential. In the following section, I attempt to conceive how psychopaths are also vulnerable beings, regardless of their ostensible embodiment of invulnerability.. III.. All You Need Is Love:. Psychopathy and Vulnerability Even though psychopaths are commonly characterized as individuals deficient in certain affectionate feelings shared by most people, Thomas’ account of how her relationship with Ann enlightens her on ideas such as love, trust, and the value of a long-term relationship indicates the potentiality that psychopaths could be vulnerable. More precisely put, despite the higher tendency of affective divergence such as emotional shallowness and lack of empathy, as suggested by the PCL-R, psychopaths are not unequivocally insulated from being altered and affected by their relationships to others and the surroundings. Whereas general studies of psychopathy are inclined to lay stress on how psychopaths exploit their targets’ vulnerability in order to achieve personal ends, which often presupposes a reductively negative stance on vulnerability, I aim to draw on Gilson’s conception of vulnerability to examine how psychopaths could be vulnerable like most people. In his study regarding the hidden suffering of psychopaths, Willem H. J. Martens maintains that just like most people, many psychopaths love their parents, spouse, children and pets in their own way, but have difficulty establishing the same extent of love and trust toward the rest of the world (1). It is reasonable to deduce that 19.

(26) psychopaths are relatively predisposed to take advantage of others for their egocentric ends; however, deep down they have a wish to be loved and cared for, just like anybody else. As a result, psychopaths also suffer emotionally as a consequence of separation, divorce, death of a beloved individual, or discontentment with their own deviant behavior, which they realize if identified would stigmatize them and impede the development of loving and genuine relationships with others (1). On the one hand, the deficits in their emotional responsiveness are frequently utilized by many psychopaths as a shield against guilt and moral responsibility, which normally inhibit other people from taking the same action. Such employment of the emotional distance is recurrently exemplified in Thomas’ memoir. For instance, she once helps an old woman during volunteering commit fraud in order to apply for restitution funds from the German government for Holocaust survivors. Whereas the same situation may inflict a moral conundrum on most people, the collusion for Thomas is a task easily undertaken without hesitation or moral compunction. As a matter of fact, she is delighted to play accomplice in the identity theft scheme, and even recognizes the old woman as a kindred spirit, who knows what it means to survive at all costs (Thomas 9). In this case, the emotional distance enables Thomas to adopt an instrumental view on morality, if not a complete disregard for it. Accordingly, psychopaths seem to be able to take advantage of their propensity for apathy to establish an invulnerable identity, by which they can be impermeable to certain emotions, such as fear, anxiety, dread, and guilt. It is worth noting that they are not entirely incapable of experiencing these emotions, but understand how to tap into their compartmentalized emotional mechanism, which they can operate like flicking an internal switch under various circumstances. On the other hand, the emotional incapacity of psychopaths can also be a distressing factor that gives rise to feelings such as isolation and loneliness. Using the 20.

(27) examples of psychopathic serial killers Jeffrey Dahmer and Dennis Nilson, Martens explains that the two criminals do not enjoy the killing act itself, but solely kill for company (2). Through the creation of their own sadistic universe, the two men, both suffering from social isolation and loneliness, find their path to avenge the experiences of rejection, abuse, humiliation, neglect and emotional pain (2). Even though Martens’ examination of psychopaths’ emotional suffering chiefly positions psychopaths within a criminal framework, which leaves room for queries and debates, it nevertheless accentuates psychopath’s desire to be loved and cared for. The fact that psychopaths may perceive ideas such as love, trust, and friendship in a deviant way echoes Thomas’ appeal for “nurture trumping nature.” Thomas’ experience of being affected by the empathic Ann indicates that psychopaths can in fact be open to alteration, particularly through warm and affectionate parenting or by an empathic role model. By opening themselves to be vulnerable, psychopaths could also be enlightened that ideas such as love, trust, and friendship are actual concepts based on the consideration of mutual needs. As claimed by Thomas, “As heartless as I am, I have wanted to feel love, to feel connection, to feel like I belong to the world like anyone else” (201). Reckoning herself as a successful psychopath, Thomas views psychopaths as malleable and impressionable, stating that although psychopaths may not be affected in the same ways as empaths, they are just as susceptible to their own range of outside influence (283). Whereas psychopaths are commonly characterized as cunning, calculating, and manipulative, these features concurrently denote their relatively greater sensitivity to experience, which could be beneficial within social contexts, provided that the psychopathic subjects become attuned to the needs of others, as well as how they should be respected. Generally speaking, whereas Martens’ study of the two serial killers serves as an extreme exemplification of the failures in emotional attunement of psychopaths, 21.

(28) Thomas’ case in contrast represents a psychopath’s successful accommodation to society, by dint of an insightful understanding of the psychopathic self and empathic others. The two cases find their common ground in the psychopaths’ need for love, care, and affection, yet differ strikingly in the behavioral manifestation of the need, which largely hinges on to what degree the desire is fulfilled. In order to give a more concrete shape to the notion that psychopaths are vulnerable human beings, in the chapter that follows, I will examine Michael Haneke’s The Piano Teacher to elaborate on two main arguments. First, I argue that the film can be studied as a portrayal of psychopathy, with its protagonist Erika Kohut displaying a number of psychopathic features. In particular, I will emphasize how the film’s depiction of Erika differs from the general cinematic representation of psychopathic characters, mainly because the latter is prone to exaggerate the capability of the psychopath in the interest of dramatic tension. However, The Piano Teacher acts in a diametrically opposite way, and conveys how a psychopath can in fact be vulnerable. I argue that the film can be regarded as a unique interpretation of psychopathy, which largely centers on the psychopath’s vulnerability in lieu of her deceptive and manipulative prowess. That is to say, a large portion of the film is dedicated to showing the human aspect of psychopathy, instead of pathologizing psychopathy as a deviant property. My second argument focuses on the film’s depiction of the dynamics between vulnerability and invulnerability. In this respect, I will invoke Gilson’s conception of (in)vulnerability to demonstrate how the film delineates the stark contrast between Erika’s pursuit of invulnerability as a psychopath, and her vulnerability as a human being, which I maintain is the cardinal constitution of the story. Last but not least, I attempt to provide a new interpretation of the film’s ending, which is often regarded as ambiguous and suggestive of the heroine’s self-destruction. 22.

(29) I will elucidate how the ending can be read as an indication of Erika’s healing, heralded by a number of symbols of openness, which is the defining feature of vulnerability. More specifically put, I attempt to demonstrate that the film’s ending implies Erika’s decision to open herself to alteration and affection. The acceptance of her inherent vulnerability will potentially lead the heroine to the process of healing, in which she will learn to form connections with others. By and large, the accentuation on Erika’s potential healing will be the concluding remark of my examination of vulnerability, which foregrounds how one is able to heal through the formation of interpersonal connections. In order to render these connections feasible and effective, one must learn to be susceptible to alteration and affection, that is, to be vulnerable.. 23.

(30) Chapter Two Love of a Psychopath: Exploring Psychopathy and Vulnerability in Michael Haneke’s The Piano Teacher. I.. “I Love You, Mother”:. Psychoanalytic Studies on the Mother-Daughter Relationship in The Piano Teacher Regardless of Haneke’s reluctance to situate the film within a purely psychoanalytic framework, it turns out that most of the film’s critics have no difficulty identifying the kernel of Jelinek’s original story, given that the film has been widely studied from psychoanalytic perspectives. Nevertheless, my examination of The Piano Teacher seeks to adopt an approach that somewhat departs from a psychoanalytic one. While psychoanalysis tends to retrospect the origin of a person’s disposition and dissect how someone’s infancy or childhood influences the way he or she behaves as an adult, my analysis of The Piano Teacher contemplates an unspecified yet possible future of healing for the protagonist Erika. In order to clarify how The Piano Teacher involves the notion of healing, I will first illustrate the film’s depiction of Erika’s suffering in her grueling quest for love, which goes hand in hand with her psychopathic personality. In this respect, even though I do not aim for a psychoanalytic approach, the existing psychoanalytic analyses of The Piano Teacher can help shed light on several aspects of my argument, particularly in regard to the association between Erika’s psychopathic personality and the oppressive domination of her mother. Therefore, I begin this chapter with an examination of how The Piano Teacher has been explored within a psychoanalytic context, which can be helpful in. 24.

(31) illuminating the dialectical tension between vulnerability and invulnerability in the story. To begin with, Jean Wyatt contends that Erika lives in a world she terms, “maternal jouissance,” where the mother operates as if there were no law or limit regulating her possession of the child’s body (453). While desire is created by a foundational lack that the subject ceaselessly searches for a person or object to fulfill within the parameters of social law, jouissance, which is distinguished by excess, implies an expression of drive energy that exceeds the limits of social order and restraint, and goes beyond a rational calculation of the subject’s interests, beyond pleasure, and beyond self-preservation (453). Throughout the film, Erika’s tyrannical mother perpetually invades every corner of her daughter’s space and controls her every move. The oppressive mother-daughter relationship is vividly manifested in the opening sequence of The Piano Teacher: Erika arrives home late and attempts to quietly enters her room without disturbing her mother, who nevertheless appears instantly and interrogates Erika about where she has been. The mother then grabs and rummages through Erika’s purse, in which she finds a new dress Erika bought. Meanwhile, Erika rushes to her wardrobe and finds one of her autumn suits missing. The mother claims to know nothing about the missing suit. During their interrogation, the mother tears up the new dress Erika just bought. In a fit of outrage, Erika curses at her mother and grabs her hair. However, the scene is concluded with the mother’s and daughter’s reconciliation, where the two embrace in tears. Later that night, as Erika shares the same bed with her mother, the mother earnestly alerts Erika to one of her talented pupils, whom she worries may overshadow Erika with her affinity for Schubert, saying to her, “Schubert is your department, don’t forget” (The Piano Teacher 00:07:07-09). Erika absent-mindedly reassures her, to which the mother. 25.

(32) solemnly replies, “No one must surpass you, my girl” (The Piano Teacher 00:07:2932). The opening sequence presages the unbridled motherly control that grows like a poisonous vine as the story proceeds. By the term “maternal jouissance,” Wyatt attempts to elucidate the absence of laws and limits on the mother’s violent control over Erika, in terms of her will, mind, and action. In other words, the mother’s unconstrained invasion into Erika’s body and psyche signifies an excess – which is the hallmark of jouissance – beyond the limits imposed by social order. Consequently, maternal jouissance obstructs the potential for maternal desire, which, in the Lacanian model, is the crucial factor that forces a child to separate from its early fused identification with the mother (Wyatt 458). The conversation on their bed, during which the mother reminds Erika that no one must surpass her, hints at the mother’s use of Erika as an extension of herself, as the object that completes her, so as to make her feel neither lack nor desire (460). Accordingly, Erika does not confront lack and desire either, for it is through identification with the mother’s lack that the child discovers her fundamental lack, just as it is through the child’s recognition of the mother’s desire – and therefore realizing that the mother lacks something – that desire is engendered (459). Failing to establish herself as a symbolic subject based on lack, Erika cannot emerge as a subject of desire, and remains attached to the mother within a space of jouissance, which curves in upon itself in a static and closed circuit, without any lack to be fulfilled (455, 461). In contrast to the static site of maternal jouissance in which Erika is imprisoned, the young, athletic, and charming male student Walter serves as the representation of desire, which is always in motion and in search of something else (461). Nevertheless, the momentum of desire embodied by Walter’s ardent courtship of Erika continually falters and fails, as a result of being blocked by the static fullness of maternal 26.

(33) jouissance, where there is no lack, no gap, and no place available for Walter to fit in (460-61). Given that Erika is unable to separate herself from the mother, and therefore remains mired in the real and cannot enter fully into the symbolic, her on-screen vomiting, urinating, and bleeding from self-cutting can be viewed as her efforts to escape maternal jouissance – that is, to expel a mother experienced as so inseparable as to be inside her own body (462). In one graphic scene, Erika sits on the fringe of the bathtub, and slices into her genitals with a razor blade, while letting out a muffled grunt that comes across as a mixture of pain and enjoyment, as a trail of blood streams down the side of the bathtub. The cut, according to Wyatt, is not the cut of symbolic castration that marks the entry into the symbolic order by instituting a subjectivity, but a cut literalized by Erika and serves as a subconscious attempt to establish a minimal degree of distinction from the mother in the real, at the level of the body (464). However, the omnipresence of maternal jouissance in the film is destined to deter such separation from being effective. Not long after Erika begins to secretly wallow in her masochistic ritual, we hear the mother announce dinner outside the bathroom door, forcing Erika to put a halt to her performance of self-mutilation. The mother’s interruption indicates the maternal overproximity which prevents Erika’s access to the symbolic, where she could associate herself to other human beings. As a consequence, instead of opening a path to becoming a subject of desire through the potentiality of a romantic relationship with Walter, Erika is confined within the solitary status of jouissance, which takes place not between two lovers, but between the self and the self, because at the level of jouissance, there is no existence of the Other (455, 463, 469). In view of Erika’s ordained failure in escaping from maternal jouissance, Wyatt argues that the truly disturbing dimension of the film lies in the viewers’ anticipation of a romance plot, which generally adheres to the. 27.

(34) trajectory from desire to erotic fulfillment, and which, in The Piano Teacher, is continually attacked and disrupted by jouissance (470). On the whole, Wyatt’s conception of maternal jouissance revolves around the inseparability of the mother-daughter bondage. Erika’s transgressive sexual behaviors can be interpreted as her fledgling efforts to escape from the inextricable mother-child fusion, which nevertheless are overthrown by her perpetual return to the territory of jouissance she inhabits with her mother. Wyatt’s understanding of Erika’s deviant behaviors as the attempts at separating herself from the mother is endorsed by a number of critics, whereas some of them additionally probe into the role of the father in the film, including Christopher Christian, who lays stress on Erika’s endeavors to embody the father, along with Stefanie Teitelbaum, who underscores that perversions are attempts to reach the father. Throughout the film, Erika’s father remains an absent figure, and is mentioned only twice during conversation. The first one occurs during Erika’s first meeting with Walter at the piano recital. During their conversation about German composer Robert Schumann’s mental illness, Erika says to Walter with composure, “Since my father died completely mad in the Steinhof asylum, I can talk easily about the twilight of the mind, can’t I?” (The Piano Teacher 00:18:34-42). However, Erika’s remark is rendered perplexing by the second time the father is brought up several days after the recital, where Erika arrives home late and is confronted by her mother again. The mother slaps Erika in the face, and utters to her in a reproachful tone, “Your father died this afternoon” (The Piano Teacher 00:54:2930). Apart from the foregoing, no other information regarding the father is given in the remaining part of the film. There is no clarification as to the reason Erika concocts the death of her father during her first conversation with Walter. It can only be conjectured that the father’s absence within the domestic context has been established to the extent that Erika automatically assumes his death. Alternatively, Erika’s remark 28.

(35) may not literally signify the father’s demise as a human organism, but serve as a subconscious connotation of the father’s “death” in terms of the father-mother-child triad, which is replaced by the mother’s autocratic monopoly of the child as the extension of herself. The absence of the father, as Christopher Christian contends, results in Erika’s attempts to differentiate from the mother by becoming the father, assuming the father’s role vis-à-vis the mother, and constructing a symbolic phallic realm that develops into an exaggerated version of the father, and of what it means to be male (769-70). In a similar vein, Stefanie Teitelbaum invokes Lacan and maintains that Erika’s perversion can be regarded as an attempt to reach the father, who represents the differentiated sanity of the symbolic order (154). As a consequence, the death of Erika’s father indicates the loss of the symbolic order – a loss that abdicates Erika to a fate of fused, maternal madness, in which she learns to perceive love as the equivalence of submission and humiliation (Teitelbaum 154, 156). Erika’s caricature of masculinity is signified by a number of details, including her trench coat and kidskin gloves (which often evoke the image of the prototypical male pervert, see fig. 1), her stern and almost sadistic treatment of her students, and her acting as a “peeping Tom” at the drive-in movie parking lot, where she spies on a couple having sex and urinates at the height of sexual excitement, which resembles male ejaculation (Christian 776-77). Moreover, in another graphic scene where Erika and her mother share the same bed at night, Erika abruptly declares her love for her mother and attempts to mount her, kissing her impulsively in a manner that simulates a malefemale rape scenario, while the mother resists and pleads with her to stop. In this regard, Christian maintains that Erika is positioned within a paradoxical state: since she is unable to extricate herself from the mother through positive identifications with the father, she embodies the father as an attempt at separation from the mother 29.

(36) through an identification with the paternal realm (770). Nevertheless, embodying the father simultaneously gratifies symbiotic wishes for merger with the mother, through which the daughter seeks to gain access into the mother’s body as a male substitute (770). The contradictory position is a fundamental factor for Erika’s perversion. Since Erika fails to symbolically represent the father or mother, the only means by which she can delineate the boundary between herself and the mother is a series of concretizations (781). In other words, Erika’s perverse behaviors represent the concretization through action of the properties attributed to an embroidered version of the father, with which Erika seeks to identify in order to safeguard a sense of self and subjectivity separate from the mother.. Fig. 1. Erika’s outfit resembling that of a prototypical male pervert, The Piano Teacher (00:49:32).. The examinations of The Piano Teacher proposed by Wyatt, Christian, and Teitelbaum are established upon a Lacanian reading of the film, associating Erika’s perversion chiefly with her failure to fully enter the symbolic order and distinguish 30.

(37) herself from the mother. In addition to a psychoanalytic analysis of the heroine’s sexually deviant behaviors, Heidi James considers Erika’s self-mutilation as a form of auto-trauma, which operates as a function of desire: a desire to communicate (James). Differently put, by inflicting wounds upon her own body, Erika discovers a language through which she could reveal and describe the pain, shame, and humiliation that she feels. Auto-trauma, in this sense, is Erika’s method of expressing her unspeakable trauma. Moreover, auto-trauma also serves as an act of rebellion against the law, which, in Erika’s case, is the mother (James). By inflicting her own wounds, Erika attempts to assert her own power, demonstrating her desire to attain lawlessness – that is, to liberate herself from the mother’s aggressive domination. Nevertheless, Erika’s venture remains unpromising, given that her auto-trauma is a highly complex and ambivalent gesture constituting both resistance and submission (James). While Erika employs self-harm in the hopes of transgressing the mother’s law and order, her acts of rebellion reinscribe the very law she aims to eradicate, in that “if transgression is the natural corollary of desire pushed to its limits, then the law of desire is the lawlessness of negating limits and boundaries, and, of course, there can be no lawlessness within such a context” (James). Erika’s attempts to transgress her mother’s law essentially reinforce the existence of that law, as well as the limits and boundaries imposed by it. To put it another way, since rebellion is a means of being seen, of pleading that another human being bear witness to one’s actions, it provides the fundamental constituents of the law (James). Accordingly, instead of successfully achieving lawlessness, Erika’s self-infliction of her wounds as a transgressive act against the mother’s law underpins the perpetuation of the law, therefore implying the inevitable dynamics between resistance and submission concomitant in her gesture of auto-trauma. In this respect, James’ idea seems to act in concert with Wyatt’s view of Erika’s violence towards her body as an indicator of her return to the dimension of 31.

(38) jouissance she inhabits with her mother, as opposed to an opening into the larger social world. On the basis of both critics’ views, Erika is most likely to be doomed to a life of inseparable maternal attachment, which leaves scarce room, if any, for the insertion of a third party, with whom Erika could potentially develop a redemptive relationship.. II.. “I Have No Feelings”:. Viewing Psychopathy Through a Different Lens Whereas critics have reckoned Erika as a prisoner of maternal jouissance, a substitute father and husband figure, and a rebel against the mother’s law by means of auto-trauma, I argue that Erika can also be construed as the embodiment of psychopathy. More precisely speaking, I consider Erika as a “psychopath of everyday life,” as referred to by Martin Kantor, as well as what Robert D. Hare addresses as a “subcriminal psychopath,” who appears to function reasonably well in society and even holds a prestigious occupation. Nevertheless, the way The Piano Teacher gives life to its psychopathic heroine renders her considerably distinct from the abominable psychopaths depicted in most films. In regard to how realistic and clinically accurate psychopathic characters in cinema are, Samuel J. Leistedt and Paul Linkowski study 126 psychopathic characters from 400 films. They point out that the portrayal of psychopaths in film is by and large inextricably linked with the horror genre, particularly under the influence of the arrest of Ed Gein, the infamous American serial killer, in 1957 (Leistedt and Linkowski 168). The details of the Ed Gein case, which include grave robbing, cannibalism, and necrophilia, become a template for the attributes of what is considered as psychopathic behavior, which is nevertheless most likely a type of psychosis (168-71). The traditional “Hollywood psychopath,” which emerges during 32.

(39) the 1960s and 1970s, tends to exhibit numerous traits that render the character villainous and superhuman, including high intelligence and a preference for intellectual stimulation, a vain and stylish demeanor, a calculating and always-incontrol attitude, and unrealistically exceptional skill at killing people, especially with blades or household objects (172). The aforementioned traits, particularly in combination, are generally not present in real psychopaths (172). What’s more, psychopathy in cinema is typically portrayed in an exaggerated fashion to magnify the dramatic properties of the psychopathic characters, among which the criminal or antisocial psychopath is the most common form to appear (172). Famous examples, among many others, include the cannibalistic psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs (1991), the wicked serial killer John Doe in Seven (1995), the “Ghostface” killers in the Scream series (1996-2011), as well as Patrick Bateman in American Psycho (2000), who is a Wall Street banker living a double life as a serial killer and a rapist (169-70). Furthermore, as in reality, female psychopaths in cinema are relatively rare and not well known, and they are often depicted as scheming manipulators whose main weapons are sexual (172). These female characters include Catherine Tramell in Basic Instinct (1992), Peyton Flanders in The Hand that Rocks the Cradle (1992), and Amy Dunne in Gone Girl (2014), all of whom are adroit at using their sex appeal to beguile and manipulate others for personal gains (171). It is in the early 2000s that variations of the non-maniacal and relatively realistic psychopaths begin to emerge, which lead to more psychopathological and clinical characterizations of psychopathy, in place of an abundance of dysfunctional and horrific behaviors (172). Among the most recent and realistic idiopathic psychopathic characters, Leistedt and Linkowski consider Anton Chigurh in the 2007 Coen brothers’ film, No Country for Old Men, as a well-designed prototypical 33.

(40) psychopath, who exhibits incapacity for love, absence of shame or remorse, lack of psychological insight, inability to learn from past experience, cold-blooded attitude, ruthlessness, total determination, and lack of empathy (172). Nevertheless, the authors also point out that despite the comparatively accurate portrayal, the character serves as an extreme description of psychopathy, considering that “[h]e seems to be affectively invulnerable and resistant to any form of emotion or humanity” (172). In the concluding remarks of the section, Leistedt and Linkowski stress that, “at the opposite end of most of the fictional characters presented in films, they are vulnerable and have limits, as they do in the real world” (173). All in all, despite a clinical evolution since 2000, psychopathy in cinema remains fictional, and most psychopathic characters in films are still confined to villain archetypes to a certain extent (173). However, cinema provides a vicarious experience through which one can obtain a glimpse into the complex human psyche. Some of the realistic fictional psychopathic characters, although in minority, can be considered valuable for teaching and illustrating several aspects of forensic psychiatry, such as personality disorders and paraphilia (173). As Leistedt’s and Linkowski’s study indicates, psychopaths in films, including both the prototypical mass murderers and the elite psychopaths, frequently exhibit intelligence and physical ability exaggerated to a superhuman level (171). The unrealistic yet exceptional psychopathic characters are often foregrounded as the selling points of the film, on account of the sensational stimulation along with the marketability it entails. Nevertheless, a realistic portrayal of psychopathy should not simply dwell on the general attributes of the psychopathic character, but also the chaos and instability concomitant with the disordered personality in a psychopath’s life. As a result, in consideration of how psychopaths in cinema generally impress viewers with their image of invulnerability, I maintain that Haneke’s The Piano 34.