MAGNIFICENT OBSESSION (Douglas Sirk, 1954)

If anything can be said about the structures of melodrama, and melodramatic film in particular, it seems to be that masochism is a necessary aspect of the main characters’ personalities. In order to convey the intense emotions inherent in the form, characters in melodrama, it seems, must derive pleasure from (near) continual suffering. Such is the case for the characters in Douglas Sirk’s 1954 The Magnificent Obsession, in which Bob Merrick (Rock Hudson) endlessly suffers as he attempts to aid and win the heart of Helen Phillips (Jane Wyman). And yet it is not Merrick’s will alone that appears to drive his masochistic tendencies throughout the film, but rather that of the wise, sage-like figure of his friend, Edward Randolph (Otto Kruger), who both sets Merrick on and takes him off his masochistic path of love and redemption.

Randolph’s influence over Merrick’s action occurs fairly early, for it is he who tells Merrick of the late Dr. Phillips’ manner of living: to give secretly and selflessly, after doing the same for Merrick by taking him in after Merrick crashes his car. He warns Merrick, though, that it is a difficult path to follow. This sage wisdom and warning thus comes across almost like a commandment (with, in many ways, all of the religious undertones inherent in such) for Merrick to be masochistic. He must make amends for what he has done to Helen, and he will gain pleasure from his actions, but, because of its inherent difficulty, it will be a pleasure rooted in suffering as he may never get to be with Helen as himself. Randolph’s speech to Merrick takes on the qualities of a commandment even more so throughout the film, as we hear his voice repeat again and again in Merrick’s mind: “Once you find the way, you’ll be bound. It’ll obsess you. But believe me, it’ll be a magnificent obsession.”

By the end of the film it is clear that Merrick takes this commandment to heart, completely changing his life to follow Randolph’s words. In fact, it is only Randolph himself who can reverse its effects at the end of the film. Merrick is so masochistic by that point that he chooses to continue in his pain rather than operate on Helen. His masochistic suffering has sustained him for so long that he cannot seem to give it up and risk being happy, and so Randolph must reenter the picture to again command Merrick’s actions. Just as Merrick is about to halt the surgery, he turns and sees Randolph staring down at him, god-like, from the observation room above the operating theater. It seems clear from such positioning that Randolph is commanding him to operate, thus removing (absolving?) him from his masochistic behavior and allowing him pleasure through happiness rather than pain. And, of course, it works, Helen awakens, is no longer blind, and she and Merrick will live happily ever after.

In Annette Kuhn’s article entitled “Women’s Genres,” she claims that melodramas “place the spectator in a masochistic position of either identifying with a female character’s renunciation or, as in soap opera, forever anticipating an endlessly held-off resolution,” (Feminism and Film, p. 447). This statement is particularly true when applied to the quintessential “women’s film” melodrama, Magnificent Obsession, directed in 1954 by Douglas Sirk. Although good things are readily available and happening for the protagonist, she (Helen Phillips, played by Jane Wyman) insists throughout the entire film on denying them. One thing after another goes wrong for the Phillips family—first her husband of six months dies, then it turns out they’ll have no money to support them thanks to Dr. Phillips sugary-sweet “anonymous giving” theory, then the very man who is pursuing her and her forgiveness ends up permanently blinding her. Will things ever get better for this poor woman?

The masochism the viewer feels asking this question is driven by Sirk’s sadistic production moves. Just after Helen goes blind, the camera shows an absolutely marvelous scene of the beachfront property they own—driving it home that poor Helen cannot see it. Similarly, how romantic is it for Rock Hudson (playing Bob Merrick) to take you to some of the world’s most beautiful and culturally diverse places…when you cannot see to enjoy them?!

The fact that Sirk and his crew constantly divert satisfaction also brings about the viewer’s masochistic pleasure in watching this film. Why can’t Helen answer Bob tonight? Why always tomorrow? Then, YEARS later, Bob is to finally find Helen again—but, of course, only when she’s sick with pneumonia on her deathbed. Ironically, he, Doctor Bob Merrick, is the only one who can save her—and her chances are only one in a thousand of living. Their stakes are that high.

“Starting tomorrow, we’ll never be apart,” Bob tells Helen. In response, as the last words of the film, Helen says, “Yes—tomorrow!” Only tomorrow will tell if they’ll finally be able to ride off into the sunset together—tomorrow after the credits have rolled.

Is there something masochistic about a person who prefers a narrative which is fragmented, which accrues and takes shape gradually, obliquely, as a series of glancing blows, spiraling in on its object, rather than one which is more linear, direct, straightforward? This is the question the first section of the film the Magnificent Obsession poses (this section of spiraling narrative and plot elements culminates [a convergence] in Helen’s accident). The question of whether or not a less straightforward narrative method (whether it works by spiraling, accretion or some other design) is inherently masochistic is interesting because of how such a claim affects our perception of a film like Lizzie Borden’s Born in Flames. For instance, if it’s possible to track the advent of a serialized, spiraling narrative form all the way from cinematic melodrama, to daytime soap operas, and finally to the feminist work of Lizzie Borden, then the result is a significantly more textured appreciation of Borden’s film, and quite possibly a lot of other narrative work belonging to second wave feminists and post-feminists.

However, after Helen’s accident, the pace and texture of the film’s narrative changes substantially. While there are still distinct strands of plot succeeding each other as the object of the audience’s attention, the pacing is much slower and the sheer multiplicity of different narrative elements that made the first part of the film so distinctive is diminished. It’s at this point that another distinct masochistic element in the film comes to the fore: it’s the masochism that occurs on the level of the viewer’s identification with either Helen’s masochistic renunciation of Bob’s love, or Bob’s ill-starred attempt to win Helen’s love, admiration, and respect. While both of these themes were suggested the first thirty or so minutes of the film, these two themes fuel the last two thirds of the picture. Arguably, it’s the audience’s identification with the masochistic attitudes and actions of the two protagonists which make the audience continue viewing.

   >  >  >   g e n d e r  h o m e 


Page layout and design ©2004 by Hugh S. Manon for the Oklahoma State University Film Program. Some images on this page are the property of a third party and are used with permission. The marks of Oklahoma State University are controlled under a licensing program administered by The Collegiate Licensing Company.

Last update: 8/27/2004