The young protagonist of a short movie, Monika, shows that external forces in one’s life don’t have to get the final say
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In a century that promises to be full of scientific and technological breakthroughs, there are many reasons to hope that alleviations for all sorts of debilitating diseases—cancer, Alzheimer’s, ALS—are around the corner.
Elon Musk’s much talked about Neuralink, and similar companies, could be a game changer. By inserting a tiny device inside the brain, the mind can communicate with the body in ways that it previously could not—allowing, for example, a loved one dealing with a terminal disease to gain significantly more independence. It could even restore someone’s sight. Those are profoundly happy thoughts.
The practical implementation of technologies like Neuralink may be years away, due in part to the FDA and other regulatory powers. But future generations might very well be strangers to at least some life-altering diseases and their most serious effects. That also is a pleasant thought.
But life is a purveyor of unforeseen obstacles. The roughly three-year global pandemic is a startling example of this. Curveballs—both big and small, both societally and individually—are wrapped up in life. Technology and medicine can do wonders for us (as can financial resources and a good social circle), but there are other elements at play when it comes to living a happy life.
Our thoughts, attitudes, and perspectives are critical ingredients. As Heraclitus is reputed to have said, “Character is destiny.” It’s an adage both empowering and terrifying. It suggests that the quality and depth of our lives is ultimately the product of our own agency and decision-making. (Cheers to that.) The flip side, however, is the towering beast of responsibility: if life is disappointing, miserable, lonely, lacking in meaning… then, well, don’t blame the universe.
A short movie called Monika (2011) illustrates the powerful ramifications of two views.
The movie’s eponymous character is a mild-mannered, 20-year-old woman, who loves music and takes it upon herself to do grimy household chores. Her mother, a listless and dejected figure (possibly addicted to alcohol), is deeply unhappy yet appears unwilling to actually do anything about it.
This contrast between mother and daughter is at the core of Monika. It’s amplified after a tragic event in Monika’s life: her loss of sight.
At an appointment with her ophthalmologist, the extremely near-sighted Monika is gently told by the doctor that a driver’s license is out of the question. Understandably, that isn’t welcoming news to 20-year-old Monika.
She decides to get surgery (though without consulting her regular doctor), and from a place that perhaps isn’t so reputable. When the eye surgery is botched, Monika is thrown into a world of blindness.
At just twenty, Monika must navigate not only the confusions and angst of young adulthood, but do so without sight. Emotional support from her mother is non-existent. “You brought this on yourself,” she coldly tells her.
Monika heads up to her room and puts on her headphones, looking for solace in her favorite music. But the anger over the devastating event comes out. She screams. From downstairs, her mother hears her daughter’s cries of anguish, and a look of concern comes across her face. But is it primarily a concern for Monika’s life or a concern that her own life has now also changed?
Some weeks later, a worker at a school for the blind shows up at the house. “You either come with me or I’ll call the psychiatric services,” the young man tells Monika firmly but compassionately. She goes.
At the school, Monika learns to use a white cane, read braille, and adjust to the new dimensions of her life. When the program winds down, a teacher at the school who’s been impressed with Monika suggests that she apply for an apprenticeship— one in physiotherapy, no less.
Like many other times in the movie, Monika takes advantage of the opportunities and physical capacities that she has. As importantly, she doesn’t dwell on what could have been or passively allow outside forces to mold her life in negative ways.
Monika demonstrates the magnitude of what psychologist Julian Rotter, back in the 1950s, called “locus of control.” When we analyze the events in our lives, where do we tend to locate the causality: internally or externally?
Monika strives for the former mindest, which helps her to turn unfortunate circumstances into a meaningful and productive life.
But her mother, soured by her unfulfilling life and lack of resolve, is unable to emanate anything other than coldness towards her daughter. When Monika diligently goes through the delicate process of making cheesecake (without all the benefits of visual sight), the mother still can’t bring herself to say something positive.
Yet Monika never holds this against her. In one scene, Monika tries to comfort her mother. The distraught parent puts her face against her daughter’s chest, almost nuzzling her breast, as if an infant. It is a picture of helplessness, of dependence. It is also a reminder that, whether young or old, age alone is not a defining factor of one’s competency and maturity.
Despite its mere 53-minute runtime, Monika is long enough and well-constructed enough that we become genuinely interested in the protagonist’s journey of surmounting her obstacles. And while watching from the sidelines, we might feel inspired to tackle some of our own.
Spectatio 