The Lessons We Can Learn But Do Not:
Drug Use in Film

"When the abuser is in your family it's a health care issue.
When the abuser is in another family it's a criminal issue."
-Steven Soderbergh, director of Traffic

Very few films are allowed to have deep societal impact. There are films that become mainstream phenomenons like Titanic or Star Wars: A New Hope, but there are very few people that would claim that those special effects showcases actually changed their lives. It takes a very special film to have that effect on people. It takes a film that doesn't necessarily take the easy way out or end on the highest possible note. Often depressing, these films are the ones that should be treasured more than any others.

Which brings us to our current topic. Around the world our young people are filling up syringes, grabbing their pipes and loading them with various powders, and separating those white powders into lines on a thin sheet of glass. All those images that we have seen in films where drug use is seemingly glorified by blank expressions of euphoria and hallucination are actually happening in millions of households around the world. In schools. In major cities. In rural areas. In the house next door. In your bathroom.

But this isn't an essay describing those who are affected, it's an editorial about the way in which such events are portrayed in film and the possible ways in which film could be used as a tool in the fight against substance abuse.

Two films came out in the year 2000 that will someday be regarded as definitive films about drugs. One, Traffic, deals with the futility of America's drug war. Being such an expensive government project, you'd think that it's accomplishing something. Traffic shows us that it's not. Requiem for a Dream, on the other hand, deals with the collapse of a few normal individuals who get caught up into a black hole of abuse. Once they're enraptured by the pill or by the powder or syringe, there's little hope to bring them out alive. Even more, Requiem shows the extents to which these people go through in their attempts to get "fixed." The result is one of the most unsettling pictures ever caught on film.

Traffic is all about awakening. It's about opening our eyes to a problem with no easy answers. Nearly everyone believes that drug use is an epidemic that can't be solved with just money. Yet, every time we say this to ourselves, do we really attempt to find new ways in which to fight it? Money is just the first step, but finding the proper location to spend that money is perhaps even more important. Somehow finding a way to end on a slight up-note, Traffic might have found part of the solution. For the most part the film did not divulge into taking on the many possible solutions, just pointing out the problems. By concluding the way it did, it makes a somber statement. It shows that the primary people behind fixing the problems associated with drug abuse are not the senators in control of the budget, it's those who live in the house next door, or, better yet, those who sleep in the bed down the hall from the bathroom in which all this abuse takes place.

Requiem for a Dream is all about the loss of self. It's about losing control of your own destiny. Your dreams get squashed under the oppressive heel of drug addiction. The film's leads are not hopeless individuals, they're smart, attractive, and they could potentially have bright futures ahead of them. Somewhere along the lines of personal growth, however, something was missed: a crucial link between excessiveness and restraint was not made that would enable them to discern one from the other. Once restraint was forgotten the chemical nature of the substances took hold and they became obsessed. All else in their lives was discarded. At times, our precious lead characters were placed in unforgiving situations where the only way out was to sacrifice all sense of self-worth. One went through perhaps the most demeaning thing one can endure, all to obtain a small plastic bag of drug.

The controversial subject matter of films like Traffic and Requiem are what makes them so intriguing. It's also what makes them necessary conversation topics. I hope that upon seeing either of these two films a parent will confront their children about the effects of drug use, both negative and positive. Be confessional if they ask for the gory details, admit to having gone through similar temptations when you were their age. If they must know, admit to trying one or two illegal substances simply because the curiosity threatened to overwhelm you. Such impulses sometimes get the better of us all, and pretending to be invulnerable to a natural human impulse simply makes you harder to believe. Don't ask me, ask your kids. Most of them know when you're lying. They'll see through your blank face when you tell them that you never smoked a puff of marijuana or if you claim to never have inhaled. Being honest is far more effective than claiming that you never tried anything in the vain hope that they'll do what you did not.

Discuss the people that exist in those films. Talk about the drug cartels and the lure of money. Talk about doctors that prescribe illicit drugs to patients and about the dealers on the corners of streets. Things and people like those described in the films do exist, denying their existence will not help. Simply tell about things to watch out for in coming situations. And above all, lay trust on your child to do what they know to be the right thing.

Honesty is unquestionably the best way to teach a new generation about the effects of drug use. Films could easily be tools in such a quest. A film like Requiem for a Dream is startling in its realistic, unsensationalized account of the despair and collapse commonly associated with drug addiction. The film is brilliantly shot, endulging the audience with fantastic imagery to convey the altered senses of drug use. The filmmakers find a delicate balance between exposure and restraint in its images (only once is a needle seen being inserted into a vein), necessarily choosing to show the incredible negative effects of abuse (images such as the decimated arm and the sexual debacle near the end). The characters live through incredible highs and destructive lows throughout the course of the film, and only a film that shows both sides of the story could be credible in its portrayals. The characters live through circumstances that could happen to real people. We see them suffering in the same manner that people are suffering all over the world.

Requiring the showing of such an incredibly graphic film to young people might seem a risky propositon, but it's one I'm going to make. There are few films that could have such a profound effect on a young viewer. When viewing the film a teenager might turn away, utterly repulsed by the images. Yet, they also might be glued to the screen, unable to turn away when such realistic characters fall into depths of despair that few films have the courage to show. Either way the message is clear: this is what happens if abuse takes place. But shock value is not necessarily the only answer, it's the discussion afterwards that could also have a lasting effect. Nothing works without "The Talk." If it doesn't happen, then nothing is imprinted.

When I was leaving the dark theater in which I had just witnessed a collapse like none other in film history, a fellow patron uttered sarcastically to his friend "Gee, I wanna go out and take some drugs. Where'd our heroin go?" We were all too exhausted to laugh. We were all too full of self-reflective thoughts to even grin. A lasting imprint was made on me by the film, so why couldn't it happen to high school students all over the world?

Showing such a film to imprintable young minds might save lives. It's something that has to be done.

Questions? Comments? Write to the Author.

Editorial Written by Collin Thornber on 8/19/01