“I am we, we are a year, we year, we are rest, we rest.” 

In winter 2024, Sop had a severe relapse of myalgic encephalomyelitis, also called chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS), leaving them housebound in South East London.

That summer, in the days leading up to a friend’s birthday celebration, the artist rested carefully so they would be able to attend. The night before, they started taking what was touted as a “magic” pill for insomnia. They didn’t sleep at all and had to miss the party. But in a sleep-deprived haze, they wrote, as they described in a recent interview [1], “a solidarity rant, a kind of letter to other disabled people stuck indoors.” 

When Shape Arts, a UK disability arts organization, approached Sop with a commission, they decided to adapt the essay into a script for We Year, a mixed-media love letter to others living with energy-limiting conditions. The short film premieres at RestFest—a film festival and virtual space by and for the disability community—as part of a program co-organized by The Remote Body, Resting Up Collective, and Ort Gallery. 

With a poetic voiceover and ethereal soundscape, We Year immerses viewers in a chronic illness flare during a sweltering summer, blending decades-old archival footage from when Sop was well enough to move outside freely with recent phone footage shot at home. Shifting between past and present and between interior and exterior, the experience is at once isolating and unifying, claustrophobic and liberating. 

We Year also features 16mm direct animation, a technique that involves drawing and scratching moving images directly onto film stock rather than recording with a camera. Here, Sop used ink to overlay the orange stress bars from their Garmin watch across the entire film—a constant representation of their body that acts as a symbolic barrier between them and the audience. 

The following interview has been edited for length and clarity. 

When did you begin to think of yourself as an artist? 

I always wanted to be an artist. Even as a kid, when I was asked, “What do you want to be?”, I was like, “An artist!” I honestly have never thought about doing anything else. I grew up in the deep countryside, and there wasn’t much access to contemporary culture, although I was obsessed with music and music magazines. There was this teen music magazine called Smash Hits that I loved, and I made collages and scrapbooks of pop stars. When I was 13, I went to a big retrospective of the massive British artist David Hockney, who just died, and it was the first time that I’d seen contemporary art. It blew my mind, and that’s the first time I remember thinking, “Oh, this is something serious that I want to do.” 

What questions or themes does your art usually explore? 

I find it hard to make work that isn’t about my life and the things that I’m dealing with. What I do always ends up being ultra-personal. That’s not something that a lot of people do, necessarily. The act of living as a chronically ill person means that you have to live in the world in a very different way from people who are not chronically ill. Chronic illness is a fertile area for ideas. You’re living the life and thinking about the life at the same time. If you’re an artist or someone who thinks about things in conceptual ways, you can’t help but try and interpret your life into art-making, projects, or ideas. Everything’s interesting. It’s like living life wonky.

As a chronically ill person,  I can’t do a 9 to 5. I can’t necessarily keep to plans, and I can’t always do basic things, like sometimes even look after myself in a normal  way. The agency that I have is to interrogate what this life means and the challenges that it poses and what is interesting about that. What can I say that’s beyond how I would perhaps describe being sick to a stranger? Like, what’s within that? All of the work that I make—even if it looks not about that—is going to be about that.   

And then the other part of it is that I grew up in the field and was a tomboy covered in mud. My understanding of the world was through nature, and now I’m in a flat without a garden. I can see some trees in the park just over there, but quite often, I’m not well enough to go and hang out in the park. I am pretty obsessed with nature and the fact that I can’t get to it. I can’t really have that life currently.  

In your bio, you describe yourself as “a torn and crooked leaf, a root embedded in the dirt, a shoot reaching to the sky.” Would you please elaborate on what this means? 

When I wrote that bio, I was making work about my body being the same as the microbiome in the soil. “A torn and crooked leaf” is being chronically ill. “A root embedded in the dirt” is really what it sounds like, within the context of that specific work. And the “shoot reaching to the sky”—my work deals with pretty hefty emotions, but there’s always hope. My life is not a miserable life; it is hopeful, and I do believe there’s something so crucial in being chronically ill that you absolutely have to keep hope alive. It takes a lot of work to do that and to get there. It’s not easy, but it’s super important. If you have this restricted life, you absolutely have to shoot for the sky. Because time just goes on.  

What does working in crip time [2] look like for you? What are your long-term goals as an artist? 

If you’re truly working in crip time, it’s fairly impossible to have long-term goals. You haven’t really got a choice when you work. You can do your very best to carve out time or space. Currently, I have about a couple of hours in the early morning when I can manage to do something. My afternoons and evenings—I simply can’t make work then. If you have such a limited time to make work, the amount of work you make is going to be low. It will have to meet your capacity, and that doesn’t fit well with current art market production timelines or expectations. Sometimes, you can’t make something for a year because the thing that you should be working on—and the thing that is your work—is your health. That’s your full-time job.  

I deeply believe that making in crip time actually is truthful to the world. We would probably all be better off if we did. Really, it means making work to your capacity, and that can mean a lot of things. You don’t need to be ill to make to your capacity. 

It’s a more authentic timeline of meeting yourself where you’re at, rather than forcing yourself to meet arbitrary or toxic timelines. 

You haven’t chosen to have chronic illness—you’re forced into doing that. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing necessarily. Asking what would I like to do for my long-term goals—I find it very hard to answer because, first of all, I live, like, day to day and, second, when I think about what my long-term goals would be, it’s from the perspective of someone without a disability because I currently cannot see how I would be able to do more than what I’m doing unless I had an enormous amount of more support. 

How did you decide which media to work with for this project? 

Films and writing have always been the two mediums I mostly turn to, and actually they’re the most accessible things for me to do now, being housebound. When I was asked to make the film, I just didn’t have it at all in my means to film new work or leave the house, so I had to kind of figure out how to make a new work out of what I had, which was this personal essay I wrote about being stuck inside in the summer. I made the film throughout another summer of being stuck inside. A lot of chronically ill people turn their camera or phone or whatever onto their surroundings, so I had bits and bobs that I filmed. When I started making films, I would just film tons of different stuff. I had my little Hi8 video camera around the whole time, so I had lots of little clips that I hadn’t used, and I didn’t actually think that I was ever going to use them for anything. But that obviously wasn’t enough, and I didn’t really want to make a film which was just a film inside my house—there’s plenty of films like that. I had a whole bunch of old footage from the 90s. I digitized all of these tapes a few years ago, and they looked so great. A lot of that stuff was filmed out of the house, and then there were funny effects that I filmed which made it into the films. There’s a lot of blobs of color, which are actually motorway lights and ended up being this really nice kind of texture, which floated over and broke up some of the images.  

Hi8 and MiniDVs are the two cameras I was using in the past, so I have footage from both of those. And then there was 16mm direct animation. Each section of the film has a different animation running over it, but the animation is quite transparent, so it’s always there. It’s textural and has multiple meanings. And then I commissioned my friend to make the soundtrack. 

Would you elaborate on the meaning of the title of the film? 

The thing that’s turned me on most about this film is the fact that I can try and get “to year” and “yearing” adopted as a new way of describing spending all this time being sick. I think the word “year” is long enough for people to imagine, “Whoa, you are sick for a whole year. That’s a really long, unbearable time.” But then you make it into “yearing,” and then it could be even less than a year, but it’s probably closer to a year or multiple years. Then I was interested in what would happen if the years were then broken up with periods of being well, with relapses included as well.  

I find it really tiresome to have to explain the last five years of my life. So to not have to say, “Well, I was sick for a couple of years, housebound and bedbound, and then I got well again, and then I had a relapse”—it’s just like, “I was yearing.” I would love for it to become part of the lexicon of chronic illness.  

What does it mean to have “We Year” screened at RestFest? 

There’s this informal network of crip friends who work with each other. Not everyone works together, but we all know each other and there’s really close friendships within this group. They’re all small, crip-led organizations that have been made pretty much for the same purpose, which is remote events, screenings, and workshops. I was just really keen to connect and uplift all of these organizations. We created this program together, and I’m really proud of it. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s really nice making things with your friends. The access intimacy side of it all is real. Creating or programming with your friends is a very accessible way of making because we all understand each other and our capacities. I’ve said capacities a million times. 

You need to coin a new term for that as well. 

Okay, I’ll get on that for next time. 

We Year, through July 12 (if you start watching on June 28); RestFest Film Festival. “I am we, we are a year, we year, we are rest, we rest.” 

[1] “Interview with artist-filmmaker Sop + a Special Screening of their New Film.” RestFest, 2026,
https://restfest.substack.com/p/interview-with-artist-filmmaker-sop. 
[2] In her 2013 book Feminist, Queer, Crip, disability scholar Alison Kafer writes, “Rather than bend disabled bodies and minds to meet the clock, crip time bends the clock to meet disabled bodies and minds.” 

Based on the novel of the same name by André Aciman, this multilingual film took the world by storm, using three languages (French, Italian, and English) in the first five minutes. The resulting language barriers add to feelings of yearning established by the musical score, whose key elements originate from Sufjan Stevens (Futile Devices; Mystery of Love; Visions of Gideon). Music, language, and literature carry the work’s primary themes, namely those of precocity and sexuality. Elio embodies all three—his main hobbies include transcribing music, playing the piano, and reading. These themes are further captured by the symbol of the apricot, its relationship to precocity and sexuality explicitly discussed in the film. Furthermore, the denouement of the film, arrives through a figuratively rich and overtly sensual scene involving Elio and the summer stand-in of the apricot, the peach, (1:34:30-1:40:24), beautifully capturing the relationship between Elio’s intellectual maturity and emotional naïveté.

Controversy surrounds Call Me by Your Name, primarily regarding consent and age statutes. Although Elio is over the 1983 age of consent in Italy and most United States jurisdictions, his relationship with Oliver evokes discomfort. This speaks to the historical Western perception of gay relationships as predatory. Nonetheless, their relationship warrants some skepticism, particularly regarding age-based power dynamics. The Perlmans support and watch over their son as the relationship progresses, frequently checking in and pointing him to literary passages as points of reference. In this way, the film navigates a complicated and loaded social topic, particularly in the queer community.

Further depth is added by considering the historical context of the early 1980s. By 1983, the AIDS epidemic had globally taken hold, the virus only identified in France the May prior to the events of the film. “Gay cancer” was a widely used term for a rare and defining symptom of AIDS, singling out the Western community hardest hit at that time. The merciless, viral specter of death overshadowed the gay liberation movement of the previous decade. HIV is never mentioned in the film, but its presence must be known by Oliver, adding to his own hesitations and fears about his and Elio’s sexualities. 1983 was also rife with relevant political fallout: Gerry Studds––the first openly gay member of Congress––became embroiled in a scandal involving a relationship with a 17-year-old, and Bettino Craxi was elected as Italian Prime Minister, eventually leading to the collapse of the modern Italian political machine. Craxi plays a central role in the peripheral events of the film, his influence appearing on television and in conversations with dinner guests.

Call Me by Your Name is an evocative masterpiece, one of the few movies that I can watch repeatedly (cf. Heated Rivalry). Despite my inherent preference for novels, this film, far and away, manifests a beauty missing from its literary inspiration. The actors perform splendidly, the music deepens the emotional journey, and the cinematography transports the audience perfectly to the setting. Every time I watch it, I discover greater depth and fall in love with it more, even if I can never look at a peach the same way.

Call Me by Your Name 
Director: Luca Guadagnino 
Screenplay: James Ivory 
Awards: Best Adapted Screenplay (Critics’ Choice Awards); Best Male Lead [Chalamet] & Best Cinematography (Independent Spirit Awards); Outstanding Film-Wide Release (GLAAD Media Awards); Best Editing (Nastro d’Argento Awards & Golden Ciak Awards); Breakout Actor [Chalamet] (Gotham Independent Film Awards & Hollywood Film Awards)
Year 2017 
Studio Sony Pictures Classics 
Running Time (in minutes) 132 
Based on Call Me by Your Name by André Aciman 

Web image from Sony Pictures.

DAVID HSU: What are you up to these days? What are you working on?

JACK COULEHAN: In terms of creativity, I’m working on a new collection of poems that I’m editing now. I’m also the book review editor of The Pharos magazine, and that takes up an unexpectedly large amount of time.

DAVID HSU: Do you practice medicine at all anymore?

JACK COULEHAN: No, actually, I retired about 12 years ago now, but I do still teach medical students as a volunteer. It’s a class that I began back when I started at Stony Brook in 1991. It’s called Medicine in Society, and it’s a first-year seminar course that deals with human, social, and interpersonal issues in medicine. We use a lot of literature and film in that and so I’m still a group leader. We also have a master’s degree program in medical humanities, and I teach a course in that. So I still keep my hand a little bit in teaching.

DAVID HSU: Given that you’re doing all this work in the humanities, what do you think about the relationship between medicine and the humanities?

JACK COULEHAN: You know, that’s a surprisingly difficult question for me, because I’ve always had this kind of love/hate relationship with the term medical humanities, because I think it doesn’t quite capture the problem or the issues that we’re trying to address and what we do. In a lot of my work, I tend to cite a piece that Rafael Campo wrote in JAMA in 2005, entitled “The Medical Humanities, For Lack of a Better Term.”  What I’ve really always thought is that what we’re trying to do is to teach students and ourselves, really, to become more reflective and more thoughtful…[Campo] used the terms reconnection, renewal, and meaning. . I think we’re not necessarily encouraged in our profession to become aware of our own needs, to become reflective, thoughtful, to become focused on the personhood of patients and so on. And so I think, through discussion, through examples in literature, film, etc., we can really try to address these issues. I guess the term medical humanities is fine as a placeholder, but I wish there was a better term for it. But, aside from reflecting on the name itself, those are the things I think we’re trying to address in medical humanities. 

When I started in this business, pretty long ago, I was thinking about [medical humanities] mostly in terms of becoming a better doctor by improving one’s empathic skills and reflecting on the patient as a person. But as time has gone on, I’ve become more aware that I think it’s really something that makes you a better person and also more able to cope with the stresses and the challenges of modern medicine. So, I think it works both ways.

DAVID HSU: What are your criticisms of the way medicine is practiced now, since people aren’t doing all this [reconnection, renewal, and meaning]?

JACK COULEHAN:  First of all, I think medicine has to be understood in our current overall culture of increasing subspecialization and focusing on narrower and narrower fields [of practice], using more and more technological instruments, tools, and machines. Also, medicine is more and more controlled by larger interests that are not necessarily oriented towards the primary values of medicine.  There are virtually no constraints on the use of technology, the focus is entirely on disease, on narrow perspectives on disease.  

What I’m saying is that all this detracts from the ability necessary to see the patient in terms other than as an object that has a disease or a person who has a specific problem that needs to be addressed.

Just to give my personal examples, when you get to be 81 years old, as I am, you have a lot of opportunities to experience being a patient. I saw a cardiologist a couple of weeks ago who is an older cardiologist, and he was what I would call an ideal physician. He does interventional cardiology, he’s a professor, well-published, and yet his approach, I would consider to be very therapeutic–very positive, trusting and good eye contact. He wasn’t looking at the computer. He was just a genuine person, genuinely interested. I’ve also gone to a urologist who was just the reverse. Equally specialized in the same medical system, but one who was all about the particular issue, the particular organ, and the particular thing that’s happening to that organ.

It’s possible, you know, when you start talking about the kind of values and the kind of stresses that modern physicians are under, the first response you get is that, “Oh, yeah, that’s great. That’s what we should do.”  But you know, we only have 15 minutes [and] we have to deal with the EMR, etc. But that belies the fact that there are physicians out there who are very good at actual doctoring and others who aren’t, and I think that’s because, well, let’s say, look at those two things on a spectrum…I would say that there is the opportunity, even in today’s world, to help students keep their belief, which most of them have, I think, when they begin, that doctoring is really interested in persons. And I think we could increase the percentage of physicians who feel that way and practice that way.

DAVID HSU: I’m curious because you mentioned that you’re 81. You’ve been around the medical system for decades. How has the system changed from when you first started in it until now? Is it getting worse, or has it always been like this?

JACK COULEHAN: Well, that’s tough. I definitely think it’s worse, but I also think it’s romanticism, you know, to look back and say, “Oh the good old days.” 

I graduated from medical school in 1969 and graduated from my residency and fellowship in 1975. Those were the days when I was learning to take a history. Taking a history–that’s another phrase that I dislike. But we had a little black book, that had 100 or 140 questions to ask in it. There was no concept of medical interviewing, nor the  teaching of it. I had the feeling that a lot of the values of good doctoring were kind of implicit and not necessarily taught in those days.

And so we’ve gone through a whole phase of learning that the medical interview is a therapeutic tool, and now I think we pay a lot of lip service [to it], but I don’t know that we necessarily carry it from its place in the curriculum to its place in the clinic or the hospital.

But there’s no question that it’s gotten worse [although] the technological advances are just so incredible. I remember at some point, as a student, you have this idea that the CT scan will give the answer, or the lab result will give the answer. The patient’s story is secondary. And I remember some instructors saying, no, no, wait a minute, you should know 80% of the time what the answer is before you even request the test. The test is not meant to be, the be-all, end-all of everything, but, definitely, that is the case now. Even within practice, every advancement that happens in technology kind of nudges us closer to thinking of the computer as a solution for everything.

Let’s say, one patient comes in with chest pain or nausea. I think the tendency now is to focus on those symptoms, to think of what disease might cause them, and to do various tests, rather than sitting down with the patient and trying to understand what their situation is.

DAVID HSU: You mentioned this earlier, and I wanted to follow up on this little comment you made about how the practice of humanities and writing has a self-care component to it, and that as you’ve practiced it more, it’s helped you handle stress and different challenges. Can you elaborate a bit about this?

JACK COULEHAN: As a high school, college, and even a medical student, I had this inexplicable urge to write poetry, which I did. It’s pretty juvenile. But anyhow, I did it. Then of course, I gave it up because I was a doctor. I was practicing, I was doing research, etc. And in my mid-40s, I was reaching, I think, what you might call burnout. That might be a little too dramatic, but I felt that there was something missing in my life, in my career, and I happened to have a patient who was a professor of poetry at the University of Pittsburgh, where I was teaching at the time. And one thing led to another, and she encouraged me to start writing again. And I did, and I found very quickly that by writing about…my experiences in medicine, I was able to…work through them and understand my reactions better, and so I think that poetry is a reflective practice that in a sense provides occasion for you to grapple with experiences, issues that have been troubling you, or that on the other hand have been very happy. It can work both ways.

Getting back to medical humanities, I think what we’re trying to do in medical humanities is to stimulate that kind of process in young physicians or young clinicians, whether it’s through poetry, through writing journals, through just meeting in small groups…that kind of thing…and to use not only personal experiences, but literature, poetry, film, etc. as stimuli for that.

DAVID HSU: Let’s wrap up with what you would like to see medhum.org do? How would you like to see it grow in the months and years to come? What type of topics or articles do you want us to tackle? 

JACK COULEHAN: I like the concept of being provocative. I’d like to encourage people to come in through material that’s kind of leading edge. I’d like to see people have conversations, comments and so on.

DAVID HSU: Thank you, Jack for participating in “Meet the MedHum Editors.”   It’s been a pleasure to speak with you.

Written by Jack Coulehan on Medhum.org (View All)

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​​​Public reactions to t​he fatal shooting of a health care insurance company executive in front of a hotel in Midtown Manhattan on December 4, 2024, revealed a deep, seething antipathy across the country directed at the health insurance industry​, an antipathy that has existed for at least thirty years. ​Its ​persistence brings to mind four movies​: As Good as It Gets, Critical Care, and Rainmaker​, released in 1997 and ​John Q ​in 2002, ​each depicting scenarios where rage against the healthcare system play a key role. ​​​​​​ 

​As creators in the arts often do, the makers of these movies were picking up on trends and signals before they were appreciated throughout society, and envisioning how they might play out in real life​ 

How it starts 

“Fucking HMO bastards, pieces of shit…sorry.”  

This is how Carol reacts to the pediatrician who tells her the HMO should have covered certain tests for her suffering, asthmatic son. “Actually, I think that’s their technical name,” is the doctor’s response. This is from a scene in the 1997 movie, As Good as It Gets, directed by James L. Brooks. The movie won major awards from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts, Hollywood Foreign Press Association, and Screen Actors Guild​. It​ also ​drew ​attention from the mainstream press for revealing a building rage about to boil over.  

Ruthe Stein, from the San Francisco Chronicle, sensing the importance of the scene, wrote on December 23, 1997, 

As Good as It Gets may be the first movie to take on HMOs…Brooks strikes a chord when he has Carol use four-letter words to describe the HMO that has mangled her son’s case. The audience hoots and claps its approval.  

​​Then- ​President Clinton pointed to the scene as representative of real life while speaking at an event involving the Health Care Bill of Rights. 

Movies Raging Against the Managed Care Machine 

As Good as It Gets (1997, director – James L. Brooks). The movie mostly concerns the relationship between an author with obsessive compulsive disorder and a waitress whom the author depends on for a routine set of practices around his breakfasts. A side story involves the waitress’ young son who has severe asthma. At one point he needed certain tests done, but his health plan refused coverage. This situation led to the scene in which the boy’s mother reacted to this news in a way that attracted widespread public attention. The scene lasted for less than a minute, yet its effect on the image of managed care activities continued for years.  

The Rainmaker (1997, director – Francis Ford Coppola). The movie plot involves a scam operation posing as a health insurance company. A young lawyer, fresh from passing the bar exam, takes on the company through the case of a plaintiff. The plaintiff is a young man who has a form of leukemia that can be successfully treated but will kill him otherwise. The insurance company denies coverage for the needed treatment and denies seven subsequent appeals. The lawyer eventually ascertains that the company denies all claims as a matter of course. Although a judgment is made against it, the company declares bankruptcy and goes out of business, thereby vitiating the settlement awarded. The patient dies. The movie is perhaps best-known for a line said by the lawyer’s assistant which fueled the growing public sentiment at the time: “There’s nothing more thrilling than nailing an insurance company.”  

Critical Care (1997, director – Sidney Lumet). The setting for the movie is mostly in a hospital critical care unit. As in As Good as It Gets, a particular scene feeds the fury to come about managed care. A resident physician taking care of a terminal patient who has been clear about not wanting to continue treatments that only prolong suffering, argues with a senior physician and mentor about the advisability of putting the patient through yet more futile interventions. With his guard down from a combined state of inebriation and dementia, the senior physician tells the resident that the patient is fully insured and is thus a source of guaranteed revenue. He goes on to explain the economics (and immorality) driving these decisions.  

[With HMOs] we get paid not to perform medical procedures. It’s a little like when the government pays the farmers not to grow crops. However, with insurance we get paid to perform medical procedures. Do you understand the difference?  

On that basis, and that basis alone, he demands that the resident proceed full speed ahead. 

With this scene, the moviemaker is going further than pointing to just the managed care organizations as the source of rage, but also to the health care providers who can spot opportunities for self-dealing. Viewers already sensitized to managed care activities could become even more worried, incensed, or nihilistic about the situation.  

John Q (2002, director – Nick Cassavetes). About the same time John Q. Archibald’s full-time factory job is cut in half, along with his health insurance, his son collapses from heart failure while playing in a Little League baseball game. After a cardiologist tells John about his son’s need for a heart transplant and the financial requirements which he can’t meet, a nurse he asked why his heart condition had not been detected before tells them, “HMOs pay the doctors not to test. That’s how they keep costs down.” This comes up again when John asks the cardiologist how it could be that his son’s condition had never been discovered. An accompanying intern chimes in saying,  

HMOs pay their doctors not to test. That’s their way of keeping costs down. Let’s say Mike did need additional testing and insurance says they won’t cover them. The doctor keeps his mouth shut and, come Christmas, the HMO sends the doctor a fat-ass bonus check. 

The surgeon qualifies the intern’s assertion as possible but unlikely.  

Try as he might, John Q cannot come up with the $75,000 down payment. The hospital administrator will not put his son on the transplant list, and he is released to be taken home where he will die. John pulls out a gun and takes the emergency room hostage. No one is killed, no one is shot, and a solution is found in the end. However, the movie raised the level of rage to one that produced the possibility of gun violence.  

How It Ends? 

Nearly thirty years have passed since these first movies depicted the rage that came in response to aggressive measures directed at managing health care costs, especially when they involved restrictions on certain products and services health care providers ordered and patients expected. Did these movies get it right? In large measure, they did. Management activities got more aggressive over the years and indeed many of those portrayed that were particularly egregious became a reality for some. As a medical affairs executive in a large pharmacy benefit company before, during, and after these movies were released, I witnessed (and fought against) the scenarios they depict as well as many others as bad or worse (with the exception of gun violence).  

Where the movies helped to identify the problems early and possibly stoked the existing rage by bringing attention to them, they, along with professional health organizations, news media, and consumer advocates, pushed legislatures and regulatory agencies into creating laws and rules concerning how these activities are managed. These measures helped some, but media stories, books, and movies highlighting the problems appear regularly, keeping the rage alive, and maybe even intensifying it to the level anticipated in John Q. Maybe, even, to the level that played out on an early morning Manhattan street in December 2024.  

Podcast: The Clinic & The Person

Film Trailers

As Good as It Gets Trailer

John Q Trailer

The Rainmaker Trailer

Critical Care Trailer

Web photo by Christian Harb 

We return to the subject of how terrible the HIV/AIDS crisis was at its peak. The first time (Episode 9) we drew from a memoir, documentary film, and a literary novel. This time we feature the graphic memoir, Taking Turns: Stories from HIV/AIDS Care Unit 371 with the author MK Czerwiec. She created a memoir of her time as a nurse in an HIV/AIDS using the comic medium. Since then, Czerwiec has become a leading figure in Graphic Medicine. We talk to her about the Graphic Medicine field and its many applications, and about the many illustrative and poignant insights her book offers about the AIDS crisis in ways biomedical texts and few of the other arts can do nearly as well.

Links:
Website for Taking Turns: Stories from HIV/AIDS Care Unit 372
MK Czerwiec’s website
Graphic Medicine organization website
Russell Teagarden’s blog piece on Taking Turns: Stories from HIV/AIDS Care Unit 372 in According to the Arts

The Clinic & The Person is a podcast developed by our editor Russell Teagarden to summon or quicken the attention of health care professionals, their educators, researchers and others to the interests and plights of people with specific health problems aided through knowledge and perspectives the humanities provide.

Feature photo by National Cancer Institute

What could it be like to have dementia? We can’t know. But the arts can imagine what people with dementia could be going through, and many works have been produced for that purpose. We feature a literary novel (The Wilderness), and a play (The Father) and its movie adaptation, offering sophisticated renderings of dementia for consideration. In the course of our conversation about these works and how they imagine dementia, we include: how an illusionist was part of the creative team in The Father to produce a sense of disorientation among audience members; how the metaphor of “the wilderness” is used in the novel and more broadly in various texts from the beginning of civilization; and how well the psalm used in the novel worked and builds on the place of psalms as texts for understanding how people react when threatened by significant life events.

Featured Content Sources:
• The Wilderness, by Samantha Harvey, Anchor Books, 2009.
• The Father (play), Florian Zeller playwright, Doug Hughes director, Christopher Hampton translator, NYC Broadway 2016 + tour sites, London West End 2015 + tour sites.
• The Father (movie), Florian Zeller screenwriter and director, Christopher Hampton translator, Trademark Films, release date US – 2/26/21, available through many streaming services. 

Links:
Russell Teagarden’s associated blog pieces at According to the Arts: 
• The Wilderness: the novel and literary excerpts compared with biomedical text
• The Father: the play and the movie

Russell Teagarden’s review of The Father (movie) in the journal, The Pharos.
Podcast episode 6, which features dementia related to Parkinson’s disease and expressed through the poetry (sonnets) of Micheal O’Siadhail is here.
Background information on development of Alzheimer’s disease as an obscure and rare disease to a broad categorization of dementia: 
Claudia Chaufan, Brooke Hollister, Jennifer Nazareno, Patrick Fox. Medical ideology as a double-edged sword: The politics of cure and care in the making of Alzheimer’s disease. Soc Sci Med 2012;74:788-795.
Patrick Fox.  From Senility to Alzheimer’s Disease: The Rise of the Alzheimer’s Disease Movement. The Milbank Quarterly 1989; 67:58-102.

Feature image by Margarida CSilva