In Patience, Out of the Box

HBO’s new series In Treatment daringly opens onto the remote topic of psychotherapy and delivers a television classic. Unlike its predecessors, who have similarly incorporated psychotherapy (i.e. The Sopranos and State of Mind) – if only to inflect the already dysfunctional lives of their protagonists – In Treatment develops the characters within the doctor’s office and only there. The result: psychotherapy becomes something more than a prop, something less sensational and taboo, more raw and authentic; it offers the opportunity for a tightly woven creative exploration into the potential of an affective minimalism.

The genius of the show is, without a doubt, realized in a collective effort. The writers have taken on the Herculean task of restoring the forgotten art of conversation. In today’s culture, where television is for the large part unscripted or dulled by laugh tracks, a show of pure dialogue is a thorn in the side. There is something novel about the idea of an hour of dialogue. It not only places the heavy burden on the actors to realize the demanding nature of their characters. It also demands the subtle craft of the technical crew. In the case of the cinematographer, the intimacy of the office is never intruded: the camera is always the unobserved observer.

Each episode of In Treatment unfolds like an orchestral set. There are typically a series of movements that arise from the dizzying circularity of the patient’s logic. The therapist, Paul (Gabriel Byrne), is a conductor; whose sonorous linguistic acts gives shape to the ground swell that evades description. At his best, Paul is able to loop the conversation back onto itself, and fabricate a kind of crescendo. If successful, this artistic will has the ability to culminate in an epiphany for the patient (and viewer). Although, more often than not, Paul and his patients plummet deeper into the piece, leading Laura (Melissa George) to say: “I came here in darkness , and now I’m leaving into an even bigger one.”

The most tantalizing moments of sessions are Paul’s own therapy session. It is here where the seeming artistry is exposed for its vanity. Gina (Dianna West) – former mentor and estranged friend – is quite and unassuming. She lets Paul perform acrobatics, yet at every moment holds him to the literal meaning of his expressions. The omnipotent and collected Paul becomes agitated, insisting each time that she is twisting his words. This is a fine moment in television today. The craft is seamless, subtle and clean. Byrne and West generate more action with their performances than any stunt crew.

As to be expected, there will be those in the chorus of popular media that demand more action. To do so, however, would be to miss the point of this carefully crafted show. The action is in the inaction: the pauses and moments between soliloquy. It is the unintentional as opposed to the intentional that the viewer will have to develop sensitivity for. Admittedly, there isn’t much to the show, but dedicated viewers will reap unexpected benefits.