This Jack Nicholson-starring pic tells of a rebellious con man who gets sent to a mental health institution and then rallies the patients against an oppressive head nurse. It makes strong statements against dehumanizing medical treatments and praises the healing power of friendship. And it’s filled with strong performances. But this award winner is also packed with foul language, heavy drinking, sexual situations and some surprising violence—including a graphic depiction of suicide.
His name is Randall Patrick McMurphy.
However, as Dr. Spivey glances through the file and matches it up with the man sitting across from his desk—lounging back, gazing at the room and its accoutrements with a casual smirk—he’s certain that this man never goes by Randall Patrick. No, this is more of a last-name-only fellow. Maybe just “Mac” to friends.
McMurphy is also not the typical patient checking into Spivey’s mental health facility. No. This fellow may have pretended to be emotionally disturbed enough to get out of a penitentiary work detail, and he may indeed have some problems in life, but he definitely doesn’t belong here.
Spivey reads: Five prior arrests for assault. Statutory rape with a minor.
Yes, this man is definitely a troubled individual. But he was likely shuffled over to Spivey’s hospital so that some prison warden wouldn’t have to deal with him. So, Spivey’ll keep him here long enough for the doctors in the ward to clear him and then send him back.
And that’s exactly what Dr. Spivey tells Randall Patrick. “McMurphy’s fine,” the man replies, as expected. They have a pleasant conversation. McMurphy has a cigarette. And then it’s time for McMurphy to head off to the ward.
As McMurphy leaves, Spivey sighs. Nurse Ratched will keep the man in line, he thinks. The good doctor is sure that McMurphy will strain against the rules, the structure of things. But between Nurse Ratched’s unsmiling, nonconfrontational dominance, her steady and unwavering system, and the compulsory tranquilizers, McMurphy will soon settle in. They all do.
Dr. Spivey, however, has no idea how sharp and, in his own way, how unwavering McMurphy is himself. He’s never been the sort to settle in. Even in a place packed with what he sees as “headcases,” he’ll find some fun. He’ll stir up a bit of spontaneous defiance, some innocent little rebellion. You know, the sort of stuff that keeps things fresh.
As he shuffles in with an attendant on either side, he looks around at the “freak show” sitting in chairs, staring blankly, murmuring to themselves and waltzing around with an arm full of nothing but air. McMurphy is sure he’s gonna enjoy this stint. It’s a whole lot better than breaking rocks in a prison work detail.
He’ll start things off by just, you know, not swallowing the brain-numbing horse pills they’re handing out like candy. And that’s as easy as … one, two, spit in your shoe.
“Hey there. Name’s McMurphy,” he says to a small man with a silly grin on his face. “You can call me Mac.”
McMurphy is a free spirit who doesn’t think of himself as a bad guy at all. He’s not trying to be purposely harmful: In his own way, he’s trying to help others. As he pushes back against Nurse Ratched’s strict routines, he’s convinced he’s doing so for both himself and for the others there in the ward. In fact, even though his actions are sometimes foolish and dangerous—such as breaking the men out for a fishing trip, and breaking women in with booze—he does those things in a spirit of benevolence.
Of course, it’s easy to see that McMurphy’s choices are also destructive ones, no matter what his intentions may be. But in some cases, his words and actions challenge the patients (many of whom are there by their own volition) to think differently about how they might be able to live independently and healthily outside of a hospital environment.
Ultimately, the film makes the point that some elements of institutionalized mental health care can be potentially more harmful than helpful. And it points out that the mentally impaired and emotionally wounded among us need thoughtful and loving care to help them obtain better health.
None.
A patient talks about his emotional distress over his wife’s repeated affairs. And he gets angry when another patient implies he’s “queer.”
One young man, Billy, speaks of his difficulty communicating with women. McMurphy makes arrangements for Billy to have sex with a woman he knows. (The young woman kisses both McMurphy and Billy.) We see she and Billy on a small bed, entwined and apparently naked but strategically covered by a sheet. McMurphy also takes this woman off to have sex in a separate scene. The men of the ward gather to watch them through a window. But then the couple is interrupted, and we see the young woman dressed in panties, while covering her chest.
McMurphy carries a deck of cards with him that have pictures of naked women printed on them. He shows the pictures to some on his fellow inmates. (The camera catches glimpses of women with bare backsides on two occasions.) McMurphy makes several joking comments about the size of another inmate’s genitals. And he gives another patient a sexually tinged nickname. McMurphy pantomimes a masturbatory movement to make a point.
After several of McMurphy’s hijinks, the facility’s doctors gather to evaluate him, noting that he’s “not crazy, but he’s dangerous.” One, however, thinks he should stay at the hospital, so they have him officially admitted as a long-term patient.
A man who received shock treatment jokes about the outcome of his next sexual encounter.
There are some fights and struggles that break out on the ward. A few become excessively violent with thrown kicks and punches. Guards intervene, beating some of the men down and subduing them. During one screaming moment, someone smashes a glass window, cutting his arm.
After a violent incident in the ward, two men are taken away for shock treatment. We watch one treatment as aides bind the man with restraints and deliver a high-powered shock to his temples. He writhes and contorts in agony.
A man breaks a bottle and uses it to kill himself. We see the aftermath, his body on the floor in a pool of blood with a slit throat. We hear of someone’s attempted suicide after being sexually rejected by a woman. Someone is taken away and returns a few days later with prominent scars on his forehead where doctors had performed a lobotomy.
An individual is held down and smothered with a pillow in his sleep. We watch as the victim struggles fruitlessly. Then, we see his tortured features after the pillow is removed. A woman is struck to the ground and choked by a raging man. She’s saved only when guards arrive and club her attacker unconscious.
Some patients wear full restraints at night as they sleep. A large individual rips up a heavy, granite hydrotherapy fountain and uses it to smash open some barred windows.
As already mentioned, McMurphy has five counts of assault on his record, and he statutory raped a minor.
There are over 30 f-words and nearly 20 s-words that are bunched together with a handful of uses each of the words “a–,” “h—,” “b–ch,” “d–n” and “a–hole.” The c-word is used once.
God’s and Jesus’ names are abused over 20 times collectively. (11 of those blend God with “d–n.”)
The men on the ward all freely smoke, and they also gamble using their cigarettes as cash. (Nurse Ratched uses the withholding of cigarettes as a punishment.)
McMurphy makes arrangements to have bottles of booze brought in on Christmas Eve. People swill from bottles, and some immobile and mentally impaired patients are served alcohol through hoses and tubes. Nearly all of the men (and two women) get roaringly drunk and pass out.
Someone talks about his father being tormented and turning to alcohol, and how that addiction slowly killed him.
On several occasions, the men in the ward line up to be administered various medications. (McMurphy pops his into his mouth but then spits the pill back out.)
Nurse Ratched repeatedly uses her position of power and her quiet passive aggression to frustrate and anger McMurphy and others. When a young man with a stutter stands up for himself, the impediment disappears. But then Nurse Ratched berates him to the point where his stuttering overwhelms him once more. Nurse Ratched also leads therapy discussion groups with the men in the ward. On these occasions, she quietly manipulates the men, even instigating loud and angry arguments that almost become violent.
McMurphy steals a bus and a boat. He lies repeatedly. While fishing for the first time in his life, an inmate pops out the eye of a fish and plays with it.
Considered one of actor Jack Nicholson’s most memorable performances, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest won all five major Academy Awards in 1976 (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress and Best Adapted Screenplay).
Nicholson’s R.P. McMurphy is a rebellious, derisively free-spirited troublemaker who flies in the face of the rigid order of a mental health institution he’s mistakenly shuffled off to. And audiences of the mid ‘70s quickly claimed the film as an antiestablishment parable that disparaged the dehumanizing effects of such institutions and unchecked authority.
But there’s also a powerful nod here toward the healing power of simply caring openly for others. And from a purely aesthetic perspective, the film is definitely packed with solid performances and emotional moments.
However, there are some other things well worth noting. The language is percussively foul; the film doesn’t shy away from drunken sexuality; there’s emotional and physical abuse at every turn; and the whole shebang is capped off with a bloody suicide and a mercy killing.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest may indeed be seen as an Academy Award-winning American classic. But it feathers its cinematic nest with foul content that will make many discerning viewers fly in a different direction.
After spending more than two decades touring, directing, writing and producing for Christian theater and radio (most recently for Adventures in Odyssey, which he still contributes to), Bob joined the Plugged In staff to help us focus more heavily on video games. He is also one of our primary movie reviewers.
