Hysteria opens with a montage — Victorian
ladies from old to young are complaining to an unseen doctor about their
troubles, ranging from uncontrollable sobbing to a vague complaint of
“feelings.” It’s the 1880s, and hysteria is an epidemic among the women
of London. We’re introduced introduced to a richly textured world of
horse-drawn carriages and classist social morals. It’s a time when a
woman riding a bicycle is shocking, and you could lose your home over a
200 dollar debt.
Hugh Dancy plays Dr. Mortimer Granville, a
handsome young doctor whose revolutionary ideas (germ theory!) and
straightforward manner get him kicked out of most of London’s hospitals.
He eventually lands at Dr. Robert Dalrymple’s practice. The good Dr.
Dalrymple is an expert in vulvar massage — the treatment relieves those
annoying thoughts and mood swings associated with hysteria. The doctors
naively assume that the stimulation provides no pleasure (pleasure is, of course,
only possible through penetrative sex), and a half-hour under Dr.
Dalrymple’s twirling index finger brings a “paroxysm” (read: orgasm)
that brings the uterus back into normal alignment and cures the woman…
at least until next week.
Maggie Gyllenhaal explodes onto the screen,
railing about the incipient women’s revolution and being the Dalrymple
family’s embarrassing black sheep: she works at a settlement house,
helping poor women and children get their lives together. She’s hands-on
and feisty, apologizing for nothing. Her father will offer no financial
support until she settles down and gets married. Felicity Jones plays
Emily Dalrymple, Charlotte’s sister, and Jones has the unenviable job of
playing Granville’s safe crush: the doctor’s daughter, steeped in
social niceties and a believer in the debunked science of phrenology.
Compared to Gyllenhaal, Jones sort of fades (for those who want to see
her shine in a more modern love story, check out Like Crazy, in
which she sparkles). Emily represents the past; Charlotte, though brash
and overwhelming at times, is moving towards the future. Dr. Granville
is stuck between what he should do, and what he feels obliged towards.
It becomes apparent that Dr. Granville is
quite accomplished at vulvar massage, and the practice is booming. But
the magic touch doesn’t come without a price: Granville develops a
painful spasm in his hand that interferes with his ability to treat his
clients. After failing to satisfy an influential patient, the young
doctor is accused of besmirching the Dalrymple practice and is
dismissed. He retreats back to his friend and benefactor Edmund, and
begins to soothe himself with Edmund’s new invention: a vibrating,
rotating feather duster. As Granville handles the tool, he notices the
similarity between his clinical work and the tool’s effects. Eureka! The
electric vibrator is born.
The movie springs forward with an
engagement and a trial, several on-screen orgasms and a heartfelt
speech. The vibrator is a success, of course, but Charlotte is in
financial trouble and Dr. Granville has a tough romantic decision to
make. The movie is sprightly and light on its feet: the characters are
likeable and the dialogue is heavy on sexy-sounding puns. Hysteria trips
up a little when it delves into politics — Charlotte is liberal even by
today’s standards, but her vision of a clean, safe place for women and
their children is unimpeachable. The acting is solid across the board,
and although the film could have easily become a trifle, the politics
keep it grounded and meaningful. It’s the stuff of romantic comedy, to
be sure, but the vibrator is one of the best inventions of the last 150
years — a tool that allows women to take control of their sexual
pleasure — and this looks at its invention is a solid little gem.
