One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest at 50

The first thing McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) does when he is transferred from the work farm to the mental hospital is laugh at one of the guards and kiss the other one.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest turns 50 today. Too many years have passed since I last enjoyed this cinematic marvel and I found myself asking the same question as always: why don't I watch this movie more often? It's an astonishing film. For the first two-thirds of its runtime, it's genuinely hilarious and surprisingly fun. There are warm scenes and plenty of laugh-out-loud moments. You're just hanging out with these guys, laughing at McMurphy's antics.

I don't watch particular films obsessively anymore (except when I initially discover them as I did with Tarkovsky and Stalker a couple of years ago, for example). I used to, but these days I really don't have any "watch it every year" type movies—except for The Fellowship of the Ring with Avery at Christmas, and the whole LOTR trilogy if there's time, but there's never 12-hours to spare luxuriously anymore. Still, this film deserves more attention from me than it gets.

He's the total rebel from the start, flicking a deck of cards during this first group therapy session.

One of the few shots of the entire cast (minus Ratchet and the staff).

Here's another a bit later. McMurphy has everyone whooping and hollering at a blank TV screen as he calls the World Series game that never happened that way. Grouped with the previous scene, this shows progression as McMurphy comes to mean more to the other men.

McMurphy chooses the completely fragile Cheswick (Sydney Lassick) to steer the boat during the fishing trip. Candy is peeking from behind.

They land a couple of big catches which invigorates all the men.

Of course, in previous viewings I was always focusing (rightly) on Jack Nicholson's brilliant performance. This great actor was just entering his prime. Following Chinatown in 1974 with the energy and unpredictability of Randle McMurphy in 1975 is one of the greatest back-to-back portrayals in motion picture history. The two portrayals could not be more different, showing his great range as an actor. The movie is funny because of him, the way he lights up the room and gets everyone engaged. He's magnetic, wild, sarcastic, charming, someone who refuses to be subdued. Which is part of his problem, but we’ll come back to that.

What really gripped me as I watched this time around was the amazing Louise Fletcher. My understanding is that it was tough for the producers to find an actress willing to take the part. It is—and was—iconic to the extent that it actually flattened the actress's career, even though she won the Oscar for it and does an absolutely mind-blowing job in the film. Hmmm. She won an Academy Award for Best Actress and the role still damaged her career because Nurse Ratched became so indelibly associated with her. That's how powerful her performance is and how classic the role became.

She is the lone counterweight to this collection of apparent crazies and misfits. One movie reviewer I respect compared her to HAL 9000 in 2001:A Space Odyssey and found her performance "Kubrickian," and I totally agree. She is the voice and presence of order and control—Apollonian control, if you want to use Nietzsche's terms. Nicholson is spontaneity and fun—pure Dionysian energy. The Apollonian and Dionysian framework just struck me as obvious with this viewing and drew me into her performance all the more.

But Cuckoo’s Nest can’t be categorized as simply good versus evil or even order versus chaos. The film is ambiguous enough to be taken multiple ways, depending on your mood or who’s watching. It is also about doing a job professionally versus let's have some fun. It is for that reason—anti-fun as much as "controlling"—that causes Nurse Ratched (what a name! so close to Wretched) to seem evil when all she is doing is following the strict guidelines of institutional protocol. In fact, she becomes the direct victim of a choking attack by an unstable patient during the film. It is possible to see her as a victim, but no one, including myself, really views her that way. Deep down, the film wants to us to say, “she deserved it.”

And McMurphy isn't just a lovable rogue. He's in this institution because he's looking for an easy way to spend the rest of a prison sentence for committing multiple assaults in addition to statutory rape. He's capable of violence—we know this from the start. So when the violence comes later, it's not out of nowhere. The film makes us understand why it happens, even as we see the horror of it.

Chief (William Sampson) smiles for the first time in the film. McMurphy "taught" him how to play "put the ball in the hole."

Nurse Ratched (Louise Fetcher) in her most evil look, responding to Cheswick yelling "Piss on your rules!" as the group session turns into chaos.

The moment Chief says "Thank you. Ah, Juicy Fruit." His first of few utterances in the film. This happens almost two-thirds of the way through. Everyone thinks he can't speak or hear.

An intense moment when the camera just stays on McMurphy during his electroshock convulsions. "This won't hurt."

These events ultimately prompt the Chief, a seemingly minor character, supposedly deaf and dumb (as we said in the 1970’s), to utter his revelatory “Juicy Fruit” line to McMurphy and to escape the hospital. That's freedom and madness and control and strength and even humor—all the undercurrents of the film—coming together to finish it.

Like Fletcher, the choice of Miloš Forman to direct the film was not the first, second, or even third choice. He was an unknown in America at the time, coming here from Czechoslovakia. But he shined clear brilliance both strategically and tactically and made the film into something extraordinary. When he came onto Cuckoo’s Nest the film didn’t yet have a solid visual concept. Forman decided early on that he wanted authenticity rather than Hollywood set design, so he arranged to shoot in an actual working mental institution, the Oregon State Hospital.

He spent time there with the cast before filming started, having them mingle with real patients and staff. The hospital’s actual superintendent, Dr. Dean Brooks, even played the superintendent (Dr. Spivey) in the movie. That immersion was very much Forman’s doing, part of his realism-driven approach—same impulse he’d later bring to Amadeus, where he insisted on real texture and chaos rather than studio control.

Moreover, the cast, Nicholson included, stayed the first week or so of shooting inside the institution among the patients, sleeping and eating with them, to get into their various characters. Fletcher lived away from everyone, and this contributed to the performances all around. That separation creates real tension. You can feel it. She walks into that room like an outsider, like someone everyone has to accommodate, because that's actually what was happening.

One of Forman’s many remarkable decisions was to allow the patients, the hospital’s infirmed, to choose many of the supporting cast actors. Actors would come in and audition for these treated residents, and the patients would decide who they liked, who they wanted to be around. Unparalleled. That means the actors sitting at those card tables are people the actual patients responded to. The warmth in those scenes isn't just good acting—it's real human connection.

It was decided that the film would only feature one really well-known actor, Nicholson. Many of the supporting cast were newbies. Danny DeVito had played the role of Martini in the stage play. Brad Dourif had been in some bit parts previously but nothing of note, this was basically his debut role and he auditioned in front of a group of about 30 patients. This was Christopher Loyd’s first film, though he was selected by more traditional means. The entire cast is superior despite the general lack of experience. Another tribute to Forman’s ability to get the performances he needed from the ensemble as a whole.

Examples of Forman’s tactical prowess abound. The shot framing, the edited tension, the way he visually captures all the outstanding performances—he told everyone what they were doing and yet encouraged spontaneity, which allowed the real patients to actually fit in within his structure. This is his film. He made the decisions. And one of the smartest decisions was giving people room to be human within the framework he'd created.

The film is filled with card table scenes. They look casual, almost improvised, but Forman ensures that everything about the emotional life of that ward happens at that table. People arguing, laughing, muttering, reacting to each other without performing. The camera zooms in or out, the edits switch from group shots to close-ups as dictated by the moment all carefully orchestrated by Forman.

There are three primary humorous sequences that define the film: the basketball game, the fishing trip, and the Christmas night party. These are McMurphy's greatest hits, the moments where he truly brings life and chaos and joy to the ward.

Everybody talks about the fishing trip, and that is a highlight of the film. It features some of Forman’s best editing and pacing, balancing the tension between everything going awry (crazy people are piloting and fishing at sea, after all) and everyone passing the rod around, trying to reel in the big fish while the boat basically churns in circles. Hilarious semi-controlled mayhem.

But for me personally, the basketball game has always resonated most, and it remained so with this viewing. It is masterful. The basketball game is the seed—McMurphy running around like the world's least qualified coach, trying to willfully make these guys enthused about something as simple as a game. He tries to get Chief, who is gigantic, to “put the ball in the hole.” He tries to encourage the Chief, who just stares. He rather comically rides (without control) upon one of the other patient’s shoulders to get himself up there in order to demonstrate how it works. Then the Chief—who has been still and silent—reaches for the ball. Just that one motion shifts everything. You can feel a sudden possibility. We go on to watch the Chief score a few baskets. He smiles for the first time and even trots from one of the court to the other. It is a little moment of triumph – and I don’t mean the game.

The Christmas after-hours party is the climax of McMurphy's rebellion—bringing Candy and her friend into the ward, alcohol flowing, everyone finally cutting loose completely. Just trashing the place. It's chaotic and joyful and feels like genuine freedom. That's what makes what comes after so disturbing. But I’m coming to that in a moment.

The Christmas night party. When almost discovered, the patients are all crammed into a shortage room for a moment. Chaos ensues.

An almost 60-second close-up of McMurphy. This is the most introspective moment in the film. It is ambiguous as to what he is actually thinking but he apparently goes through a couple of emotions/experiences. Marvelous acting.

Nurse Ratched's cap has been soiled by the party. Debris of a fun time is everywhere. Martini (Danny DeVito) returns the cap. A rare shot of the entire cast, including Fletcher.

Billy (Brad Dourif) briefly basks in the group approval of his escapades with Candy.

He gets violent when Ratched says she is going to tell his mother.

McMurphy flies into Ratched in a very violent scene.

Two exchanges between Dr. Spivey and McMurphy really caught my attention this time. Both happen early in the film, and both are loaded with meaning that only becomes clear once you know where the story goes. And I never really noticed them so distinctively before. They are setup scenes that don’t particularly call attention to themselves, which is one reason their significance is easy to miss.

The first exchange goes like this, with Spivey speaking first:

"Well, the real reason you were sent over here was to be evaluated."

"Yeah."

"To determine if you're mentally ill."

"Uh-huh."

"This is the real reason. Why do you think they might think that?"

"Well as near as I can figure out it's because I fight and fu#k too much."

"In the penitentiary???"

"No, no, no. You mean why...wait a minute...wait a minute..."

"Why were you sent over here from the work farm?"

"Oh...yeah...oh...well, I really don't know doc."

"Well it says here..."

"It ain't up to me though...it ain't up to me though..."

"One...two...three...four...you've got at least five arrests for assault."

"Yeah."

"What can you tell me about that?"

"Five fights huh? Rocky Marciano's got 40 and he's a millionaire."

Did you catch it? Not the smartass Marciano line. Spivey asks why “they” think he's mentally ill—meaning the work farm authorities who transferred him. But McMurphy initially answers about his whole life: "I fight and fu#k too much." That's how McMurphy sees himself at his core and it is the only time we get such honesty, even if it arises from his misunderstanding of the inquiry. He's not even thinking about the specific transfer. He's answering the broader existential question of why anyone would think there's something wrong with R.P. McMurphy. This reveals who McMurphy really thinks he is—a guy who fights and fu#ks too much. That's his self-conception.

A bit later, the second exchange goes like this (Spivey first, again):

"Tell me, do you think there is anything wrong with your mind really?"

"Not a thing doc. I'm a goddamn marvel of modern science."

Pause.

"Well, you're going to be here for a period for us to evaluate you. We're going to study you."

"Uh-huh."

"We're going to make the determinations as to what we are going to do. And give you the necessary treatment..."

"(interrupting) Hey doc let me just tell you this. I'm here to cooperate with you 100%. 100%. I'll be just right down the line with you. You watch. 'Cause I think we ought to get to the bottom of R.P. McMurphy."

Spivey says: "We're going to study you" and “give the necessary treatment." Spivey basically encapsulates everything that will come to pass right there in that exchange. And McMurphy, thinking he's playing along, says "let's get to the bottom of R.P. McMurphy"—prophesying his own lobotomy.

The harrowing irony of "I'm a goddamn marvel of modern science" only becomes clear later when they turn him into a vegetable in the name of protocol via what was considered "modern science" 50 years ago.

But what struck me with this viewing is that McMurphy does study himself. Not through their clinical evaluations, but through his interactions with the patients and staff. He discovers who he actually is, what he means to them. There is a moment much later in the film when he's waiting for Billy and Candy, the camera just remains on his face for almost a full minute, serious, ever-changing and ambiguous—that's not just him weighing the cost of staying.

He’s been changed by his experience in the film. It might be due to the shocking (pun intended) electroshock therapy he is given as the result of a fight earlier. It might be the place itself, the time he’s spent there, the patients that he’s met and who obviously look to him with almost a constant sense of amazement. For the first time, we see McMurphy contemplating himself. There’s no dialogue. Just a tight close-up of Nicholson delivering his Academy Award winning performance. That's the culmination of his self-study. Has he figured out who R.P. McMurphy really is? I don’t think so, but he’s definitely starting to look more closely.

The tragedy is that just as he is on the edge of discovering something meaningful about who he is, “they” – those observing him – inflict "the necessary treatment" Spivey promised. They literally "get to the bottom" of him just as he begins to get to the bottom of himself.

That's just my opinion, of course. But those two exchanges of dialog set up more than they seem.

There is a scene involving the 1963 World Series. McMurphy knows baseball and wants to watch the Series on TV but it will require a change in the schedule. Nurse Ratched advises against that but McMurphy stands his ground. So, they agree to the matter to a vote. There are actually two such votes in the film. I never thought about it before. Anyway, in the first vote only a couple of the other guys vote with McMurphy but it is not enough. In the second the entire group therapy session guys voted to watch. McMurphy thinks he has a landslife but Nurse Ratched merely points out there are others on the ward (so infirmed that they can’t participate in group therapy sessions but they are kind of floating in the background).

There is a hilarious continuous dolly shot of McMurphy trying to get any of these other strange guys to raise their hand and vote to watch the World Series on TV. Finally, he come to Chief you just stares at him and his hand and then slowly raises his hand. But Nurse Ratched won’t allow it because the vote was closed in the group therapy session.

So, McMurphy decides to watch the blank TV and call the game for himself as if it were going on. He also reacts like excited fans as he does the play by lay, a wonderful moment to watch, really. Slowly, the others shuffle over and they too watch the blank screen but they are listening to McMurphy, responding to his excitement and fantasy and soon the entire group is screaming at a home run that never happened. Up yours Ratched.

The film is filled with wonderful moments like this. Nevertheless, there is an underlying current of despair throughout Cuckoo’s Nest. It is really secondary, a slight uneasiness until McMurphy's first electroshock therapy, which occurs roughly two-thirds of the way through the film—around 86 minutes into the 133-minute runtime. There are about 47 minutes left at that point. The camera stays on him completely through the involuntary jerking. Forman doesn't cut away. He makes us watch what the institution does to people. It's the first jolt of seriousness (pun intended) inflicted upon unpredictable McMurphy.

But, before this, McMurphy has a different kind of jolt...or at least some disorientation. During a group therapy session about halfway through the film he learns (as does the audience) that most of the guys in the session are “voluntary” not “committed.” They are literally free to leave any time they want. This makes no sense to him at all. And just as Billy triggers McMurphy’s behavior late in the film, he does so here. When he admits he is free, not committed, the flabbergasted McMurphy asks what he’s doing here. He should be out chasing girls and having fun. Then he opines out for frustration…

“You think you’re crazy or something? Well, you’re not. You’re not. You’re no crazier than the average asshole out walking on the streets and that’s it.” To which Nurse Ratched survey’s the group in silence and offers: “Those are very challenging observations you made Randle.” The fact that McMurphy is actually among the “committed” due to being kept under observation and most of the rest of these misfits are not is, well, mind-blowing to McMurphy and rather surprising to the rest of us. What does it symbolize, if anything? We are left to think what we will.

There are many card playing scenes throughout the film. This one brings us back into the routine at the facility. You can see Nurse Ratched in her neck brace in the background nurse's station.

Initially, Chief is happy to see McMurphy return, until he notices the non-responsiveness and the lobotomy scar.

Taber (Christopher Loyd) screams with delight at Chief making his escape. This shout helps provide symmetry between the opening and closing of the film by tying back to McMurphy's mouth-gapping laugh at the beginning. Exteriors of nature also bookend the movie. The ending is the beginning except with a bit more triumph in the last shot in the film.

After the electroshock treatment, McMurphy decides to let his certain escape at the Christmas party wait in order for Billy to get some time with Candy at the end of the Christmas night party. The camera stays on his face for almost 60 seconds without an edit or a word of dialogue. I have always wondered about that shot. Nicholson delivers a subtle, powerful performance here with his face serious yet ambiguous. You can't quite read what he's thinking, but you feel the weight of it.

As I said earlier, I think this is McMurphy contemplating himself—the culmination of his self-study through his interactions with the patients. But it's also him knowing what they can do to him now. He's been through the electroshock. And that knowledge is in his face during that long, silent 60 seconds close-up. He's choosing to stay for Billy’s sake, knowing what the cost might be. He's figured out who R.P. McMurphy really is, and he's making a choice based on that understanding. Billy has developed a special closeness to him, and perhaps he for Billy as well. That part is necessarily left ambiguous.

It seems that McMurphy wants to escape the hospital. That is easily taken for granted but it may actually not be true, or at least not his primary goal. For most of us, escape means freedom. But for McMurphy, as we begin to delve deeper into his character, it seems that escape does not equal freedom. Rather, it is a way to cause disruption, which clearly fits his MO.

He wants to disrupt whatever his situation happens to be. He values disruption over supposed freedom, which is likely the source of all his troubles with the law. Think about it—he actually does escape at one point. The Chief helps him over the fence and he has a chance to go anywhere. He’s outside the hospital But his intent is not to get away. Instead, he decides to steal a school bus and take the loony gang on a fishing trip. He could leave during the trip. He doesn't.

Later, he could escape before the Christmas party. He he actually plans it that way—after one last “up yours” by masterminding the trashing of the ward. But he ends up waiting for Billy to have some time with Candy before he goes. He’s not desperate to leave. Each time, he's choosing disruption over freedom, choosing the guys over getting out. The tension in this film isn't freedom versus imprisonment. It's chaos versus order. McMurphy fighting and fu#king versus Ratched sticking to the schedule.

Then comes the morning after the party. He fell asleep. In a Shakespearean sense they all just simply, kind of ridiculously, go to sleep. Then Ratched arrives the next morning and discovers everything. Billy stutters badly, pleading with her—"p-p-please don't t-t-tell m-m-my m-m-mother, N-n-Nurse Ratched"—and when she says she has to, “your mother and I are old friends,” Billy kills himself.

And you thought the electroshock scene was powerful.

Before Billy's suicide, the film is funny and human with an undercurrent of despair that's circumstantial and muted. After Billy's suicide, the despair becomes paramount and the humor becomes circumstantial and muted. The switch happens abruptly. Nurse Ratched encourages the ward to resume its schedule and McMurphy snaps, trying to choke Ratched to death. For that, they lobotomize him, which ultimately leads to the Chief’s escape. The Chief is the one who ends up really wants his freedom.

This tonal inversion is what gives the film its narrative power. It's what makes the ending so affecting—because we've had all that momentary joy and freedom, and then we watch it get systematically taken away. And it's what sets off endless debates about the deeper meanings of the movie. Because the film doesn't just tell you what it's about—it makes you feel the weight of what systems do to people who don't fit in. But it is “about” a lot more than that. Many things. I’ve wondered about them all throughout the dozen or so times I’ve seen this masterpiece.

It’s about more than control and chaos, or order and spontaneity. It’s also about conformity and masculinity, performance and sanity, institutional power as a form of religion, the fragility of rebellion, compassion and contagion, what happens when people fail or become anxious or guilt-ridden. Like I said, it can be seen from a large number of perspectives, more than I’ve named here. Which is another reason the film is so re-watchable. The story speaks differently to you with each viewing.

The book was also considered great, but it tells the story from the Chief's perspective, with the hospital becoming this surreal machine, the Combine. Ken Kesey's novel is told through Chief Bromden's hallucinatory point of view. When the producers (and Forman himself) switched the POV to a more omniscient, external perspective, Kesey broke off contact with the film and apparently never saw it.

This all makes for fascinating history of the film. But it doesn't detail the marvel of the film itself. The movie stands on its own. It isn't the book, but it doesn't need to be. It found its own truth about what happens when one person reminds a group of people that they're still alive.

The film was only one of three in history to win its combination of five Academy Awards—Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress, and Best Screenplay. That's The Big Five. Only three films have ever done it. It Happened One Night with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert directed by the great Frank Capra in 1934, Cuckoo's Nest in 1975, and The Silence of the Lambs with Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster directed by Jonathan Demme in 1991. That's the company this film keeps. All three are great films and merit repeat viewings. Cuckoo’s Nest is clearly the best of them, from my perspective.

Put this film with Amadeus and you have a director who is in rarified company. Few directors have made two or more of the greatest movies of all time. Alfred Hitchcock did it, David Lean, Stanley Kubrick, Francis Ford Coppola, Woody Allen, Christopher Nolan, but there's not that many more names to add to this list. (I am not a huge Scorsese fan though Taxi Driver and The Departed are great films.) Forman proved himself to be one of cinema's most impressive directors.

Amadeus and this film look completely different on the surface, but both are about what happens when life and spontaneity try to break out of a structure that claims to protect or perfect it. Cuckoo's Nest is McMurphy versus Ratched and the institution. Amadeus is Mozart versus Salieri and the rigid cultural establishment.

I would put One Flew Over A Cuckoo's Nest alongside Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind as Top 25 films that are the most fun for me to watch, and I really look forward to the serious yet carefree air of them. That balance is incredibly hard to achieve—films that tackle heavy themes but remain genuinely watchable and even enjoyable.

But they achieve this balance differently. Eternal Sunshine has despair in it, but it's muted throughout by the humanity and humor. The tone stays relatively even. Cuckoo's Nest is fun and human on the surface, but there's an undercurrent of despair building the whole time that suddenly erupts. Then it cascades. Then it becomes almost a different movie entirely.

Both films are playful while dealing in heartbreak. Both are seriously emotional without being sentimental. But Cuckoo's Nest has this structure where the fun isn't just interrupted—it's revealed to have been sitting within a kind of cosmic darkness, though the Chief does find his freedom in the end but only after he has mercifully given McMurphy his end.

Fifty years later, this film hasn't lost anything. The performances are still electric. Fletcher's control and Nicholson's chaos still create that perfect tension. Forman's direction remains impeccable. The production decisions—shooting in a real hospital, living with real patients, letting patients choose actors—still pay dividends in every frame. You can feel the reality of it.

The film's structure is deceptively complex. It's genuinely fun and human for most of its runtime, with despair as an undercurrent. The electroshock is the first serious jolt. The night party is still joyful. And then Billy's suicide inverts everything—suddenly the despair is prominent and the humor is muted. That switch is what gives the film its devastating power.

So why don't I watch it more? It is a simple matter of time and my current interests. There are so many great movies that I’ve re-watched in recent years, and, like I said, I don't obsess over them like I used to. These days I put more effort into my writing projects and listening to great music and reading classic literature. But, if I had a film rotation, this one deserves to be in it. Cuckoo’s Nest earns its place among the greats, and through five decades, it hasn't lost any of its power. It's still breathing, still funny when it needs to be, still unsettling, still true.

It's a flawless film. It was a box-office sensation. It was actually the highest grossing film ever (except for Jaws) at the end of 1976. Today it still enjoys a 93% favorable rating among 134 critics on Rotten Tomatoes and a 96% rating among more than 250,000 audience votes. It currently ranks No. 19 on the IMDB Top 250 list, further indicating how highly it is regarded among both critics and movie-goers. As I alluded to earlier, when considered alongside Amadeus, this movie makes Miloš Forman into one of the greatest directors of all-time.

Scenes from the film:

First 10 minutes of the Film.

The World Series Discussion.

"Put the Ball in the Hole."

The Basketball Game.

Group Therapy Breaks Down

McMurphy Returns to the Group.

The "Juicy Fruit" Moment.

Violence Over Billy.