The Session 9 episode of Revisited was Written and Narrated by Vannah Taylor, Edited by Paul Bookstaber, Produced by Tyler Nichols and John Fallon, and Executive Produced by Berge Garabedian.
What better setting for a horror film than a haunted insane asylum? Whether it’s the patients in a film like The Ward, or the ghost hunting crews of films like Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum or Grave Encounters, it’s always thrilling to watch characters navigate these chilling halls, unsure of what might be lurking. One such film features a spine-chilling structure that seems to create its own patients: the 2001 film Session 9.
Director Brad Anderson’s career started with romantic comedies and dramedies–the type of films that are easy and fun to make with a group of young, hungry artists. But Anderson sought to tackle darker subject matter, drawing inspiration from some of his favorite filmmakers like Hitchcock, Polanski, and Kubrick. The gothic red-brick behemoth looming over northern Massachusetts provided the final piece of inspiration. Along with co-writer Stephen Gevedon, a friend from college and long-time collaborator, Anderson set out to create a deeply psychological film driven by the dread evoked by the atmosphere of Danvers State Mental Hospital (also known as the Danvers State Insane Asylum).
Session 9 follows an asbestos removal crew who take on the daunting task of cleaning up an abandoned mental hospital. Originally estimating two to three weeks for the job, Gordon (portrayed by Peter Mullan) promises a turnaround time of one week in hopes of securing a sizeable bonus if they are able to complete the job in such a short amount of time–much to the dismay of Phil (portrayed by David Caruso of CSI: Miami fame) who acts as Gordon’s right-hand man and friend. As they tour the hospital, whose layout is likened to bat wings, they bear witness to the living situations of former patients and the experimental methods used to treat them. Between the morgue, the hydrotherapy tubs, and the history lesson on how “they perfected the prefrontal lobotomy at Danvers,” the pain and tragedy that linger becomes impossible to ignore. Despite all of this, Gordon, Phil, Mike, Hank, and Jeff, begin their work.
One of the film’s most unique elements is the score and sound design. Rather than succumbing to the insistence on a traditional film score, Anderson and Gevedon turned to the experimental musicians Robert Millis and Jeffrey Taylor, known professionally as Climax Golden Twins. Their ambient soundscapes give “unusual treatment to organic sounds.” This non-traditional film score adds to the eeriness of the film. Without relying on musical cues, the dread and horror of the film comes from the environment itself. The sounds created for Session 9 bring Danvers and the memories that it holds to life.
The first unsettling moment, courtesy of the sound design, reminding us that we are watching a horror movie, comes when Gordon is greeted by a ghostly “Hello Gordon” as he makes his way through the halls. Seemingly the only one who hears this, Gordon’s experiences in the hospital mark where different interpretations of the film start to branch off.
Danvers is a real hospital with a dark history, home to inhumane conditions and treatments such as lobotomies and electroshock therapy. The film references real-life controversies, including overcrowding and financial struggles, as well as the push toward deinstitutionalization. The explanation of the struggles of homelessness for vulnerable populations like those struggling with mental illness, and the story Mike tells about Satanic Ritual Abuse Syndrome that mirrors real cases from the 1980s, further ground the film in a chilling realism.
This all gives the hospital such a presence. Much like the Stanley Hotel in The Shining, Danvers is its own character with a sinister influence. Haunted asylum films like this mimic the haunted house genre., and we frequently ask the question, “why don’t they just leave???” In Session 9, the answer is clear: they need the job. Along with the small glimpses we are given into each of the men’s personal lives, we see the weaknesses that plague them, making them vulnerable to hospital’s influence.
Phil tries to be a voice of reason and authority within the group–but in the end lets others walk all over him. He harbors so much bitterness for the situation with Hank, who is dating his ex-girlfriend. This anger and resentment are his main obstacle, clouding the judgment that he seems to think is superior to the others in the group. Hank is an opportunist motivated by greed which we see in the small moments when he asks for scratchers and then when a stash of old coins and valuables hidden in the hospital. Coins spill out like he hit the jackpot on a slot machine, almost like a trap set specifically for him. His selfishness ultimately leads to his demise. Mike, played by co-writer Stephen Gevedon, is the brains. A law school dropout that the others joke is too good for a job like this, Mike becomes obsessed with listening to Mary Hobbes’ therapy tapes–eager to learn more about the hospital’s dark past. Emblematic of his own detachment from his life, he is lost in the past rather than dealing with the present. Gordon’s nephew, Jeff is the baby of the team and a newcomer to the group, learning the dynamics of the other men. His fear is of the dark, lending his character a level of innocence. His childlike fear makes him relatable for the audience, reacting the way we might all expect to the spooky atmosphere of the hospital. Gordon’s slow unraveling is the primary narrative of the film. His guilt and the repression of the memories of what he did ties him to the gruesome memories that stain the hospital walls.
Haunted houses within gothic horror, whether its literature or film, are often analogous with the internal space. The haunting or paranormal activity in these sorts of films are manifestations of what is happening for the character mentally. The crew members’ mental states deteriorate, matching the decrepit state of the facility they were hired to clean up. Mary Hobbes, who’s sessions with the doctor are recorded on the tapes that Mike discovers, underwent a trauma that caused the fracturing of her mind. What will be revealed about Gordon’s character shows that his mind has also been fractured by his inability to come to terms with his actions. Like the patients that have been trapped in the asylum, dealing with unthinkable traumas and unethical treatments, Gordan has trapped himself in his own psyche, making him the newest patient at Danvers. His mental decay matches the decay of this forgotten hospital.
At the end of the film, the entity known as Simon states, “I live in the weak and the wounded, Doc” and we see how all of these wounded men could have been susceptible. In Gordon’s case, this can either be read in a more literal sense, that Simon is an actual entity latched onto him from the moment he stepped into Danvers–or in a metaphorical sense, that everything that has been happening in Gordon’s life was going to inevitably cause him to snap in the horrific way that he does.
There is another version of the film that could have existed. An alternate ending and a handful of deleted scenes reveal a secondary plot where a homeless woman lurks in the hospital. Running across the screen and hiding in the shadows and dark corners, her presence is first questionable. Is she a former patient still wandering the halls? Is she the killer? While some of the earlier deleted scenes are subtle and could still work within the final cut of the film,, but the version we are all familiar with makes for a much more psychological and tragic ending rather than a more traditional haunted asylum narrative. By eliminating these moments, Anderson lets Danvers speak for itself. The horror of Danvers is the peeling paint, the tapes and photos and memories that have infected the walls just as much as the asbestos.
With a small cast and crew, as well as its minimalist production, courtesy of the forgotten furnishings of the hospital itself, Session 9’s budget is estimated around $1.5 million. But in the cinematic landscape of the early 00’s, this little indie film was forgotten. But while it may not have been a financial success, earning only about $1.2 million worldwide, new audiences have continued to re-discover Session 9, cracking open old DVD’s and new Blu-ray boutique releases like Mike tuning in to each of Mary’s taped sessions.
The memories of what happened at Danvers State Mental Hospital also live on with the film. In 2006, five years after the release of the film, the majority of Danvers was demolished. With only a portion of the original iconic structure remaining, an upscale residential complex has taken hold on the land that once held so much tragedy–which feels ironic as it echoes the discussions of deinstitutionalization and homelessness within the film. Creepy enough as it is to live where an asylum once stood, the graveyard of former patients, marked only with patient numbers, is still present on the property–which Anderson has joked could serve as a great premise for a Poltergeist style sequel about a haunted apartment complex (which I know I would be in line to see!).
In numerology, the number 9 is symbolic of the completion of a cycle. In the ebb and flow of life, the end of one cycle allows for another cycle to begin. When the doctor reaches “session 9” with Mary, as Mike reaches the 9th recording, and as the film itself comes to the finale, the truth that haunted all of these characters is exposed. The truth of what happened in Mary’s life, the truth of Danvers, and the truth that Gordon had suppressed all come to a head. All that has been denied is finally revealed.
Good stories leave things open for audiences to take away their own understanding. Whether you believe Gordon was overtaken by the entity Simon, causing him to murder his family, or you believe the violence had been bubbling under the surface and this final job is what caused it to finally boil over–Session 9 is ultimately about the fragility of our sanity. The horrors of the film are not monsters or ghosts, but the horrors that we carry within us.
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