Kedem Har-ShalomAn Analysis of The Acclaimed Film Flowers for Algernon.
If you’ve read the book, you know it as Flowers for Algernon. If you saw the Oscar-winning film from the ’60s, you know it as Charlie. Both the movie and Daniel Keyes’ novel tell the same story: an intellectually disabled man named Charlie undergoes a surgical operation that temporarily boosts his IQ to genius level, only for the effects to wear off, returning him to his natural born state. Both the novel and film were critically acclaimed; the book has been the subject of many school reports, while the movie won an Academy Award for Best Actor. Each version has a distinct style—Flowers for Algernon is told through Charlie’s diary, capturing his journey at different stages of intelligence, while the 1968 film includes several memorable psychedelic scenes, such as Charlie playing with kids on a playground when he has a low IQ and riding a motorcycle after gaining his intelligence.
The story is a powerful portrayal of overcoming obstacles, but the unhappy ending can feel like a letdown. Some argue the ending is fitting. Many people argue this was a good ending as not all works should or do have a happy ending. These same people would probably argue that not all stories should end happily, and medical procedures often only work temporarily, with patients sometimes reverting to their previous state. While this is valid for medication and therapies, which often lose effectiveness over time, it doesn’t typically apply to surgical operations.
This ending can be demeaning or discouraging to anyone with a disability, striving to overcome their challenges/obstacles. When my cousin’s high school did the play version of Flowers for Algernon, a woman whose son was intellectually disabled could not stand watching it. How would you expect her to feel watching a play suggesting someone with an intellectual disability could have a cure for his condition but then have it all taken away from him? How would you feel if you had a developmental disability that left you segregated from conventional society, then you were allowed into that conventional society, and then something happens, and you need to go back into the segregated realm of the disabled?
That was my experience. Throughout my elementary school years, I was in special education, a setting where I had almost no contact with the regular education kids and where the education was often geared toward lower-functioning students which I was not. Then in sixth grade, I got the opportunity to go to a regular education private school teaching at a high level and I got to see what that environment was like and the childhood experiences I’d missed out on all these years. It was with a heavy heart I took the news that the school was closing down, and I’d soon be expected back in special education. However, I refused. I refused due to regular education schools not accepting or being equipped to teach me. That was how strong my determination not to go back to the segregated realm of the disabled was.
Here’s the ending I would have preferred: Charlie undergoes another treatment, despite warnings from his doctors that it might kill him, as it did the lab mouse. His IQ surges to superhuman levels, surpassing even his prior peak, but he starts experiencing severe seizures. After a while, the seizures stop, but the effects of the operation begin to fade again. Charlie, desperate not to return to his former state, insists on yet another boost, even though it’s too much for his brain. The strain ultimately causes a fatal stroke. Although tragic, this ending would poignantly reflect the strength of determination some people feel to fulfill their ambitions. Charlie’s commitment to breaking free from a life of restraint and leaving the segregation behind is so overpowering that he would rather die than return to his former life.