Spellbound

Miss Carmichael, please.

Dr. Petersen is ready for you.

I'm awfully sorry. I have to go.

Had a perfect hand. Would've beaten the pants off you.

- Harry will take you, Miss Carmichael. - Thank you.

Watch her carefully. Don't take your eyes off her.

- How are you today, Harry? - Fine.

- You look a little bilious. - It's the light.

I worry about you, dear.

I'll be all right.

Must we dash into Dr. Petersen's office?

Can't we go sit somewhere in private and talk, just you and I?

Love it, if I had time.

Would you?

Come in.

You ruined a very interesting card game, Dr. Petersen.

- You may go now, Harry. - I'll be outside.

I hope you feel better today, Mary.

- Well, I don't. - You will.

I think this whole thing is ridiculous.

What whole thing, Mary?

Psychoanalysis. It bores the pants off of me.

Lying on the couch like some dreary nitwit, telling all.

You don't really expect to get anywhere

listening to me babble about my idiotic childhood.

Really.

My patients invariably regard me as a wretched nuisance

during our first talks.

I see. It's my subconscious putting up a fight.

It doesn't want me cured.

Exactly. It wants to continue enjoying your disease.

Our job is to make you understand why.

When you know why you're doing something that's bad for you

and when you first started doing it. Then you can begin curing yourself.

You mean I've been telling you lies?

The usual proportion.

You're right. I've been lying like mad.

I hate men. I loathe them.

If one of them so much as touches me,

I want to sink my teeth into his hands and bite it off.

In fact, I did that once. Do you care to hear about it?

Tell me anything you remember.

We were dancing.

He kept asking me to marry him, panting in my ear.

I suddenly pretended I was going to kiss him

and sank my teeth into his mustache and bit it clear off.

You're laughing at me.

That smug frozen face of yours doesn't take me in.

You just want me to tell you all this so you can feel superior to me.

You and your drooling science. I detest you.

I never want to see that nasty face of yours again!

I can't bear you.

You and your nickel's worth of nothing!

Come on, Miss Carmichael.

Silly fool. Letting a creature like that worry me.

Miss Frozen Puss.

Dr. Fleurot, I want to talk to you alone.

I can't stand that woman.

I'll see you later, Mary.

Come, Miss Carmichael.

Murchison must be really out of his mind to assign Carmichael to you.

You may report your findings to the new head when he arrives.

You can't treat a love veteran like Carmichael

without some inside information.

I've done a great deal of research on emotional problems

- and love difficulties. - Research, my eye.

I've watched your work for six months. It's brilliant but lifeless.

There's no intuition in it.

You approach all your problems with an ice pack on your head.

- Are you making love to me? - I will in a moment.

I'm just clearing the ground first.

I'm trying to convince you that your lack of human and emotional experience

is bad for you as a doctor

and fatal for you as a woman.

I've heard that argument from a number of amorous psychiatrists

who all wanted to make a better doctor of me.

But I've got a much better argument.

- I'm terribly fond of you. - Why?

It's rather like embracing a textbook.

- Why do you do it then? - Because you're not a textbook.

You're a sweet, pulsing, adorable woman underneath.

I sense it every time I come near to you.

You sense only your own desires and pulsations.

I assure you, mine in no way resemble them.

Stop it. I'm mad about you.

I'm afraid I'm boring you.

No. Your attitudes are very interesting.

You're exactly like Miss Carmichael. I'd like to throw a book at you.

But I won't.

- May I borrow this? - Certainly.

Oh, and forgive me for my criticism.

I think you'd better stick to books. And another thing...

Pardon me for marching in, but I'm spreading the tidings.

My successor will be due any moment.

Dr. Murchison, it's been a pleasure working under you.

Thank you very much.

Coming, Dr. Petersen?

I'm in no mad hurry to welcome Dr. Edwardes.

It's hard to imagine this place without you, Dr. Murchison.

Yes, I sort of go with the fixtures.

More than that. You are Green Manors. It seems unfair.

You're very young in the profession.

You haven't learned the basic secret of science.

The old must make way for the new,

particularly when the old is suspected of a touch of senility.

That's ridiculous.

I should think the Board of Directors would realize you're feeling better.

You've been like a new man since your vacation.

The Board's as fair and all-knowing as a hospital board can be.

I agree with you. I'm as able and brilliant as ever.

But having crumbled once, I might crumble again.

You were overworked.

A charming diagnosis for a broken-down horse.

I shall always remember your cheerfulness today

as a lesson in how to accept reality, Dr. Murchison.

Don't be too taken in by my happy air, Constance.

It's the least difficult way of saying goodbye to 20 years.

Yes, I know.

Come in.

- Your mail, Dr. Petersen and Mr. Garmes. - Come in, Mr. Garmes.

You're not leaving today? I'll see you again?

I shall hover around for a while like an old mother hen.

At least until Dr. Edwardes is firmly on the list.

How do you feel today, Mr. Garmes?

Somewhat better, Doctor. The thing seems a little less troublesome.

May I do that for you, Doctor?

Thank you, no. I can do this myself very well.

Please sit down. I'll be with you in a moment.

- So that's the mighty Anthony Edwardes. - He looks younger than I expected.

He's only brought one suitcase. Perhaps he doesn't intend to remain very long.

Leave those daydreams to Dr. Murchison.

Gentlemen, our new chief, Dr. Anthony Edwardes. Dr. Fleurot.

- How do you do? - How do you do?

- I am Dr. Graff. - How do you do?

- Dr. Hanish. - How do you do?

There's still some staff members missing, Dr. Edwardes.

These are your quarters.

They're very festive for an institution.

Dr. Edwardes, Dr. Murchison.

How do you do, Dr. Murchison? I've heard a great deal about you, sir.

And I naturally about you.

- You're younger than I thought you'd be. - My age hasn't caught up with me yet.

Mine has, it seems. I'm pleased to hand over the reins to steadier hands.

I'm leaving you my library which contains,

amongst other items of interest,

your latest volume, The Labyrinth of the Guilt Complex. An excellent work.

I hope Green Manors will inspire others as fine.

I'm very grateful.

I don't know the formal words for an abdication, Dr. Edwardes.

May I say, merely, that these quarters which I've occupied for 20 years

are now yours. Will you excuse me?

I spent a half-hour with Dr. Edwardes.

I must say, I was most favorably impressed.

I intend to learn a great deal from Dr. Edwardes.

I think we all can, from a man with such obvious talents.

- You're familiar with his work? - Yes, I've read all his books.

A very keen, unorthodox mind.

It would be dreadful if Dr. Murchison's successor was unworthy of him.

He's joining us.

I think you know everyone here, Dr. Edwardes.

- No, not yet. - Oh.

- This is Dr. Petersen. - How do you do?

Dr. Edwardes.

Dr. Hanish has been showing me the grounds.

It's a remarkable institution, Dr. Murchison.

- Must be quite beautiful in the summer. - I pointed out to Dr. Edwardes

our various open-air diversions for the patients.

Dr. Murchison always argued we did not do enough in that direction,

and I agree with him.

Let me warn you that Dr. Petersen is a frustrated gymnast.

Dr. Fleurot considers anything beyond sitting and standing gymnastics.

I imagine you're very fond of sports.

Yes, I am, and I miss them, particularly winter sports.

Did you show Dr. Edwardes the elm grove?

Yes, yes indeed.

That's where we hope to have our new swimming pool.

I'm a great believer in the swimming pool.

There's a perfect spot for it among the elms.

Not an oblong one, but an irregular pool, something...

Something like this, you know.

Bathhouses should be here.

I take it that the supply of linen at this institution is inexhaustible!

Forgive me.

That reminds me of my professor in psychiatry, Dr. Brulov.

He could never stand a sauce bottle on the table or even a salt shaker.

They took his appetite away.

I remember once at a banquet in his honor,

he refused to sit at the speaker's table

because he was completely surrounded by...

by ketchup.

Last night at dinner,

a dimple appeared in your cheek that was never there before.

And I detected the outcroppings of a mother instinct toward Dr. Edwardes.

I detest that sort of high-school talk.

Your reactions have upset one of my pet theories about you.

To wit, that you were immune to psychoanalysts

and would end up in the arms of some Boob McNutt with spiked hair.

If I were looking for that type, Dr. Fleurot, I would have adored you.

Come in.

Hi.