On Mental Illness

Michael Phelps made a documentary, "The Weight of Gold," for HBO. It's clear that Phelps is a beautiful person--because he has made use of his suffering in an intelligent way. I struggle to think of other heterosexual male athletes who have been so open about mental illness and therapy.

"The Weight of Gold" is so-so. Its problem is that none of its subjects really "pops." If you're filming actual people, you can't coach them to become significantly more compelling than they actually are. This is why, if you're making a documentary, it's sensible to pursue Joan Rivers, or Tomi Ungerer, or Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

"The Weight of Gold" says this: If you're coached for national adulation, then you have a few weeks in the spotlight, and that's (maybe) nice, and then you are forgotten and you begin to try out reckless behavior. Several Olympic athletes have carried out or attempted suicide, or come close: Phelps, Jovanovic, Kelly Catlin, others. Then there is the more-"pedestrian" form of self-endangerment. (Oksana Baiul isn't even mentioned.)

This story applies to Olympian feats, but it could also apply to the Rhodes Scholarship ("Remembering Denny") or to pop stardom ("Amy," about Amy Winehouse).

The great thing about Phelps is that he is not suffering in silence; instead, he is using his fame to ask, loudly, Why can't there be more-consistent help? Why can't we take better care of one another?

For that reason, I recommend "The Weight of Gold." (It's also interesting to hear an athlete say, when you lose, you're reminded of this, constantly, in the supermarket, by strangers. It's like everyone in the country knows the details of your ugly divorce.) You can fast-forward, at times. You'll want to hear the (memorable) 911 call toward the end.

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