Permanent Record: Marisa Silver’s Exploration of Grief

Writer: Meiran Carlson

Photo: IMBd

*Content Warning: The following article discusses suicide and mental health.*

Today, young people have access to every corner of the internet and all kinds of content from the games they play to the shows they watch. With the constant outpour of new content streaming from every direction, it’s easy for production companies to mishandle important themes. When shows like 13 Reasons Why come out, they’re praised as brave showcases of suicide, when in reality, the show has glamorized and romanticized mental illness. Through graphic images and revenge-like themes, 13 Reasons Why stands as one of the worst depictions of mental health in television today.

Despite being released thirty years ago and a widely unknown title today, Permanent Record, a 1989 film by Marisa Silver, rises to the challenge of creating a constructive dialogue around mental health with its touching, accurate, and heartbreaking depiction of suicide. David (Alan Boyce) is a young, musically and academically gifted high school student, set to go to a prestigious music school next year for college. His best friend Chris (Keanu Reeves) and his classmates look up to him in more ways than one, but no one truly realizes what he is going through until he’s gone. Through non-exploitative methods, Silver and her talented cast pursue what it means to lose someone, and how to pick up the pieces after they’re gone.

By not graphically depicting David’s death by suicide in Permanent Record, Marisa Silver grasps the concept many modern film and television productions seem to miss. Death by suicide should be handled extremely delicately in film and television. It should not be used as a plot point to be glazed over, or for dramatic flair, and Silver rises to the challenge perfectly.

David’s death isn’t sensationalized as a catalyst for change or for a dramatic speech. Instead, it’s grappled with. In the same vein, David’s death isn’t used to place an extra load on those he loves, or to necessarily drive them. While David’s death certainly impacts his best friend, Chris, it’s not the sole thing that drives him to change the attitude that his teachers look down upon. Of course, David’s impact on him is visible, but something else has come out of David’s death– a stronger community of people there to care about their students, children, friends, and family. The discretion that Silver takes in actually depicting David’s death gives way to a beautiful sense of community and shows how grief really impacts us. Even though we only know David for twenty minutes of the film, we are shown who his friends and family really lost, and how they remember him, even when their initial grief fades.

While some have called the performances of young Keanu Reeves, Jennifer Rubin, and Michelle Meyrink over-dramatized and awkward in Permanent Record, their awkwardness is what makes the film accurate. They’re high school students. They’re supposed to be awkward and have strange feelings they don’t understand and don’t know how to express. On top of that is the pain and grief they are suddenly subjected to when they experience the loss of their beloved friend. In films deemed “teen movies” such as Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, or Dazed and Confused, the students clash with their teachers and parents because that’s just what kids in the eighties and nineties were expected to do. They listened to rock music and rebelled from what was forced on them. But here, it’s different. Obviously, there is a different subject matter in Permanent Record than in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or Dazed and Confused, but the conflict that occurs with the school administration and parents isn’t overly dramatized. With parents who are largely invisible throughout their lives, the students in the film are the ones who have to make changes for themselves. This empowerment on the students’ part gives way to a change that erupts into a beautiful moment, shared between adults and teenagers alike.

Keanu Reeves’s character, Chris, first comes off as an easy-going goofball, similar to his character of Ted in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. But as the film goes on, we see Reeves push the character into new depths, which makes for a rich and authentic performance. Since Chris’ father only shows up periodically in his life, and his mother died when he was younger, Chris has had to grow up in a way his classmates may not have had to. Chris masks these difficult issues in his life by acting rather childish, simply as a way to cope. Music is his only way to truly express himself, but he’s so set on not being the best and being the opposite of David– that is, childish rather than mature and composed– that he is throwing away a talent that could be his future. All of that, along with his veneer of immaturity, is crushed when David dies. Chris is left to be the one to carry the weight of his own situation, since we can infer David did the heavy lifting since the two had seemingly been friends since childhood. Chris handles this in a way anyone experiencing grief would. He lashes out. But luckily, the adult characters in this film aren’t just stereotypical adults who completely ignore their children and students' needs. At first glance, they might seem to be, but the adults in Permanent Record are nuanced and complex with the exception of two characters. They really care about their students, and that’s what makes this film rewarding.

Permanent Record is not an easy film to watch. The story and feelings are authentic and can at times feel too real. In a world where violence and mental health tend to be glorified, glossed over, or ignored completely, Permanent Record serves as a testament to the feelings of grief we experience when we lose someone. Through non-exploitative methods, Silver and her talented cast pursue what it means to lose someone, and how to pick up the pieces after they’re gone, making Permanent Record a beautiful film worth watching.

*If you or someone you love is struggling, please do not hesitate to reach out.*

National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 800-273-8255

Crisis Text Line: Text “HOME” to 741741

The Trevor Project Text Line: Text “START” to 678678