Due to cortisone overdose, Ed turns into a radical enforcer of outdated values at school. His expectations, rather than aligning with the conventional disciplinary regime of the time, deviate into something far more rigid and anachronistic, evoking a past that is both out of touch and exaggerated, a distorted version of the disciplinary regime Foucault describes: a regime that demands not only success but an unattainable perfection (161-162), punishing anything less with contempt.
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In the 1930s, even if the father was not necessarily a model of virtue or emotional closeness, he was deemed sufficient as long as he fulfilled his role as economic provider (Coontz 136). After the war, however, expectations for fathers multiplied. The paternal figure was now required to remain the moral authority of the household, assert his virility in the public sphere, and engage in domestic life to counterbalance maternal influence, which was considered excessive (May 139). This ideal father, at once tender and virile, close yet not too far from the office, thus became increasingly difficult to embody. Faced with this “plight” (Cuordileone, 134), cultural representations emerged in which the father fails, sometimes tragically. One of the most vivid examples is Nicholas Ray’s 1956 film Bigger Than Life.
This movie was inspired by Berton Roueché’s account in a 1955 New Yorker article, “Ten Feet Tall,” of the negative effects of cortisone on the human mind and body. While Bosley Crowther dismissed the film for lacking the original article’s shock (The New York Times), this response underestimates its core horror: its depiction of middle-class American life under the pressures of postwar conformity. It is precisely in its depiction of the hidden dangers within suburban family dynamics that the film finds its most profound horror.
A respectable middle-class teacher, Ed Avery (James Mason), is diagnosed with a life-threatening condition and begins taking cortisone to manage it. However, the downfall of patriarchal authority is initiated before the side effects of his cortisone treatment surface. For instance, the pre-treatment chest x-ray scene (Fig. 1) transforms him into a mere patient, not an individual with familial or societal power but a collection of symptoms to be diagnosed and treated.
Fig. 1 The x-ray scene
His failure as both father and teacher is planted from the very start of the film. In the first few minutes, we already witness Avery moonlighting as a dispatcher for a cab company. In the next scene, he is seen taking the bus because his wife, Lou Avery (Barbara Rush), has the family car, a subtle yet significant detail that underscores the family’s financial discomfort. Jonathan Rosenbaum’s remark for The Chicago Reader that it’s “hard to think of another Hollywood picture with more to say about the sheer awfulness of normal American family life during the 50s” is hard to refute: the awfulness of paternal failure is shown on-screen without respite.
In the opening scene, children are shown leaving school, embodying the vitality and promise of the nation’s future (Fig. 2). They leave their lessons behind and step into the world, symbolically practicing what they have been taught, engaging in life with energy and purpose. The waving American flag in the background reinforces this connection between youth, education, and the nation’s future, a visual reminder that the nation’s strength is believed to be rooted in its young generation, supposed to be guided and protected by their teachers and parents. However, this hopeful image of vitality is immediately contrasted in the next scene, where we see Ed Avery slouched at his desk, struggling with neck pain (Fig. 3). From the beginning, Ed is a nemesis of the nation in the making.
Figs. 2 The opening scene (top); and 3 The contrasting figure of Ed Avery at his desk, visibly slouched and suffering from neck pain (bottom)
Ed progressive disintegration parallels the literal shattering of the bathroom mirror during the bath scene (Fig. 4). His deepening addiction fractures his sense of control and authority, destabilizing the household. Roger McNiven argues that this broken mirror triggers Ed’s overdose, as if he believes more cortisone will restore the idealized image once reflected (46). Robin Wood adds that the mirror’s shattering, caused by his wife, highlights Ed’s failure not only as father and teacher but also as husband (1972, 60). Just as importantly, the mirror, once a tool for reflection and unity, becomes a symbol of dismantling, of breaking apart the unrealistic expectations of fatherhood and revealing the fragile components of patriarchal authority.
Fig. 4 The cracked mirror
A moment rarely discussed by critics deepens this theme of fracture: the reflection goof in the mirror when Ed closes the wall cabinet (Fig. 5), briefly revealing a member of the film crew. This unintentional element inadvertently echoes the film’s central motif: a rupture between appearance and truth. Just as the reflected image of the cameraman breaks the illusion of the film’s constructed reality, so does Ed Avery’s cortisone-induced transformation fracture the idealized construct of his manhood and fatherhood. The cameraman becomes a phantom presence, the collective societal gaze that upholds and polices the image of the ideal father. The mirror thus becomes a site of rupture, where the image of a unified self splinters into fragments.
Fig. 5 The goof with the mirror cabinet
In Bigger Than Life, the importance of winning and succeeding in life is omnipresent. This is particularly evident in the scene when Ed interrogates his son Richie (Christopher Olsen) about his football performance. “Are you satisfied with the way you play football?” Ed asks, to which his son responds, “I’m as good as most kids.” Ed’s dissatisfaction with this response is palpable as he warns, “If you let it go at ‘good enough,’ that’s the way you’ll be later on. You want to be a man, don’t you?” The film repeatedly associates manhood with triumph. Ed Avery’s nostalgic recollection of his high school victory when he talks about football with Richie highlights how success and winning are central to his sense of identity and manhood: “Sure was the high school hero that day.” However, this association is often misleading. The scene when Ed and Richie play football in the living room represents a sudden and dramatic shift in energy. Rather than restoring balance, the cortisone pushes him toward a hypermasculine, aggressive state. His paternal role ends up being distorted, creating an atmosphere of instability in the familial sphere. The more Ed tries to live up to societal expectations of what it means to be a successful, authoritative father, the more chaotic and unsuccessful he becomes.
Avery’s success as a powerful man is constantly reperformed. He frequently reasserts his dominance by patronizing everyone, positioning himself as the intellectual superior and dismissing others’ opinion. When the milkman comes for the delivery, Ed shows contempt and delusion, accusing him of being envious of his intellectual capacities, stating that he is “filled with envy and malice towards me because I work with my mind so you make it impossible for me to concentrate.” Ed’s other statement to Lou, in the bedroom, “It’s probably never occurred to you that the words ‘teacher’ and ‘doctor’ mean the same thing. Unfortunately, there are too many doctors and not enough teachers,” highlights how the household and workplace become dual arenas where the father figure feels compelled to repeatedly reassert his successful position. His need to elevate his status in the household reflects an anxiety common to postwar patriarchal dynamics, where the father’s authority is often fragile. During the scene at the pharmacist, Ed pretends to be a doctor to obtain more cortisone after exceeding his prescription. This fraud not only reveals the falsity of Ed’s entire sense of empowerment, but exposes his foundations as a father as failing, depending on deceit to remain relatively legitimate.
Due to cortisone overdose, Ed turns into a radical enforcer of outdated values at school. His expectations, rather than aligning with the conventional disciplinary regime of the time, deviate into something far more rigid and anachronistic, evoking a past that is both out of touch and exaggerated, a distorted version of the disciplinary regime Foucault describes: a regime that demands not only success but an unattainable perfection (161-162), punishing anything less with contempt. During his speech at the open house day at school, he espoused austere and outdated visions about childhood and pedagogical strategies: “All this hogwash about ‘self-expression,’ ‘permissiveness,’ ‘development patterns,’ ‘emotional security.’ ‘Security,’ with the world ready to blow up. If the republic is to survive, we’ve got to get back to teaching the good old virtues of hard work and self-discipline and a sense of duty!” His speech positions him as an adversary to progressive approaches. His outdated ideologies are echoed in his later physical act of silencing his son by cutting the phone wire when Richie tries to call for help. Ed not only attempts to control and dominate his immediate environment but also symbolically rejects the evolution of pedagogical norms and the empowerment of the younger generation.
Nevertheless, his sense of power is a veneer: fragile and performative. During the shopping scene, Avery wants to buy expensive dresses for his wife in a high-class shop. He takes charge of decisions about what fits his wife, while Lou, in the end, has no say in choosing her favorite dress. Her preferences are dismissed as Ed exerts control over the situation, reducing her to a passive participant in an awkward act of spousal objectification. The fancy dress becomes a symbol of Ed’s attempt to regain his authority as the provider and protector, bestowing luxury on his family. However, this act of ostentation lacks any emotional or relational substance. The statement “Now, I’d like to see her in that” does not reveal any desire to be generous to his wife but to possess her, much like a doll under male agency, and to command her, much like he does with the staff in the store.
During his megalomaniac stage, he becomes an omnipresent force, symbolizing a pervasive and growing sense of danger within the household. For instance, he is framed perfectly in the center as Lou opens the door to supervise Ed and Richie during the mathematics scene: his presence is inescapable, dominating the ajar space (Fig. 6). His shadow (Fig. 7) works as a harbinger of the growing threat he poses to his family and recalls German expressionism. This moment transforms Ed into an almost monstrous figure, evoking the disquieting visuals of Fritz Lang’s M (Fig. 8). The comparison is not as far-fetched as it might sound: in both films, the shadow transcends the physical realm to symbolize the perversion of the adult realm. While M externalizes the threat, projecting societal anxiety onto a child killer who embodies disorder, Bigger Than Life internalizes it: the father himself becomes the danger. Yet what unites them is the collapse of trust in social structures. Ed Avery’s figure appears “bigger than life” in these frames, omnisciently aware of every transgression, even down to Lou’s secret act of giving Richie milk. Ed’s presence, lurking in mirrors or through doorways, suggests that he has transcended mere fatherhood and become a force of vengeance within the home.
Figs. 6 Ed dominating the ajar space (top); 7 Ed’s threatening shadow during the mathematics scene (middle); 8 A scene from Fritz Lang’s M (bottom)
The apotheosis occurs when Ed recites Genesis 22:2 from the Bible, where God commands Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son: “And He said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.” Lou’s response “But, Ed, you didn’t read it all. God stopped Abraham,” followed by Ed’s chilling reply “God was wrong,” gives prominence to the destructive aspect of the father figure. Ed assumes the role of an unchallenged arbiter of life and death, placing himself above divine authority and embracing a philosophy of absolute annihilation. Ed’s violent intentions even escalate from an individual act of filicide to the annihilation of the entire family. Lou, desperate to buy time and keep Ed talking, suggests that they make their son’s death seem like an accident, hoping to appeal to some remaining semblance of logic within him. However, Ed unveils his ambition for a group suicide, recalling the deviance of a megalomaniac and nihilistic guru: “Accident? But I hadn’t planned to go on living. Do you? There’s nothing left for us to live for now.” The Averys’ home, once a symbol of safety and stability, becomes a tomb. The church scene when the priest quotes the parable of the prodigal son from the Gospel of Luke (Luke 15:22-24) is also completely dismantled. The film is not the story of a father who welcomes back his lost son with open arms, bringing to light themes of redemption and the restoration of familial bonds, but the witnessing of a father’s transformation into an advocate of a radical negation of reproductive futurism.
Bigger Than Life’s “happy” ending (Fig. 9), in which Ed, hospitalized and recovering from his psychosis, asks his son and wife to come closer, has a deeply ambiguous quality. On the surface, the ending appears to restore the familial order, the main reason why Robin Wood alludes to a “copout ending” (2003, xxxv): Ed recognizes his wife and son and acknowledges his harmful actions. However, this moment is shadowed by the underlying reality that Ed’s return to normalcy is contingent on his continued dependence on cortisone. The film’s ending may be framed as “happy,” but this happiness is hollow, built on a return to the same toxic forces that caused Ed’s collapse. In the light of Peter Biskind’s analysis of Ed’s antidemocratic figure as someone whose behavior critiques the oppressive conformity of 1950s America (32), Ed’s extravagance and increasingly unhinged behavior become a foil for the dangers of stepping too far outside societal expectations. In this way, Bigger Than Life offers a paradoxical message: while it critiques the 1950s consensus (characterized by rigid gender roles and strict familial hierarchies), it ultimately reinforces its foundations by maintaining the ideal of a stable, patriarchal family as the cornerstone of social order.
Fig. 9 The “happy” family reconstituted
The conclusion feels like a retreat. This return to flawed ideals exemplifies Lauren Berlant’s concept of cruel optimism, which she defines as a relation in which “something you desire is actually an obstacle to your flourishing” (1). In this case, the family’s attachment to the ideals of American life becomes a form of cruel optimism, where the very thing they strive for (the perfect family dynamic) is what ultimately hinders their growth and happiness. Ed’s apparent reconciliation is not hopeful but symptomatic. As a matter of fact, the ending doesn’t necessarily address the systemic pressures and expectations that contributed to Ed’s breakdown in the first place. Instead, the film suggests a return to the good old days of sanitized modern life, sustained by the perpetual injunction to try hard enough. The film’s conclusion, by reverting to a semblance of normalcy, misses the opportunity to fully explore the transformative and radical potential of failure.
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All images are screenshots from the films discussed.
