the movies that made me: mamma mia! (2008)

In the psych ward, it is always bright. The lights are always on in the common areas; when you try to sleep, someone opens your door at regular intervals to make sure that you’re still in your room and breathing. It’s sterile, it’s fluorescent, and the ceiling is always bearing down on you. When I was hospitalized for the second time, for my second suicide attempt, I spent a lot of time sitting next to the closed window in the common room, trying to will some of that frigid Chicago air into my lungs.

In Mamma Mia!, it is always bright, but in a different way. The sky and the ocean stretch on forever; the Grecian sun beats down on the characters, giving them a bronzed glow; Meryl Steep is there; Pierce Brosnan is there. Occasionally the soundtrack explodes into an ABBA hit. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

I remember telling my friend that, as part of my post-hospital recovery, I had watched Mamma Mia! eight times in the past six days. “Hmm,” he said. “You know, I haven’t really been worried about you until now.” I ignored him. Instead, I got to know Mamma Mia! the way you might know the menu at your favorite local spot. Here is where Meryl Streep makes a funny face; here is where a Greek woman joyfully unburdens herself of an armful of sticks. (Here is where Pierce Brosnan struggles to hit his high notes! Here is where Colin Firth dances!)

It’s far from original to have Mamma Mia! (and its sequel, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again) as a comfort movie, I know. It’s a movie full of songs about dancing and being seventeen and dancing while you’re seventeen; problems are introduced and immediately resolved; Pierce Brosnan shout-sings his songs. Even death is no match for the power of ABBA: Meryl Streep dies sometime before the second movie but still drops by to sing a song or two at the end.

I have always loved musicals. As someone who’s spent a lifetime managing some big emotions, I love the way people in musicals use song and dance when speaking words simply isn’t passionate or convincing enough. What I love about Mamma Mia! is its hope - its hope that a mistake from your past (fucking three random dudes) can come back to become a blessing (finding out that those three random dudes all want to be your child’s father) - and its flamboyance. Oh, its flamboyance! Ruffles and sequins and glitter. Doesn’t it make you feel better to look at sequins? It does for me.

Mamma Mia! is also a hilariously slapdash movie. There’s shockingly little choreography and multiple scenes where cast members appear to be hungover from the night before (read this incredible oral history of the film for more on that). Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again ups the budget and has actual dancing in it, along with an effervescent and energetic Lily James performance and appearances from Andy Garcia and Cher. And yet both movies have the feel of Hollywood stars being on vacation - watching Meryl and Co. sing “Waterloo” at the end of the first movie feels like you’ve peeked behind the curtain and just happened on a bunch of movie stars doing karaoke.

The last time I was hospitalized, in 2021, I played a game where I laid in my bed and tried to play an entire song in my head, from start to finish. (It’s harder for me than it sounds, to remember all the lyrics and to keep the tempo consistent.) As part of this game, I tried to mentally play some ABBA songs as accurately as I could. Even in the hospital, where I choked on painfully bland food and withered in recycled air, Mamma Mia! was an escape for me.

I would like to say that all that is behind me, and I am better now! But my definition of better changes a little bit every day. I’m certainly not in crisis now, but the cyclical nature of bipolar disorder means that I may very well be in the future. Regardless, I wasn’t in crisis when I turned on Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again the other night, and it still lifted my spirits on a gloomy winter day. Mamma Mia! doesn’t care about how you feel when you put it on; it only wants to make you feel better. It is the perfect antidote to gray, to glum, to sad. And for that reason, it is perfect.

(For your workday: have some Cher!)