For a self-proclaimed cinephile like myself, admitting at 24 to my even-more-cinephile dad that I’ve never seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) was a moment of unbearable shame.
The adaptation of Ken Kesey’s novel (1962) has solidified its place as one of the best films of all time and has become one of the three movies ever made to win the Oscars’ ‘Big Five’ (Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress and Screenplay). It features some of the most memorable on-screen performances, with Jack Nicolson at his absolute best. All of this made the confession to my dad even more awkward.
This autumn I decided to absolve myself from this cinematic sin. As I was getting cozy in front of the TV with Cuckoo’s Nest ready to play, my dad said, “Your generation won’t understand what we felt watching this movie for the first time in communist Poland”. At first, his comment naturally triggered in me an intrinsic need to prove my dad wrong, making it my life mission to fully grasp every possible metaphor and hidden significance present in this movie. However, most importantly, it made me wonder why an American critique of mental institutions would have such a profound impact on Polish viewers.
I didn’t have to search far for my answer. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest tells the story of convict Randle Patrick McMurphy (Jack Nicholson), who fakes his mental illness to avoid serving time in a prison. However, as soon as he is admitted to a psychiatric ward, he quickly realises that life under the iron-fisted rule of Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher) is no easier. Randle persistently resists her control, inspiring the other patients to defy her authority and sparking a rebellion within the ward. Yet despite the moments of triumph when he gives his fellow wardmates a sense of liberation, the more Randle resists, the more severe are the consequences, and the hope of ever truly overcoming the oppressive system grows increasingly remote. The film’s resonance with across communist states at the time of its release quickly became obvious.
At the time, films in Poland had to undergo censorship checks by the Central Office for the Control of the Press, Publications and Spectacles (Główny Urząd Kontroli Prasy, Publikacji i Widowisk) before their debuts. As a result, many movies were banned from the big screen—including the popular James Bond series, which often depicted Russians as the bad guys. However, since One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was widely understood as a critique of the US rather than any other country, its arrival in Polish theaters was met with no obstacles.
For its audience, though, the film’s anti-establishment meaning transcended geographies. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was directed by Miloš Forman, a Czech filmmaker who saw in Ken Kesey’s novel not just a critique of US institutions but a reflection of his own reality in Czechoslovakia. There, he grappled with censorship and authoritarian control before ultimately leaving the country in 1968. “The Communist Party was my Nurse Ratched, telling me what I could and could not do; what I was or was not allowed to say; where I was and was not allowed to go; even who I was and was not.” wrote Forman in his article for the New York Times in 2012.
What ensues is a brilliant take on oppressive systems and their reliance on fear as a tool to keep everyone in check. Nurse Ratched, the symbol of authoritarian control, exploits the weaknesses of others to maintain her dominance, veiling her manipulation under the guise of therapy. The audience quickly comes to understand that any defiance of her authority is met with severe consequences—consequences that ultimately lead to Randle’s lobotomy. For the Polish audience this fear was not an abstract concept but a lived reality, where any resistance to conformity was crushed under the communist party’s iron fist.
While I cannot say that I fully understand what my father felt watching One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in 1979, when it premiered in communist Poland, the film’s allegorical subtext remains timeless. Every generation has its own Nurse Ratched. Anyone who follows the news knows ours is no different. Yet despite having witnessed manipulation and mendacity in my own country, as I watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest I couldn’t help but feel grateful to have been born in a very different Poland than the one my father knew.
Another thought that lingered in my mind throughout the movie was: “They don’t make them like this anymore.” This is likely a response to recent unoriginality observed in Hollywood and its unsuccessful attempts to reinvent great stories, like Gladiator, rather than me trying to say that films today are no longer good. Either way, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest stands as a quintessential embodiment of Hollywood’s 1970s heyday, alongside other classics like Taxi Driver and The Conversation. That’s not to say the movie is without flaws—those concerned with mental health and psychiatry argue that its depictions of these may have done more harm than good.
Nevertheless, I found its filmmaking captivating. It’s raw and intimate. Each character is deeply developed and incredibly performed, and the pace is slow yet wholly immersive. Many scenes may seem simple and insignificant at first, yet they resonate deeply because of their authenticity. For Polish audiences in 1979, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was like a subtle wink at their plight and a flicker of hope. Decades later, it’s a reminder of how great storytelling transcends time and place.
Words by Luiza Świerzawska
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