Originally released 50 years ago this week, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest continues to be a treasured work in the American cinema canon. Milos Forman’s intimate examination of a psychiatric institution, and a rabble-rouser who ruffles the feathers of those in charge while encouraging his confined peers to spread their wings, may sport the weathered veneer of a five-decade-old movie, but its ideas remain fresh, continuing to speak profoundly to audiences young and old.
To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, conducted last week, click here. To hear the latest Cineversary podcast episode, which celebrates this film’s 50th anniversary, click here.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest benefits immeasurably from an impressive collection of collaborative talents: exceptional actors Jack Nicholson and Louise Fletcher, in addition to an outstanding ensemble cast, a talented director, co-producer Michael Douglas, renowned cinematographer Haskell Wexler, and author of the original book Ken Kesey. This dynamism helped the film become only the second motion picture in history up to that time to win all five major Academy Awards – Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, and Screenplay. Consider the outstanding competition in the field that year: It bested Jaws, Nashville, Dog Day Afternoon, and Barry Lyndon for Best Picture honors. And even though it was released merely weeks before the end of 1975, it became the second-highest-grossing movie of that year, just behind Jaws, proving to be a crowd favorite at the box office across 1976 as well.
Nicholson’s Randall P. McMurphy represents what many consider his greatest role and performance, which earned him his first of three Oscars across his career. In total, he’s received 12 Academy Award nominations over his career—more than any other male actor in Oscar history. Before his acclaimed turn in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, he had already garnered four nominations—for Easy Rider, Five Easy Pieces, The Last Detail, and Chinatown—a streak that established him early on as one of Hollywood’s most gifted and versatile actors. But this was the movie that absolutely put him at the top of the class and cemented him as one of our all-time greats.
The ensemble cast boasts an impressive array of up-and-coming thespians and character actors, some of whom would later become major players, including Danny DeVito, Christopher Lloyd, Brad Dourif, Will Sampson, Scatman Crothers, William Redfield, and Sydney Lassick – who delivers the third-best performance in the movie. This diverse array of faces and acting styles populates One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest with unforgettable personalities who bring color, texture, poignancy, and dramatic contrast to the narrative.
What also helps elevate Cuckoo’s Nest is Forman and company’s emphasis on realism. Instead of trying to re-create a psychiatric institution on a studio set, the filmmakers opted to shoot the picture in an actual psychiatric hospital in Oregon, a facility that continues to operate today (although in different buildings). Dean Brooks, the real director of that hospital, plays the role of Dr. Spivey; he offered guidance on the characters and their potential issues, matched each actor portraying a patient with a real patient they could observe firsthand, and allowed 85 of his hospital patients – including some who were dangerous – to work as extras and crewmembers.
This work also boasts one of the greatest and most unforgettable endings in movie history: a decidedly downbeat dénouement, embodied by the dehumanized and defeated McMurphy, immediately followed by a thoroughly uplifting resolution in the form of the escaped Chief.
These are among the reasons why the American Film Institute ranked this movie as high as #20 on its list of 100 greatest American films and named Nurse Ratched as the fifth greatest villain in movie history. Today, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest earns a 93% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes and a Metascore of 84 on Metacritic, and has been voted by fans as #19 in the IMDb’s current top 250 films list. It continues to earn acclaim on numerous prestigious cinema lists, ranking #33 on the BBC’s roster of the 100 Greatest American Films (2015), #16 on Empire magazine’s 500 Greatest Movies of All Time list, and #17 on The Hollywood Reporter’s ranking of the Top 100 Movies of All Time (2014), while also appearing frequently in critics’ and directors’ Top 100 selections in Sight & Sound polls across several decades. The picture was also selected for preservation in the U.S. National Film Registry in 1993 for being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant,” and it is widely recognized in both academic and cinematic circles as one of the defining works of the 1970s New Hollywood era, frequently cited by outlets such as Time, Variety, and Rolling Stone as one of the greatest American films ever made.
Consider that earlier depictions of psychiatric patients tended to be more stereotypical and exaggerated, exploiting audiences’ often incorrect preconceptions of psychosis and fear or ridicule of these troubled characters. Cuckoo’s Nest added humanism, nuance, and intelligence to these characterizations and educated viewers that not every occupant in a mental facility was hopelessly insane or unwillingly committed – many were actually voluntary patients. This film generated empathy for these individuals while also shining a harsh spotlight on the dangers of rigid institutional authority, dehumanization, and unethical treatment within these institutions.
Indeed, many later films, TV shows, and narratives about mental health owe a debt to Cuckoo’s Nest’s humanistic portrayal of patients and critique of authority. Its focus on personal stories within institutional settings became a model for more nuanced depictions of mental illness in the media.
Tonally, the movie deftly blended comedy and tragedy, seriousness and silliness, and optimism and pessimism, which was a rare balancing act for dramas about mental illness up to this point. Keeping the story lighthearted and humorous at key times helps buoy the sobering weight and pathos of what would otherwise be a crushing emotional drama, making for a more palatable and audience-friendly film.
Subsequent works that may have taken a page or two from Cuckoo’s Nest playbook, especially their depiction of mentally ill individuals at psychiatric institutions, include Awakenings (1990); The Green Mile (1999); Girl, Interrupted (1999); A Beautiful Mind (2001); Shutter Island (2010); Sucker Punch (2011); The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012); Side Effects (2013); and The Goldfinch (2019)
Considering that the cherished novel by Kesey is told from the POV of Chief Bromden, this adaptation was a radical narrative departure from the source material. But Jack’s command of this character and of our complete attention completely validates this shift. We cannot take our eyes off him for a second when he’s on screen. Nicholson immersed himself in the role by visiting a psychiatric ward and observing patients receiving electroconvulsive therapy, using these firsthand experiences to inform and deepen his enactment.
“Nicholson is an actor who knows how to play to an audience; he knows how to get us to share in a character… (He’s) no flower-child nice guy; he’s got that half smile – the calculated insult that alerts audiences to how close to the surface his hostility is,”
according to Pauline Kael, who praised the actor in her review of this film for his surprising choices. “Nicholson doesn’t use the glinting, funny-malign eyes this time; he has a different look – McMurphy’s eyes are further away, muggy, veiled even from himself. You’re not sure what’s going on behind them… He actually looks relaxed at times, punchy, almost helpless – you can forget it’s Nicholson… Forman hasn’t let the McMurphy character run away with the picture, and it’s Nicholson’s best performance.”
As likable as McMurphy is, it’s interesting to consider that he’s had five arrests for assault, including statutory rape, and is prone to extreme violence (as exemplified by his attempted strangling of Nurse Ratched). He’s also trying to game the system by pretending to be mentally unhinged to avoid jail time. He’s certainly no angel. Yet we cannot help but root for him throughout the entire picture, which is a testament to Nicholson’s charisma and mastery of antihero attributes.
“The joke lurking beneath the surface of most of his performances is that he gets away with things because he knows how to, wants to, and has the nerve to,” Roger Ebert
wrote. “His characters stand for freedom, anarchy, self-gratification, and bucking the system, and often they also stand for generous friendship and a kind of careworn nobility.”
Ratched, the obvious antagonist of the piece, is the living symbol of oppression, exploitation, authoritarianism, and conformity – standing in opposition to McMurphy. But Fletcher brings subtlety, gradation, restraint, and quiet gravitas to the role that arguably makes this figure more sympathetic to some viewers, cleverly clouding the fact that she is a Machiavellian master of manipulation, the ultimate passive-aggressive frigid female who just may enjoy controlling and punishing the male patients she supervises. Fletcher skillfully hides what’s behind her eyes and her measured tone and creates an all-time female baddie without overplaying her hand, delving into clichés, or employing broad gestures.
Ponder how masterfully Ratched instills fear in the men, pressuring them to disclose intimate details about their private lives, which she then uses to manipulate and subjugate them rather than to support their psychological healing. She sets and alters the rules arbitrarily and uses forms of extreme treatment – like lobotomy and electroconvulsive therapy – as retribution.
Per the TCM website
review of the movie, “What could have been a cartoon character was made more chilling by her brilliantly crafted performance, a manifestation of evil and tyranny masked by an outward placidness.”
Recall how Ratched insists upon keeping McMurphy at the hospital instead of sending him back to the work camp – stubbornly intending to ultimately break his spirit. Additionally, remember how, upon returning to work the morning after the orgy, despite the disheveled physical state of the ward and the chaos around her, she insists on restoring authority and order with symbolic gestures, like reclaiming her trampled hat from the floor and pointlessly straightening a skewed bulletin board on the wall. When we last see her, she smiles and inquires caringly about Sefelt’s well-being, appearing to be a kinder and gentler woman – but the more likely reason for her chipper attitude is that she has won the battle over McMurphy and regained control over the men under her care; this is likely a superficial kindness that masks her delight with regaining command.
“She doesn’t know that she’s evil,” Forman was quoted as saying. Fletcher, meanwhile, said in an interview: “I wanted to make her believable as a real person in those circumstances. I drew on the misuse of power, a prominent issue in those times, with Nixon having been forced to resign. I saw very clearly how people can believe that they’re doing good and they know best.”
Kael continued: “Louise Fletcher gives a masterly performance. Changes in her flesh tone tell us what Nurse Ratched feels. We can see the virginal expectancy—the purity—that has turned into puffy-eyed self-righteousness. She thinks she’s doing good for people, and she’s hurt—she feels abused—if her authority is questioned; her mouth gives way and the lower part of her face sags…Those who know the book will probably feel that Nurse Ratched is now more human, but those who haven’t read it may be appalled at her inhumanity.”
Forman previously lived in Czechoslovakia under a repressive Communist regime, which lent him a deep appreciation of authority and oppression. Additionally, his mother and father both perished in Nazi death camps in the Second World War. His earlier films, like Loves of a Blonde and The Firemen’s Ball, combined realism, dark humor, and empathy for marginalized characters—skills that suited the story of McMurphy and the patients. Forman’s background allowed him to portray the hospital’s strict control while giving the patients warmth, humor, and humanity.
Working closely with screenwriters Lawrence Hauben and Bo Goldman, the director insisted on authenticity, verisimilitude, and realistic representation versus staying true to the trippy, distorted point of view of Kesey’s book and its narrator Chief Bromden. The film shifts to a clear, external viewpoint centered on McMurphy, toning down the novel’s surreal and symbolic qualities. While the book delves deeply into the patients’ inner thoughts and personal struggles, the movie conveys emotion and tension primarily through visuals and performances, making it more immediate and cinematically engaging for viewers. Forman often told his cast and crew, “It must be real,” and questioned, “Is it natural?” when discussing certain shots and acting approaches.
Forman opted to shoot the entire movie sequentially, meaning the scenes were filmed in the same order they occurred in the story (except for the boating episode, which was shot last). This decision enabled the actors to deliver more authentic and continuous performances in which their characters and their relationships adapt organically as the narrative progresses.
Although it was an unusual and costlier approach at the time, the director also utilized three cameras simultaneously during the group therapy scenes, an approach that enabled him to capture the actors’ spontaneous reactions to each other, resulting in performances that felt more authentic and naturalistic.
Ponder how he uses slow zooms to center in on a particular character at a pivotal moment, often a character who is listening or reacting to someone else. Also, ruminate on how often his camera focuses on an individual face or solo character in the frame despite the large group of personalities in a confined setting; this makes us identify or empathize more with each character and see them as individuals with unique attributes who deserve our undivided attention.
Ultimately, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest shines as a message about spiritual awakening – an allegory in which McMurphy serves as a Christlike savior who reminds his disciples of their self-worth and how to resist the soul-crushing forces around them. Although he’s certainly an imperfect and sinful redeemer, what’s important is that he inspires confidence and self-actualization in his followers, rousing them from their passivity and suppression. Recall how McMurphy “baptizes” his fellow patients with streams of water, performs a miracle of sorts by breaking them out and teaching them to fish, and shares a “Last Supper” with his friends in a later sequence. Even though he has the opportunity to escape, he ultimately sacrifices himself by staying behind, defending his friend, and dying. But his spirit lives on in some of the men who have adopted his teachings (for proof, consider how the patients speak and play cards like McMurphy did). And just as Christ’s disciples followed their master’s path and spread his word following his death and resurrection, Chief is stirred into action to accomplish what McMurphy could not: physically escape from the institution.
If you prefer a non-spiritual reading, Cuckoo’s Nest is essentially about a free spirit that cannot be contained. Ever the maverick, McMurphy is the wild horse who refuses to be tamed. Ratched and her colleagues triumph in the end by permanently corralling and neutering this bucking bronco, but his animus now inhabits another steed who is determined to kick down the stable door and run free.
The benefits and drawbacks of bucking the system is a further lesson for those paying attention. McMurphy continually defies Ratched’s authority and attempts to break the rules imposed upon him and his friends, ultimately refusing to acquiesce or conform. His rebelliousness agitates Ratched and inspires the men around him to increasingly stand up and think for themselves. But it comes at a terrible cost, eventually leading to Billy’s suicide and McMurphy’s zombification.
For a film that’s now 50 years old and a story set in 1963, it’s only natural that our understanding, attitudes about, and treatment of the mentally ill have evolved and improved. It’s hardly surprising that the American Psychiatric Association took issue with the film upon its release, largely believing it cast mental illness and psychiatric treatment in an unfavorable light. Although this movie is empathetic to the challenges faced by the psychologically unwell and avoids madhouse caricatures or clichés, the depictions of electroconvulsive therapy and the wider use of lobotomies at that time in history are distressing to viewers. Today, thankfully, better antipsychotic medications have replaced these more extreme procedures, although electroconvulsive therapy still exists in a more controlled and safer form with clinical benefits.
But in defending the film, Ebert believed that “the movie’s simplistic approach to mental illness is not really a fault of the movie, because it has no interest in being about insanity. It is about a free spirit in a closed system,”. But he also asserted that the film is manipulative, “profoundly fearful of women,” and unrealistic, claiming “it almost willfully overlook the realities of mental illness in order to turn the patients into a group of cuddly characters right for McMurphy’s cheerleading.” Ebert asked: “Is One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest not a great film because it is manipulative, or is it great because it is so superbly manipulative? I can see it through either filter. It remains enduringly popular as an anti-establishment parable, but achieves its success by deliberately choosing to use the mental patients as comic caricatures. This decision leads to the fishing trip, which is at once the most popular, and the most false, scene in the movie. It is McMurphy’s great joyous thumb in the eye to Ratched and her kind, but the energy of the sequence cannot disguise the unease and confusion of men who, in many cases, have no idea where they are, or why.”
Additionally, there’s no denying that this is also a male-centric artifact of the 1970s in which the female characters are either castrating villains hell-bent on subjugating men or obedient sex objects. Today, these extreme gender politics may not be as acceptable to modern audiences.
Despite these flaws, Cuckoo’s Nest is a perpetual gift machine that delivers one priceless present after another. Unwrap the first one and you’ve got what many believe is Nicholson’s finest work as an actor in a role he was born to play. Open the second box, and you have one of the most soul-stirring inspirational messages about self-empowerment and autonomy ever captured on celluloid. And then there are smaller packages in the form of individual scenes. The World Series imaginary play-by-play by McMurphy, delivered impossibly fast but impeccably by the master thespian inhabiting this role, is one of them. So is the brawl that ensues when Mac tries to give Cheswick his cigarettes back; the moment Chief drops his broom and comes to McMurphy’s defense is even more lump-in-the-throat inducing than his later breakout.
But perhaps the best moment in the movie is literally a single shot: the 70-second uninterrupted take where the camera lingers on Nicholson sitting adjacent to the open window and impending freedom. By letting that shot breathe for several extra beats, we wonder what McMurphy is thinking and why he chooses to delay a surefire escape. It’s also a marvelous moment of nonverbal acting that demonstrates a cinematic synergy between the director and his primary performer. We see Mac’s devilish smile dissipate, then reappear and evaporate twice more – each time giving way to a sobering silent contemplation and a weariness of body and soul that’s evident in his sleepy countenance.
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