I wasn't prepared for what Obsession was going to do to my head. Not because of the horror, but because of how familiar it felt.
The scene that struck me the most was introduced by a super fast cut, no warning. One moment they're at dinner, the next Bear is on top of Nikki, pants still half down, going at it hard.
The discomfort hit me so suddenly I genuinely considered getting up and leaving the cinema.
But I stayed.And in that scene I could see both of them at the same time: Bear, consuming, possessing, getting exactly what he wished for; and Nikki, face completely blank, crying. She was still there. But she doesn't exist to him. Not really. Not as a person. Does Bear actually love her, or does he love the idea of her? Because what he wished for wasn't her happiness. It wasn't even her love. It was possession. The external recognition of "how did a guy like you land someone like her." The confirmation that everything society already told him about himself is true. She's not a person in that bedroom. She's validation.
The wish itself says everything. When Nikki asks him directly if he has feelings for her, he can't find the words, and says they're just friends. He knows it's not reciprocated, and that she's fine with it. When she leaves the car and heads to her house, he goes and breaks the One Wish Willows. And that made me think that that's not so far from what a lot of us do when we can't handle rejection. We look for control somewhere else. Tarot, horoscopes, rituals, anything that gives us the feeling that the universe might still bend in our direction. Well, I can only say about myself, and I already went to see a lady who was supposedly very good with energy and could help me have some hope of not losing a woman I was in love with. No shame in admitting this.
The difference is that Bear just had access to something that actually worked. The impulse underneath is the same: I cannot accept that her answer is no, so I'm going to find a way around it.
And this is where the film does something most conversations about male loneliness refuse to do: it follows the logic all the way through. Bear isn't the obvious villain. He's the nice guy. The outsider who got friendzoned by the hot and cool girl. He was always "too soft", never fit the standard mould of what a man is supposed to look like. And society spends a lot of time feeling sorry for this type of guy. "He's so sweet. He just doesn't know how to act with girls. Or handle emotions. With communication. With empathy." Honestly, insert whatever justification fits the moment, because there's always one ready. What gets lost is that he's not a good guy because he's genuinely decent.
He's performing decency as a transaction. Waiting for it to be cashed in.
At this point, looking back, I can remember and visualise so many similar situations I've seen happening in real life; and to think this is very normalised amongst men is just… sad. The guy who gave the girl a lift, and expected her to get it on with him for it; or the guy that saw a drunk woman, and decided to "guard" her instead of trying it with her at that moment, but got pissed that she never realised how much of a gentleman he was for doing that.
To me the film explicitly states that you don't have to be a bad person to be the villain of someone else's story. You don't need bad intentions to cause real harm. Bear probably believes, on some level, that what he feels is love; and that's exactly what makes this so dangerous. Because "but he loves her" becomes a shield. And so does "he's just afraid of losing you." I've said that myself. To myself, and to friends who came to me about someone they were seeing. This whole thing is so naturalised in our way of thinking.
His fear gets handed to her like it's hers to carry, like his anxiety about losing her is somehow her responsibility to manage; even if managing it means becoming smaller, quieter, less of who she actually is. The intention absorbs all the attention, and the actual damage she's living through becomes secondary. The thing, to me, isn't whether he's a good or bad person. It's that he is the problem. Nikki's desire, her version of herself, her "no"; none of it registers as real or valid to him. His fear overrides her whole being and existence. And he believes that's love.
When real Nikki gets to talk to him, and asks him to kill her, he gets in shock, and the only thing he could ask was "is it really so bad to be with me?" He doesn't care about the fact that she's wrecked, broken inside out. The answer had already been given. He just didn't want to acknowledge it, because acknowledging it meant losing her. And losing her meant having to actually feel rejection. Having to sit with the fact that she chose otherwise. Her desire cannot be bigger or more real than what he wants for her to be. I've watched situations like this up close more times than I'd like. Women around me who've been so conditioned to this dynamic that a guy doing the bare minimum reads as amazing. Their freedom, their openness, the parts of them that directly threaten their partners becomes something to fix. Something to wait out until it passes.
I write this without placing myself above any of it.
I've no shame admitting that I saw myself in many situations that resonated with some messages of the film.
I'm a trans man. And in the early days of my transition, I was in a deeply confusing place; knowing who I was on the inside while the world consistently saw someone else. There's something strange and painful about wanting to be seen so badly that you start applying the logic of desire to yourself. Wishing reality would just bend. And then meeting someone who actually saw you, who wanted to be around you regardless of you being trans, who accepted you at a moment when you weren't sure you were fully real yet; and holding onto that so tightly it becomes something else entirely.
Years after going through a breakup, doing therapy, holding myself accountable for my actions, I thought about how much of what I felt was about her, and how much was about what she represented to me. How the image I had of us had more to do with what I needed than with who she actually was, and what she needed. A few years back I came to terms with the fact that losing her was the thing that let me finally see her. When I stopped needing her to mean something, what was left was simpler and more honest; I actually just like this person. Without agenda. Without proof. Just her.
But this is a story for another time.
Bear makes the wish so he never has to lose her; so she'll love him more than anything else. Even herself.
I think a lot of people are going to watch this film and walk away feeling sorry for Bear. Call Nikki crazy, chaotic, too much. They'll miss the entire point; which is, honestly, very on brand for the world we're living in.
But I hope some people watch it and actually see through it. Because the "nice guy" isn't innocent just because he's not the obvious one. He chooses, consciously, to keep going; even when someone is begging to disappear rather than stay.
I've been on both sides of this. There were moments I tried to hold on too tight, to mould a situation into what I needed it to be. And there were moments I was the one being quietly redefined; told I was too sentimental, too deep, too much; by someone whose version of me had very little to do with who I actually am. I don't think she was a bad person either. But knowing who you are is what lets you see these dynamics for what they are. And eventually, walk away.
What I'm trying to do; what I think is the bare minimum of being a decent human being in the middle of all this; is stay open to reflecting. To sit with the versions of myself I'm not proud of. To question the relationship dynamics I've been part of, on whichever side.