Spellbound

Miss Carmichael, please.

Dr. Petersen is ready for you.

I'm awfully sorry. I have to go.

Had a perfect hand.

Would've beaten the pants off you.

- Harry will take you, Miss Carmichael.

- Thank you.

Watch her carefully.

Don't take your eyes off her.

- How are you today, Harry?

- Fine.

- You look a little bilious.

- It's the light.

I worry about you, dear.

I'll be all right.

Must we dash into Dr. Petersen's office?

Can't we go sit somewhere in private

and talk, just you and I?

Love it, if I had time.

Would you?

Come in.

You ruined a very interesting card game,

Dr. Petersen.

- You may go now, Harry.

- I'll be outside.

I hope you feel better today, Mary.

- Well, I don't.

- You will.

I think this whole thing is ridiculous.

What whole thing, Mary?

Psychoanalysis.

It bores the pants off of me.

Lying on the couch

like some dreary nitwit, telling all.

You don't really expect to get anywhere

listening to me babble

about my idiotic childhood.

Really.

My patients invariably regard me

as a wretched nuisance

during our first talks.

I see. It's my subconscious

putting up a fight.

It doesn't want me cured.

Exactly. It wants to continue

enjoying your disease.

Our job is to make you understand why.

When you know why you're doing

something that's bad for you

and when you first started doing it.

Then you can begin curing yourself.

You mean I've been telling you lies?

The usual proportion.

You're right. I've been lying like mad.

I hate men. I loathe them.

If one of them so much as touches me,

I want to sink my teeth into his hands

and bite it off.

In fact, I did that once.

Do you care to hear about it?

Tell me anything you remember.

We were dancing.

He kept asking me to marry him,

panting in my ear.

I suddenly pretended

I was going to kiss him

and sank my teeth into his mustache

and bit it clear off.

You're laughing at me.

That smug frozen face of yours

doesn't take me in.

You just want me to tell you all this

so you can feel superior to me.

You and your drooling science.

I detest you.

I never want to see

that nasty face of yours again!

I can't bear you.

You and your nickel's worth of nothing!

Come on, Miss Carmichael.

Silly fool.

Letting a creature like that worry me.

Miss Frozen Puss.

Dr. Fleurot,

I want to talk to you alone.

I can't stand that woman.

I'll see you later, Mary.

Come, Miss Carmichael.

Murchison must be really out of his mind

to assign Carmichael to you.

You may report your findings

to the new head when he arrives.

You can't treat

a love veteran like Carmichael

without some inside information.

I've done a great deal of research

on emotional problems

- and love difficulties.

- Research, my eye.

I've watched your work for six months.

It's brilliant but lifeless.

There's no intuition in it.

You approach all your problems

with an ice pack on your head.

- Are you making love to me?

- I will in a moment.

I'm just clearing the ground first.

I'm trying to convince you that your

lack of human and emotional experience

is bad for you as a doctor

and fatal for you as a woman.

I've heard that argument from

a number of amorous psychiatrists

who all wanted to make

a better doctor of me.

But I've got a much better argument.

- I'm terribly fond of you.

- Why?

It's rather like embracing a textbook.

- Why do you do it then?

- Because you're not a textbook.

You're a sweet, pulsing,

adorable woman underneath.

I sense it every time

I come near to you.

You sense only your own desires

and pulsations.

I assure you,

mine in no way resemble them.

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