Among Christina Ricci’s prolific filmography, “Prozac Nation” (2001) is often denigrated as a hedonistic misery-fest that unremarkably conforms to the “sad girl” genre of cinema. I, however, love it. The cast-off is unfortunate, as the film delivers a stirring – and pertinent – representation of atypical depression. Set in the mid-1980s, “Prozac Nation” reflects the generational disenchantment that led to the prevalence of America’s first SSRI. It is based on the memoir by Elizabeth Wurtzel, lauded by The New York Times for “[possessing] the raw candor of Joan Didion’s essays, the irritating emotional exhibitionism of Sylvia Plath’s ‘The Bell Jar,’ and the wry, dark humor of a Bob Dylan song.” 

Ricci plays Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Wurtzel, a charismatic and attractive Harvard freshman. Within months at the elite institution, Lizzie has forged rich friendships, gained newfound male attention, and been published in Rolling Stone magazine. This fruitful streak deteriorates with the resurgence of her depression. She embarks on a downward spiral with minimal reprieve, which is uncomfortable to watch because she is exceptionally capable. The viewer observes Lizzie’s decline into substance abuse, writer’s block, and drastic sleep patterns with a frustrating sense of helplessness. Through vitriolic outbursts and reckless behavior, she alienates those closest to her and, as critics have ascertained, the audience. 

Variety magazine proclaimed in 2001: “The brat at the center of ‘Prozac Nation’ makes life miserable for everyone around her, but there’s no reason the public should pay for that privilege. Star Christina Ricci gives a smart performance, but the rest of the cast is variable. Some of the ‘Girl, Interrupted’ crowd could go for this drama, but crossover to a wider demographic is doubtful.” Reviews in this vein were far from isolated; a litany of mainstream detractors regarded the film as a bleak, aggrandizing diatribe of self-pity. 

Yet, the so-called “‘Girl, Interrupted’ crowd” found an illuminative and cathartic quality within its blunt approach to the subject matter. In 2016, a Vice columnist wrote, “It’s impossible not to hate Lizzie [by the second act]. She’s the devil incarnate, catering only to her own whims and edging her friends and lovers out. It forces you to consider the worst: that people might eventually give up on you. Maybe not now, but getting out of bed in the morning is something only you can do for yourself. It’s sobering.” Lizzie’s merit as a character lies in her not being the type of person a viewer would want to become or befriend; through blatant self-destruction, she reminds audiences of what to avoid within themselves.

Essentially, if Lizzie comes off as obnoxiously self-indulgent, it is because she should. She is not supposed to be likable. In fact, if Wurtzel’s memoir has any thesis, it is that the narrator’s actions are self-indulgent, her decision to write the 350 page volume to begin with is self-indulgent, and that depression itself is a rather self-indulgent cycle. To those who found her tone insufferable, Wurtzle wrote in a 1995 afterword: “That means I did what I had set out to do… Depression is a very narcissistic thing, it’s a self-involvement that is so deep and intense that it means the sufferer cannot get out of her own head long enough to see what real good, what genuine loveliness, there is in the world around her.” Though a diluted version of the story, the film maintains Wurtzel’s point: obsessed with her own hardship, Lizzie is unfairly dismissive of and callous towards her friends, mother, and boyfriend. Audiences’ annoyance with her behavior is a testament to the movie’s efficacy. 

Regarding Christina Ricci, her performance had star potential comparable to what “Girl, Interrupted” did for Angelina Jolie; some believe that Ricci would have received an Oscar nomination had Miramax not failed to distribute the film in America at the time of release. Although not as recognized, it cemented her as a serious dramatic actress during the transition from macabre yet demure supporting roles in works such as “Buffalo 66” (1998) and “Sleepy Hollow” (1999) to her lead opposite Charlize Theron in the psychologically laden biopic “Monster” (2003). In the latter, elements of Lizzie are highly evident through Ricci’s mannerisms, indicating the 2001 role’s lasting impact on her technique. After Wurtzel passed away in 2020, Ricci stated in memorial: “I made the movie with [Wurtzel] because of how much I loved the book and her voice. It meant something to me. It’s completely tragic.”

Ricci’s draconian immersion in Lizzie’s psyche paid off beautifully, and her work on “Prozac Nation” is some of her best. With meticulous directorial choices by Erik Skjoldbjærg, sardonic wit, and a Lou Reed cameo, the film stands on its own as a provocative glimpse into morbid discontent. In addition to Ricci, it touts a star-studded cast, featuring Anne Heche, Michelle Williams, Jason Biggs, and Jessica Lange, who brilliantly embodies her role as Lizzie’s overbearing mother.