Schizophrenia is a subject that doesn’t get handled very much on film, and when it does, the subject is almost always a psychopath. This film spells it out plainly for us – we can feel for somebody who has no legs or Down Syndrome, but schizophrenia still merits little support. Most physical impairments and some mental disorders are worthy of our empathy, but for some reason, the schizophrenic is always a pariah.
Adam (Charlie Plummer) is schizophrenic. One of the things Words on Bathroom Walls does exquisitely is make Adam’s pain relatable. And not relatable in the sense that we acknowledge “that could be me” so much as getting us to see what Adam sees. Adam has three constant imaginary friends, a bruiser (Lobo Sebastian), a flower child (AnnaSophia Robb), and a Don Juan (Devon Bostick). They greet him when he awakes; they see him off to sleep; they advise him in-between. It’s crowded. Oh, and there’s also the pure evil ghastly emanation from the closet, but that’s another level of the psychosis.
Unlike many similar films, Words on Bathroom Walls sees Adam as more than his impairment. The kid has dealt with his issues by becoming a cook extraordinaire. He yearns to graduate and enroll in culinary school, but there are hurdles in the form of finding a school that can deal with his condition and potential step-dad, Paul (Walter Goggins), keeps hiding all the sharp knives – which tends to limit what you can and cannot cook.
His mom (Molly Parker) has tried all the “cures” and suffered all the “cures.” She’s been a single parent for a while, which is difficult even when your kid isn’t schizophrenic and having constant school troubles. In a scene that seems completely out-of-place with her character, she stuffs Paul into a last resort, St. Agatha’s Catholic School, telling him this is his “last chance” to graduate and move on. I’m bothered by a parent that has shown such patience for years and yet has never heard of a GED. As someone who went to Catholic school for eight years, I’m even more bothered by the idea that Catholic school is the place where he’ll find best acceptance.
And then there’s the romance, Maya (Taylor Russell), a brilliant student with a side-hustle selling grades to kids with more money than brains. Words on Bathroom Walls bills itself as a romance, perhaps not unlike The Fault in Our Stars or something along these lines, but it isn’t really. The film is about Adam’s world, how he sees it, how he relates to it, how the two 
combat one another. And much as everybody loves a good romance, the focus is correct. Until Adam can get to a stable place, romance shouldn’t be on the table … but that’s easier said than done … and if I’m reasoning soundly, it could and probably should apply to 99% of teenagers.
If there are Andy Garcia fans in the house, his five minutes in this film is his best work in a decade.
Words on Bathroom Walls does two things exceptionally well: 1) It never loses sight of the schizophrenia. Many films will introduce a significant problem only to lose it when plot or character inconvenient. Words on Bathroom Walls never lost sight of the fact that Adam was/is/will always be schizophrenic. There is no more magic cure for schizophrenia than there is for Down Syndrome or homosexuality (not that the latter is a disease, nor should it be considered as one). There are medications schizophrenics take that help the person live a more “normal” life. That’s it. 2) This film humanized schizophrenia like few films before it. It is a shame it hasn’t wider appeal, because Words on Bathroom Walls could do for schizophrenia what Rain Man did for autism.
Adam’s sanity is barely afloat
His alter egos are terribly cutthroat
There’s no need to fear
The solution is clear
Give each imaginary friend a vote
Rated PG-13, 110 Minutes
Director: Thor Freudenthal (This name contains two completely different notable –and disparate- mononyms. Weird.)
Writer: Nick Naveda
Genre: Problematic teen romance
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: Schizophrenics
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: Schizophrenics
