Literary And Cinematic Examples

Irma la Douce

The protagonist of the film Irma la Douce (1963), directed by Billy Wilder, is played by Shirley MacLaine (Irma), with Jack Lemmon as the second main character, Néstor Patou

(alias "the tiger"). Irma is a rather chubby prostitute with a strong addiction to tobacco. There are moments when she butts one cigarette with another, and there isn't a single scene in the entire movie where she isn't smoking, except when she's asleep. Even when she just gets into bed, she lights up a cigarette. When Néstor asks her to stop smoking, the humor in her response is enormous: “In my work, men have always asked me for all kinds of things, very strange. Now, quitting smoking is the first time I've been asked to do so. That's really weird.”

For Irma, the most important thing is her work. Her place of work is located on Rue Casanova, next to the Les Halles market, which is considered the stomach of Paris. The voiceover lists all the foods available in the market and their places of origin. She sees food everywhere.

Irma is always waiting, often smoking. She smokes when she gets angry and feels unseen. The dissociation between love and sex is clear to her. Sex is paid for, while “love is illegal.” They pay her to work, and with that money, she pays who she considers her love, her Merz, who mistreats her. She is always waiting for a man to show up for work. She tells Néstor that his work is not just a job—it’s a profession—and she values it deeply.

Irma uses her dog to attract sympathy or manipulate the situation, because with the man—in sex, taken as work—she always plays the victim and thus obtains more money. She tells the men she works for various stories: She was going to be a concert pianist, but a lid fell on her hand, breaking her fingers and ruining her vocation. Now, nothing matters to her except feeding her dog, Coquette. She doesn't even know her own name because she was born in an orphanage, and now she’s sending money to rebuild it after it was burned down in an American bombing. Her parents were missionaries in the Congo and passed away, and her sister needs three blood transfusions daily...

Improving in her profession is important to Lord X, who announces that he has divorced his wife: “I have been practicing. I'll do better tonight.” "He will feel very lonely now in the castle,” she projects. “It would be a wonderful place for Coquette because she gets drunk; I always find bottles under the bed.”

When the new policeman shows up and asks her what she’s doing on the street at that hour, she replies: “I don’t know about the other girls; I’m walking my dog.” She hides her true intentions, disguising herself as naive, which is her way of competing with other women, because some men feel sorry for her. “Why is it that nine out of ten men want to reform me?” She explains to someone that there is a lot of competition in her work. The Self-Preservation 9 can also find therapists everywhere, wanting to “help” her when she hasn’t asked for it. There is something in her attitude that attracts that offer.

When the policeman tells her he’s sorry to stop her, Irma replies, “Don’t worry; a break will do me good,” because she takes charge of what the other feels and because she does not rest enough. In fact, since she always sleeps during the day, she puts on a mask so that the light doesn’t bother her. She is bothered by the light—seeing it hurts her.

In her work, during breaks, she always takes a “break” at the bar across the street. The bar is her second home. She tells the owner over and over again: “Put it all in my account,” because she takes care of everything and covers all expenses. She pays for affection. She buys her man’s clothes and jewelry and gives him everything he earns. “What would the girls say if I let you work?” she asks. “That’s why I’m going to work for you twice as much as I worked for others.”

Irma has a low concept of herself. When Néstor tells her that she’s very pretty, she replies with all her love, “The binoculars will be out of focus.” She doesn’t think she is better than the concept she has of herself. When Néstor and she go up the stairs to her apartment, she overtakes him. “Don’t expect too much luxury when we get upstairs. I need to buy some curtains.” She doesn’t mind her nudity, and she doesn’t feel shy about sex. That’s why she doesn’t mind not having curtains.

Her space is difficult to access; you have to climb endless steps. In the second part of the film, when Néstor disguises himself, he descends into the underworld and then reemerges as Lord X. After returning from working in the market all night, he climbs the facade, ascending all the floors. Her space is very lofty. “I am also an artist; I painted this bed,” she brags about her castellation.

In her view of love, it is not only illegal but also an illusion. “I don’t believe in miracles.” “Don’t bet.” She thinks it’s stupid to be romantic. When she talks about her parents, specifically her mother, she criticizes her for abandoning her profession out of love for an unhappy man. The only thing she credits to her mother is that she didn’t marry her father, which she sees as a smart choice.

The room is ornately decorated in the style of the time. The space seems smaller because it is filled with things, though it’s organized. Irma is critical and sharp: “Lord X, is that X eccentric?”

Halfway through the film, although love continues to be dissociated, Irma glimpses an unknown happiness. “I am so happy. From now on, it will be just you and me and the lord.” And she starts dancing. When she celebrates something, she dances.

There is much loneliness. When Lord X proposes only solitaire and no sex, she replies, “Solitaire? I really like solitaire. I’ve never played solitaire with a company.”

“I don’t think it’s right to accept money without justification. After all, I’m not doing anything for you,” she protests. She doesn’t know what love is. She interprets Néstor’s signs of tiredness as another woman’s involvement. She doesn’t see it or know how to recognize it until something tragic happens. She fights with Néstor when she calls him to account—and they end up slapping each other—making her close up again, although that is a sign of health.

Irma will eventually opt for Lord X, who is the one who likes her the best. Through her fantasies, she merges sex and love. She asks him to take her with him and does not accept the money. “He will come looking for me. He is a gentleman.”

When Néstor tells her that she doesn’t know anything about men, she replies, “You can’t tell when someone loves you like I do.” She responds, “You just want my dollars.” When someone tells a Self-Preservation 9 that they love her, it’s easy for her not to believe it and to think it’s out of self-interest.

Irma realizes her love late, when Néstor goes to jail. He changes his life and work. She becomes a cashier at the fish market, pregnant and filled with guilt. “I can’t marry you because I love you. The father is Lord X, and it wouldn’t be fair to you. A woman always knows those things.”

Sancho Panza

Here are some reflections from Miguel de Unamuno’s Life of Don Quixote and Sancho, discussing the progressive "quixotization" of Sancho and the "sanchization" of Don Quixote at the end of Cervantes’ novel. The characters move within a polarity of realism and idealism. In the first book, each character embodies their respective archetype, while in the second, a healing process unfolds, with both moving toward the opposite end of the polarity from where they began.

Sancho Panza is introduced by Cervantes as:

“…a farmer neighbor of his, a good man—if this title can be given to someone who is poor—but with very little salt in his head […] Sancho Panza, as the farmer was called, left his wife and children and settled as his neighbor's squire […] Above all, he commissioned him to carry saddlebags; he said that he would take it, and that he was also thinking of taking a donkey that he had, very good, because he was not used to walking much on his feet […] Sancho Panza rode on his donkey like a patriarch, with his saddlebags and his boot, and with great desire to see himself already governor of the island that his master had promised him.”

The saddlebags symbolize the journey, an essential part of the Self-Preservation 9 instinct—always carrying something: food, tools, and whatever is necessary for the road. The wineskin speaks for itself. Sancho’s naïve nature is clear: “At the hand of God; I believe everything just as your grace says it.” Don Quixote laughs at his squire’s simplicity.

To convince him, Don Quixote must promise adventure and an island. For the Self-Preservation 9, sacrifice is driven by tangible rewards, such as a house or a job—something concrete, like being governor of an island. In return, Sancho gives himself completely, without questioning, following his master like a child and even believing in Don Quixote’s imaginary madness, even when reality contradicts it. Sancho adapts to Don Quixote’s world, much like the peasant adapts to the land’s cycles, or a child learns to tell the lies the world expects to secure what is promised. Sancho’s character is easily seduced by the promises of those he wants to believe, often because he lacks self-confidence and places his trust in others.

For the Self-Preservation 9, belief in others is crucial. While they may know that the truth is not always as it seems, they still need to trust others in order to hope for what they cannot achieve alone. Self-deception and idealism are more important to them than reality, making them susceptible to the dreams of others. This leads to confusion about what to believe, as the Self-Preservation 9 often perceives the world through their own eyes, failing to see it as others do. This is the root of their struggle to understand Don Quixote's madness—they lack the "crazy" side that might help them view the world differently.

Don Quixote’s madness serves as an answer to a deeper, unrecognized longing in Sancho—a desire for something extraordinary, like governing a kingdom, or meeting a man of pure spirit. For the Self-Preservation 9, confronting their own creative, unpredictable side is terrifying. They prefer to avoid instability, fearing that letting go could lead to madness. They may transgress, but only within carefully controlled boundaries.

Jung discusses the extraverted sensation type, which is realistic, with highly developed, yet ignored, intuition in the shadow. Although Sancho senses that Don Quixote is unwell, he disregards his intuition, trusting only the external reality that he perceives. His main function is sensory, and this is evident in his numerous references to his good appetite and rough manners of eating and drinking:

“Sancho told him to see that it was time to eat. His master replied that at that time he did not need it; let him eat when he pleased. With this permission, Sancho accommodated himself as best he could on his donkey, and, taking out of the saddlebags what he had put in them, he ate as he went, enjoying himself immensely, so much so that even the most gifted bodegonero (genre painter) of Malaga would envy him. And while he was drinking, he did not remember any promise his master had made him [...]”

“When he got up, he felt the boot and found it somewhat thinner than the night before; his heart grieved, for it seemed to him that they were not on the road to remedying its lack so quickly [...]”

“But another misfortune happened, which Sancho considered the worst of all, and it was that they had no wine to drink, not even water to wet their mouths [...]”

“Great mercy!—said Sancho—But I can tell your grace that if I had a good meal, I would eat it standing up and alone, just as well as sitting next to an emperor. And, to tell the truth, what I eat in my corner, without pretension or respect, tastes much better to me, even if it is bread and onions, than the turkeys at other tables, where I am forced to chew slowly, drink little, clean myself often, not sneeze or cough if I feel like it, or do other things that solitude and freedom bring with them.”

Sancho is obedient, though he grumbles:

“Don Quixote got up and ordered Sancho to saddle up at once, which he did very diligently [...]”

“And saying goodbye to thirty woes, and sixty sighs, and a hundred and twenty regrets, and rejections from the one who had brought him there, he got up, remaining overwhelmed in the middle of the road, like a turquoise bow, unable to straighten up completely.”

Sancho's peaceful character dislikes conflict. For the Self-Preservation 9, responding to unforeseen events or conflicts is futile. It is better to resist and surrender to fate. He renounces following his own destiny and prefers to let life carry him along. In general, he accepts what life gives him, both good and bad:

“May your worship be very well obeyed in this; and more, that I am peaceful and an enemy of getting involved in noise or fights [...]”

“Lord, I am a peaceful, meek, calm man, and I know how to hide any insult, because I have a wife and children to support and raise [...] because it cannot be mandated, that in no way will I lay hands on the sword, nor against villain nor against gentleman; and that, from here before God, I forgive all the wrongs that have been done to me and will be done, whether they have been done to me, or will be done, or will be done by a tall or short person, rich or poor, hidalgo or pechero without any state, status or condition [...]”

“Lord, withdrawing is not fleeing, nor is waiting for sanity, and it is wise to save today for tomorrow, and not risk everything in one day.”

Sancho is often forgetful, as shown by his repeated failure to notice when he leaves the saddlebags at inns, along with the letter for Dulcinea and his master's diary.

He is also impatient: “I can’t suffer or bear with patience some things that your grace says.”

His cheerful and contented nature is displayed when he dances:

“And saying this, he gave two shoes in the air, showing great contentment.” The Aragonese jota includes this step of raising the shoe.

Sancho’s conservative and traditional character is also evident in his proverbs and his ambition to govern an island:

“May your grace be served, my lord Don Quixote, of giving me the government of the island you have won in this rigorous brawl; that, however great it may be, I feel strong enough to know how to govern it just as well as anyone else who has governed islands in the world [...]”

“Neither do I say it nor do I think it; there they have it; with his bread they eat it; if they were cohabited or not, they will have given the account to God; I come from my vineyards, I know nothing; I am not a friend of knowing other people’s lives; that the one who buys and lies, in his bag feels it. How much more, since I was born naked, I find myself naked: I neither lose nor win; But if they were, what’s the matter with me? And many think that there is bacon and there are no stakes. But who can put doors to the field?”

His popular wisdom shines when he acts as a healer:

“He told him not to be sorry, that he would remedy it so that he would easily heal. And taking some rosemary leaves, of many that were there, he chewed them and mixed them with a little salt, and applied them to his ear, bandaging it very well, assuring him that no other medicine was needed, and that was the truth.”

At the same time, he hides his rage: "Sancho got up, and with the rage he felt at seeing himself beaten so undeservedly." He is prudent and practical when it comes to seeking revenge; he doesn't want to pursue it because they are at a disadvantage: "What kind of revenge should we take if there are more than twenty of them and only two of us, or perhaps even just one and a half?"

This mindset reflects fear, specifically the fear of the Inquisition: "Even greater was the fear that had entered his heart, so much so that he did not dare to leave his master..."

"Because I intend to protect myself with all my five senses from being hurt or from hurting anyone. As for being blanketed again, I say nothing; such misfortunes are hardly preventable, and if they come, there is nothing to do but shrug your shoulders, hold your breath, close your eyes, and let yourself go wherever luck and the blanket will take you."

"He says that if he had believed me, this damage would have been excused; believe me now, and he will excuse an even greater one. I let him know that with the Holy Brotherhood, there is no room for chivalry..." "Naturally, you are a coward, Sancho."

His exhaustion and frustration from all the effort that leads to nothing:

"Señor Don Quixote, your grace, give me your blessing and grant me permission to return to my house, to my wife, and my children, with whom I will at least be able to talk and share everything I want. Wanting your grace to go with him through these solitudes, day and night, and not to speak to him when I feel like it is to bury me alive. If luck wanted animals to talk, that would be a good thing because I could converse with my donkey whenever I wanted. This is how I would spend my misfortune. It is a tough thing, and one cannot bear it patiently. Going after adventures all one's life and finding nothing but kicks, batterings, brick blows, and punches, and with all of this, we must sew up our mouths without daring to speak the truth, as if we were dumb."

In the second book, Sancho is already established as the governor of the island of Barataria. Through the experience of being a governor, he begins to understand his deeper nature, moving beyond his superficial, world-directed way. Having power seemed to be his desire, and by assuming the role of governor, he can achieve it. However, the Self-Preservation of the E9 must go through a form of action to reach its truest nature. That is the price of power. Sancho prefers to remain true to himself and his freedom. If having power over others means giving up his simplicity, Sancho chooses himself, regardless of the consequences. Power and ambition cause destabilizing conflict, and it is better to remain oneself and relinquish the pursuit of power.

When Don Quixote is defeated by the Knight of the White Moon, Sancho Panza also feels defeated.

Here’s the corrected version with improved grammar and flow: