'Days Of Wine And Roses' Depicts The Rapture And Ravage Of Alcoholism

Published in Food and Wine on Monday, August 4th 2025 at 11:45 GMT by Forbes
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From Hulk Hogan and Ozzy Osbourne to Jamie Lee Curtis and Brad Pitt, Hollywood has a long history with alcoholism. Medications and therapy are available but underutilized

Days of Wine and Roses: Depicting the Rapture and Ravage of Alcoholism

In the realm of cinematic and theatrical storytelling, few works capture the dual nature of alcoholism—the intoxicating highs and the devastating lows—with the raw intensity of *Days of Wine and Roses*. Originally a 1958 teleplay by JP Miller, it evolved into a landmark 1962 film directed by Blake Edwards, starring Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick, and has since been adapted into various forms, including a recent Broadway musical. The title, drawn from Ernest Dowson's poem "Vitae Summa Brevis," evokes the fleeting beauty of life, much like the ephemeral "rapture" of alcohol that masks its inevitable "ravage." This narrative serves as a poignant lens through which to examine addiction, not as a moral failing, but as a complex interplay of social, psychological, and physiological forces. Through its characters' journeys, it illustrates how alcohol can seduce with promises of joy and connection, only to erode lives, relationships, and futures.

At the heart of the story is Joe Clay, a public relations executive played by Lemmon in the film, whose professional life revolves around schmoozing clients over drinks. Joe is charming, ambitious, and initially moderate in his habits. He meets Kirsten Arnesen, portrayed by Remick, a teetotaler who works as his secretary. Their romance blossoms in a whirlwind of shared experiences, but Joe introduces Kirsten to alcohol as a way to loosen up and enjoy life's pleasures. What begins as innocent cocktail hours escalates into dependency. The "rapture" is palpable in these early scenes: alcohol facilitates laughter, intimacy, and escape from the mundanities of daily life. It's portrayed not as a villain from the outset but as a social lubricant, a companion in celebration. This mirrors real-world experiences where alcohol is normalized in cultures that equate drinking with sophistication, success, and bonding.

As the plot unfolds, the ravage sets in. Joe's drinking spirals, leading to professional setbacks—he loses clients, botches presentations, and faces demotions. Kirsten, once vibrant and independent, becomes ensnared in the same web, her initial reluctance giving way to full-blown addiction. The film doesn't shy away from the physical toll: blackouts, hangovers, and the desperate morning-after regrets. One harrowing sequence shows Joe, in a drunken stupor, destroying a greenhouse in search of hidden bottles, symbolizing the futile quest for control amid chaos. Their marriage, once a source of mutual support, fractures under the weight of codependency. Kirsten's pregnancy adds layers of tragedy; she gives birth to their daughter, Debbie, but the couple's alcoholism threatens the child's well-being, culminating in scenes of neglect and emotional abandonment.

The narrative delves deeply into the psychological dimensions of addiction. Joe's repeated attempts at sobriety highlight the cyclical nature of recovery and relapse. He attends Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings, a groundbreaking inclusion for its time, emphasizing the importance of community and self-admission of powerlessness. In one pivotal moment, Joe confesses, "I'm an alcoholic," a line that resonates with the 12-step philosophy. Yet, Kirsten resists, clinging to the delusion that they can drink "like normal people." This divergence underscores a key theme: addiction's grip varies by individual, influenced by denial, trauma, and enabling environments. The story avoids simplistic resolutions; while Joe achieves a fragile sobriety, Kirsten succumbs further, choosing alcohol over her family. This bittersweet ending reflects the harsh reality that not everyone finds redemption, a stark contrast to more optimistic portrayals in media.

From a broader perspective, *Days of Wine and Roses* anticipates modern understandings of alcoholism as a disease rather than a character flaw. In the 1960s, when the film was released, public discourse on addiction was evolving, influenced by emerging research from organizations like the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism (NIAAA). The story illustrates key risk factors: genetic predispositions, environmental triggers like high-stress jobs, and social pressures. Joe's PR world, where deals are sealed over martinis, exemplifies how certain professions normalize heavy drinking, a phenomenon still relevant today in industries like finance, entertainment, and sales. Kirsten's transformation from abstainer to addict highlights how exposure and normalization can override personal boundaries, a concept echoed in contemporary studies on peer influence and addiction onset.

The "rapture" aspect is particularly insidious, as it romanticizes alcohol's allure. Early scenes depict glamorous parties, flirtatious banter, and the euphoric buzz that makes problems fade away. This mirrors the brain's reward system, where alcohol floods the body with dopamine, creating a false sense of well-being. However, the ravage is depicted with unflinching realism: physical deterioration, including liver damage implied through Joe's hospitalizations; emotional isolation, as friends and family withdraw; and societal stigma, which exacerbates shame and hinders help-seeking. The film also touches on gender dynamics—Kirsten's downfall is portrayed with empathy, challenging stereotypes of female alcoholics as morally weak, instead showing her as a victim of circumstance and Joe's influence.

In its recent Broadway adaptation, starring Kelli O'Hara and Brian d'Arcy James, the story gains new resonance amid today's opioid crisis and rising alcohol-related deaths. The musical format amplifies the emotional highs and lows through song, with numbers like "Evan Hansen" evoking the initial joy and later despair. This version updates the narrative to address modern issues, such as the role of mental health in addiction and the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic, which saw a surge in alcohol consumption as people coped with isolation. It also incorporates diverse perspectives, exploring how alcoholism intersects with race, class, and access to treatment, broadening the original's scope.

Critically, *Days of Wine and Roses* has been praised for its authenticity. Lemmon, who drew from personal observations of alcoholics, earned an Academy Award nomination, as did Remick. The film's black-and-white cinematography enhances its gritty realism, stripping away any romantic gloss. Yet, it's not without flaws; some argue it overly dramatizes recovery, potentially discouraging those in early stages of addiction. Nonetheless, its enduring legacy lies in humanizing sufferers, encouraging empathy over judgment.

On a societal level, the story prompts reflection on prevention and intervention. It advocates for early education about alcohol's risks, robust support systems like AA, and policy changes to reduce alcohol marketing. In an era where alcohol is a multi-billion-dollar industry, the narrative warns against complacency. For individuals, it serves as a cautionary tale: the line between social drinking and dependency is perilously thin.

Ultimately, *Days of Wine and Roses* transcends its medium to offer a profound meditation on human vulnerability. It reminds us that while alcohol may promise rapture—a fleeting escape, a spark of connection—its ravage is profound, claiming lives, dreams, and relationships. By confronting this duality, the work not only entertains but educates, fostering a deeper understanding of addiction's complexities and the hope inherent in recovery. In a world still grappling with substance use disorders, its message remains timeless: awareness and compassion are the first steps toward healing. (Word count: 1,028)

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'Days Of Wine And Roses' Depicts The Rapture And Ravage Of Alcoholism

Days of Wine and Roses: Depicting the Rapture and Ravage of Alcoholism