A Psychoanalysis of Happy Gilmore
My Love Letter to a 90s Classic
Over eight years ago, I was still an undergrad minoring in American Literature (with budding passions for psychology & self-development). I wrote this essay for fun while I was just beginning to recognize how my passions for golf, film, depth psychology — and eventually, sustainability — could intersect. What started as a lighthearted attempt to “psychoanalyze” Happy Gilmore—Adam Sandler’s absurd 1996 comedy—turned into an exploration of golf as a stage for the psyche, where humor, competition, and inner conflict play out side-by-side. It was one of the first articles I wrote for my personal blog called “The Stoic Golfer”, in which I explored golf as an expression for various philosophies (mainly, Greco-Roman Stoicism).
Looking back now, I can see the seeds of what would later influence the content of Driving the Green: an attempt to take golf seriously not just as a sport, but as a mirror for psychology, community, and even sustainability. The essay is imperfect, but I’m republishing it here alongside my new review of Happy Gilmore 2. It’s a throwback, and a reminder that golf’s stories—whether comedic, tragic, or regenerative—are always about more than the game. Here’s the essential summary before you read further:
Core Premises
Golf as Psychological Battleground (Or Inner Sanctuary)
Golf is about intra-psychic conflict (“the five-inch course between the ears”).
Happy Gilmore functions like a dream, where comedy and absurdity reveal latent psychological meaning; mainly, the quest for wholeness within the psyche.
Comedy as Meaningful Art
Despite critical dismissal, comedy (and Sandler’s work) deserves serious interpretation.
Iconic moments endure because they resonate with the psyche.
Happy Gilmore = a story of psychological integration, not just sports victory.
Golf serves as his medium for channeling anger into self-control and individuation.
The absurdity of comedy conceals deeper wisdom about psychological growth.
Character Archetypes (Psyche Projections)
Happy Gilmore → The Self
Protector of the weak (grandmother, homeless caddy).
Embodies raw passion and working-class authenticity.
Flawed by anger and lack of self-awareness; represents the unintegrated Self.
Shooter McGavin → The Ego/Shadow
Narcissistic, entitled, and scheming.
Represents the destructive side of ambition and ego.
Functions as the externalized inner obstacle Happy must overcome.
Chubbs Peterson → The Conscience/Moral Guide
Serves as mentor, father-figure, and inner voice of restraint.
His missing hand symbolizes loss of agency, failure, and incompleteness.
Completes Happy’s psyche by helping him integrate passion with discipline.
Narrative as Mythic Hero’s Journey / Individuation
Act I – The Call to Adventure
Happy begins in imbalance: failed hockey dreams, family hardship, anger.
Catalyst: discovers golf talent to save grandmother’s house.
Act II – Trials and Enemies
Encounters Shooter (ego antagonist) and external criticism (hecklers, Bob Barker fight).
Struggles with self-control, excuses, and emotional fragility.
Gains sponsorship and purpose but realizes he must solve inner conflict.
Act III – Transformation & Integration
Confronts inner critic (the clown) and embraces “The Happy Place.”
Integrates hockey and golf personas (hockey-stick putter).
Death of Chubbs signals rebirth of conscience within himself.
Climactic shot through obstacles = mastery of self, defeat of ego.
So with that, to set the stage, here is my writing from almost a decade ago (unedited since 2017)…
A Psychoanalysis of Happy Gilmore
Preface
I’ve outlined The Stoic Golfer as a personal reconciliation of thoughts and thinkers, but I have thus far only included non-fictional works. These incorporate Stoic Philosophy (Marcus Aurelius), golf strategy (Tiger Woods), psychology (Dr. Arnie Kozak), and the modern ethics of sustainability. The following hopes to remedy any remaining misunderstanding of the broader philosophical significance of golf. Here I attempt to integrate fiction, using the film Happy Gilmore as both a source of new wisdom, and an illustration of previously articulated ideas.
I’m sure that the intersection of psychoanalysts and Adam Sandler fans is minimal, but it’s nonetheless worth exploring the meaning of this cult classic. I’ve extracted the most iconic and memorable moments of the movie, as iconic and memorable are ultimately synonymous with meaningful. Characters, scenes, lines, and images for memorable for a reason: they resonate with the psyche, reproducing the phenomenon of meaning.
The Oscars seldom recognize comedies as meaningful or artful, but comedy is indisputably an art form. Giving serious thought to any comedic film is thus a necessary contribution to its lacking position in cinematic criticism. I understand the inherent subjectivity of any interpretive attempt, but as I find myself regularly returning to Happy Gilmore, each time with equal nostalgic adoration, it is worth articulating its meaning for myself. It’s a recurring dream with which I need to grapple.
Golf, Psychology, and Comedy
Golf is perhaps the most purely psychological sport. Your psyche is the true field of play – more than the actual acres of golfing ground, as Bobby Jones attested:
“Competitive golf is a game that is played mainly on a five-inch course - the distance between your ears.” – Bobby Jones (Image via PGA TOUR)
Thus, any movie about golf must also tend toward psychology and its representations. Furthermore, comedies invariably lean toward the absurd and incoherent, much like dreams. In Sigmund Freud’s model of dreams, the dream’s meaning is “latent”. This latent meaning awaits “manifestation” via psychoanalytic interpretation. Interestingly, Freud also talked of humor as a window into the unconscious, but I can reserve the dynamics of comedy for another discussion.
Dreams, and I support, artistic representations of life (movies, novels, images, etc.), are the battleground of the unconscious for both artist and viewer. As representational battlegrounds for psychological conflict, films often assume an incoherent nature. Yet, from incoherence – from a collective dream of cast, crew, and audience – semi-coherent brilliance often emerges, as is the case with Happy Gilmore.
A Brief Note on the Critical and Commercial Reception of Happy Gilmore
“’Happy Gilmore’ tells the story of a violent sociopath. Since it's about golf, that makes it a comedy. The movie, the latest in the dumber and dumbest sweepstakes, stars Adam Sandler . . . “ – Robert Ebert, February 16, 1996.
Robert Ebert’s 1996 review of Happy Gilmore is actually brilliant – it’s an accidentally brilliant example of the general mistreatment of comedy by critics, who often act so superior that they give Shooter McGavin the appearance of humility. Ebert, a professional writer and critic, managed to pack grammatical error, mischaracterization, and hatred of golf into the opening of his review. If intentional, then I’m impressed, but we can assume that this laziness was unintentional. Nonetheless, it effectively demonstrates the level of critical consideration offered to comedy.
Other critics held similar highbrow opinions at the time, but they were ultimately wrong about the movie’s success, which would not only gross $41.2 Million on a $12 Million budget, but would go on to become a celebrated, frequently-quoted classic of both the comedy and sports genres.
An Overview of 3 Central Characters
Let’s reiterate our starting point: a film is a dream. It attempts to visually represent (and thus understand, communicate, or challenge) a complex idea or set of ideas. ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’ – right, but a 90-minute film is worth approximately 7,776,000 pictures (or 7,776,000,000 words, by deduction – I’ll try my best to bring forth a couple thousand of them). Sure, not all of Happy Gilmore’s images appear to be packed with essential meaning (such as the inclusion of a little person dressed as a cowboy in the “Happy Place” fantasy – seriously, I lack the IQ to even attempt an interpretation).
Ultimately, to interpret a film through psychoanalysis requires further suspension of disbelief. Characters are thus to be read as internal subdivisions of the personal psyche – which I’ll divide as a higher element (the conscience, or a moral center), a lower element (the Ego, the Id, the Superego, the Jungian Shadow), and the Self that mediates intrapsychic conflict (Peterson). Below, through a brief introduction of three central characters, I demonstrate this narrative as a collection of unconscious projection.
Happy Gilmore (The Self)
Image via egregious
Chubbs: “By the way, thanks for dressing up.”
Happy: “Hey, if I saw myself in clothes like those I’d have to kick my own ass.”
Happy Gilmore is certainly violent – as Robert Ebert incisively points out – but he’s far from a sociopath. Actually, Happy is fundamentally selfless in motive. He initially hates golf, but begrudgingly develops his talent in order to save his grandmother from losing her home (unknowingly, at least in the theatrical release, Happy also saves his grandma from the tyranny of “Hal the Orderly”, played by Ben Stiller).
At his core, Happy is a protector of the weak, poor, and innocent. He even employs a homeless man as his caddy. Beyond defending the innocent, Happy also celebrates enjoyment, giving golf the “colorful, emotional, working-class hero” that it desperately needs. In isolation, these traits offer Happy as the ‘ideal self’. Yet, his uncontrolled passion and complete lack of self-awareness prevent this realization. Happy’s violently emotional attachment to the pursuit of professional hockey perhaps best summarizes his beginning state of affairs. He will never play in the NHL, or rather, he will never achieve his ideal vision of himself and his future. That is, unless he accepts his limitations with humility, pursuing self-awareness with the same passion that he has pursued professional hockey… until then, Happy Gilmore remains an angry, aimless “nobody”.
Shooter McGavin (The Ego)
Image via Golf Digest
“Let’s get one thing straight: this is Shooter’s Tour. I’ve worked hard my whole life, paid my dues, and now, it’s Shooter’s turn… and Shooter’s not about to have his reign at the top spoiled by some freak, side-show clown.” – Shooter McGavin
Shooter McGavin is one of the greatest movie villains of all time. As the quintessential embodiment of ego in Happy Gilmore, Shooter feels entitled to success, and stops at nothing to satisfy his ambition. He refers to himself frequently in the third-person (as the archetypal douchebag must). Shooter’s opening scene captures his narcissism perfectly. Virginia Venit (played by Julie Bowen) attempts to explain her cross-promotional public relations strategy, and Shooter cuts her off with the following:
Shooter: “Jeez, you know what would be great? If I could get a Pepsi . . . Oh, uh, Miss. Diet?”
Shooter seems to categorize others as either irrelevant or obstructing (especially Happy Gilmore and his fans). For him, golf and enjoyment are mutually exclusive. The personal result (win or loss) for Shooter is all that matters.
Like all great villains, Shooter is a schemer. Villains can’t win through the normal set of moral rules (which limit the hero), so they cheat. Shooter thus plays a fundamentally different game than Happy. His highest aim is not to win the game of golf but rather to destroy the hero. His best device is the employment of critical laughter in the form of a heckler who reminds Happy that he “sucks” and will never make it to the NHL (meaning to Happy that he will never amount to anything).
Chubbs Peterson (The Conscience)
Image via The Hollywood Reporter
Happy: “I’m stupid, you’re smart. I was wrong, you were right. You’re the best, I’m the worst. You’re very good looking, I’m not attractive.”
Chubbs: “Alright, as long as you’re willing to admit that. Now, are you ready to get down to business, and do exactly what I tell you to do?”
It’s worth emphasizing that Chubbs Peterson only ever speaks (at least directly) with Happy. This isn’t to imply that Chubbs is a literal figment of Happy’s imagination, but rather to present Chubbs’ character as one who derives meaning and relevance only in relationship to Happy. As is the narrative ‘type’ of coaches and caddies, Chubbs represents Happy’s conscience, moral center, or inner Self. To Happy, he represents both father-figure and guide for moral action.
Yet, despite a reliable moral character, Chubbs lacks his own transformation. Like Happy, Chubbs begins the film in unconsciousness. He gives tired lessons at a driving range, unable to play golf himself due to physical ailment – a missing right hand. This ailment is no trivial matter. The dominant hand represents one’s tool for sensory and physical interaction, and ultimately agency. Chubbs lacks a right hand, and like Happy, he lacks orientation in life.
Chubbs represents a cautionary tale of what Happy’s life will be if his plans for pro hockey fail. As a washed-up failure, Chubbs thus resides in a sort of psychological purgatory, awaiting ascension into heaven, or more pertinently, “The Happy Place.” Chubbs is the missing moral piece of Happy’s ideal self, and Happy is the missing piece for Chubbs (he is his right hand, so to speak).
The Narrative of Happy Gilmore (Spoilers)
If you’ve made it this far, then I’m sure you’re familiar with the plot of this movie. So, rather than repeat it, I want to frame Happy Gilmore through the lens of its main character, who I argue undergoes two large transformations. This is the ‘reason of being’ for any protagonist: to transform. Yet, Happy Gilmore’s transformation isn’t the ostensible shift of a “violent sociopath” from loser to winner. His transformation is rather a complex process of psychological integration, or individuation. A transformation from unconsciousness to consciousness requires the painful acquisition of self-awareness.
I don’t want to try too hard to fit this square peg into a round interpretive hole, so to speak. I want to get at the film’s essence, while acknowledging its obvious flaws (and occasionally, its total incoherence).
Of narrative elements (character, plot, etc.), plot tends to be the least coherent in comedic films. Scenes often appear as disjointed, independent jokes, rather than the sequential pieces of a logical whole. Interpreting the film as one interprets a dream accounts for such variation, while maintaining importance (and semi-coherence) for specific interplays of images, characters, and dialogue.
A Psychological Synopsis – The Transformation of Happy Gilmore
Act I – Problems. . . Lots of Them
Pathetic, in its entirety, is the best adjective for Happy Gilmore at the beginning of this narrative. He is comically lacking in both self-awareness and self-control, which is immediately apparent in his poor skating (at a professional hockey tryout), which reflects both physical and metaphysical imbalance.
It’s hard not to empathize with Happy.
In just the first five minutes of the film, the audience discovers a tragic past, even if the narration doesn’t immediately evoke sadness, given our expectation of light-hearted comedy. Happy’s mom left when he was little (she has moved to Egypt, far away from hockey), and his father died not long after, leading to his development of “a short fuse”.
Making our way to the present, Happy suffers rejection twice within just a few minutes of screen time:
Happy: I just yell 'cause I get so scared – scared of being a nobody.
This line is particularly tragic when separated from the context of Sandler’s comedic delivery. Happy is a nobody, and he knows it. To make matters worse, the external conflict of the film begins when Happy discovers that his grandmother’s home is facing repossession by the IRS.
After learning of this repossession, Happy asks a pair of movers to quit playing golf so that he can watch a hockey game. What begins as the solution to a watching a hockey game develops as the solution to Happy’s larger challenge of supporting his grandmother, and more importantly, his integration of various unconscious character traits.
Happy goes to the Waterbury driving range to hustle bystanders with his incredible “golf-ball whacking”. Here, he catches the attention of Chubbs Peterson. Chubbs then watches in disgust as Happy tortures himself with 90 mph fast balls in the batting cage.
Chubbs: “So you’re a hockey player, huh? You gon’ give that shit up, you gon’ concentrate on golf.”
Chubbs introduces himself as a golfing legend willing to unlock Happy’s full potential. However, it’s easy to understand Happy’s decline of the offer, as Chubbs is a pretty odd figure in this introductory scene. For one, his prosthetic arm is overtly counterfeit and absurd in proportion, stretching over a yard from elbow to fingertips. He tells Happy the story of how he lost his arm, poking him in the shoulder, and displaying the Alligator’s eyeball (which Chubbs apparently keeps in his pocket). He then offers some pretty cliché (albeit true) advice:
Chubbs: “Golf’s no different than hockey. It requires talent, and self-discipline.”
Hesitance ensues for Happy. He fears that pursuing golf will require the sacrifice of his entire persona as a hockey player, a persona that he has pursued his whole life. It’s only when Chubbs explains the potential financial rewards of professional golf that Happy considers joining the Waterbury Open.
At this tournament, Happy struggles to assimilate his hockey persona to the setting of golf etiquette, resulting in plenty of strange moments. Among them, Happy assaults a judgmental patron, gets a hole-in-one on a par 4, strangles his caddy, and dives into a pond to recover his lost ball. Nevertheless, he performs well enough to win the Waterbury Open, which is the first win of his life.
Happy: “I hate to admit this, but this is my first trophy. Only problem is that goofy golf guy on top. Maybe the guy at the trophy store can put on a little hockey guy.”
Happy continues to resist identification with golf, and more specifically, the patience and commitment required for such a pursuit. His conscience (Chubbs) tells him to commit to a long-term, patient plan, but Happy insists that he needs the money (extrinsic rewards), and will thus forgo the arduous path.
Chubbs: “People would kill to be able to hit the long-ball like you. You got an advantage over any man that walks out onto the tee. All we need to do is develop the rest of your game, then you’d be unstoppable, son.”
Through some interpretive stretch, we might recognize a parallel drawn here between the development of one’s golf and one’s psyche. Golf draws attention to our lack of completion. We may drive well yet putt woefully. Likewise, we may be tough and aggressive, but lack patience and self-control.
It’s easy to miss, but when Chubbs (an embodied moral compass) pleads for Happy to develop the rest of his game, he is rather pleading for the broader development of Happy’s human potential.
Act II – Escalation of Journey and Conflict
Happy: “Hey. I’m a hockey player but I’m playing golf today.”
The escalation of journey and conflict begins for Happy Gilmore upon meeting Shooter McGavin, who I have identified above as the embodiment of Ego. Shooter feels immediately threatened by Happy, as evidenced by his “9th Green at 9” prank. Not long after, he attempts to convince Happy to quit the tour in favor of long-drive competitions and hustling driving ranges.
Shooter’s sense of entitlement in this scene is not unlike Happy’s earlier sense of entitlement.
Happy: “They saw my power, man. Ain’t no way they gonna dog me this year.”
. . .
Shooter: “I’ve worked hard my whole life, paid my dues, and now, it’s Shooter’s turn.”
Happy’s first full encounter with Shooter thus externalizes his entitlement and delusion. He no longer identifies with a sense of entitlement for success. Indeed, it is this very sense of entitlement that has become his enemy, his new conflict in need of resolution.
Happy: I got on tour because I needed money, but now I got a new reason: kicking your ass.”
The film relies on external conflict for plot, but this scene reminds us that the real conflict of Happy Gilmore is internal. Happy is driven by the extrinsic goal to save his grandmother’s home, but in framing Shooter McGavin as the embodiment of Happy’s Ego, Happy’s greater motivation in ascending the hierarchy of golf is to defeat his own Ego, which the remainder of the movie chronicles.
Among further evidence of Shooter’s representation of Ego, he begins to make excuses for underperformance as Happy’s following grows and his own attention diminishes.
Shooter: “This man is destroying golf! I saw two big fat naked bikers in the woods off 17 having sex – how am I supposed to chip with that going on? Doug, you’ve got to kick him off the tour.”
Doug doesn’t kick Happy off the tour, thanks to Virginia Venit’s persuasion regarding the public (and thus, financial) consequences of doing so. As a response, Shooter takes matters into his own hands. At this point of the story, also thanks to Virginia Venit, Happy has gained restraint, but his emotional fragility remains a dormant threat. Shooter thus hires a heckler to exploit Happy’s past failures and present insecurities.
Jeering Fan: “You’re gonna need a blanket and sun-tan lotion, because you’re never gonna get off that beach – just the way you never got into the NHL, you jackass!”
. . .
Jeering Fan: “You will not make this putt, you jackass.”
Happy’s response is self-defeating. Like Shooter, he begins to make excuses for his poor performance. While being heckled, Happy loses grip of his driver, which flies “further than the ball”.
Happy: “It’s just that uh, you know, it’s rainy, and that guy, and . . . it slipped.”
Frustration continues for Happy, who finishes dead last in the pro-am, much to the chagrin of his partner, Bob Barker. To make matters worse, Bob Barker joins in on the criticism, reminding Happy of the ubiquitous nature of negative judgment.
Bob Barker: “I can’t believe you’re a professional golfer. You should be working in the snack bar.”
In the climax of this sequence, Happy begins a fistfight with Bob Barker, who humiliates him further, and punctuates Happy’s vulnerability by winning the fight. This marks apparent victory for Shooter, though Happy is merely suspended from the tour (rather than permanently banned, as Shooter had aimed).
Fortunately, Happy stays afloat through Subway sponsorship. Here, I’ll actually agree with Roger Ebert’s assessment of blatant product placement on behalf of the filmmakers, although the plot point is necessary to set up Act III, so I wouldn’t pretend that it should have been excluded.
Anyway, Happy earns enough money to save his grandmother’s house, but not enough to resolve his internal conflict, which can never be resolved financially. Actually, the conflict of self and Ego escalates even further, as Shooter purchases Grandma Gilmore’s house, exclaiming his plans to “burn the house and piss on the ashes” should Happy decide to stay on tour. Happy agrees, but Virginia Venit (who, we can recognize, also seems to fill the role of conscience) reminds him of the true conflict.
Virginia Venit: “What do you think Grandma wants more, to get her house back, or to see her grandson succeed?”
Happy knows that can’t win this battle on his own, so he consults an old friend in Chubbs Peterson, offering a hilarious apology. Chubbs confirms Happy’s commitment, and then take him to the conveniently named “Happy Land Mini Golf” – a place for Happy to fill the remaining holes of his game and psyche.
Act III – The Individuation of Happy Gilmore
Among other notable obstacles in Act III, Happy encounters another heckler: this time, a mechanical clown. Interestingly, if I’m not mistaken, this clown’s laughter is voiced by Adam Sandler, so Happy is truly confronting an inner self-critic in confronting this clown.
Chubbs: “If you can’t beat the clown, how’re you gonna beat Shooter McGavin?”
Chubbs tests Happy to confront his criticism. He essentially tells Happy that the clown is criticism, and criticism is the best tool of Shooter McGavin. Happy fails this test, which results in his destruction of the clown via his last violent moment of the film
Happy: You’re gonna die, clown!
Fortunately, his moral guide is now there to fix this mishap before it escalates. He even uses the mistake to demonstrate a lesson in both golf and morality.
Chubbs: “Remember now, this isn’t hockey. You don’t play with raw emotion. You can’t putt angry. You have to clear your mind of everything else, and stay focused.”
The pair approach a challenging “Earthquake” hole that features a fallen skyscraper and large fissure. This challenge tempts Happy to quit or capitalize on the opportunity for excuses, but Chubbs seizes it as an opportunity to introduce the solution to Happy’s internal struggle: “The Happy Place”.
Chubbs: “Think of a place that’s really perfect. Your own happy place! Go there, then all of your anger will just disappear.”
This sequence is more efficiently displayed than described, although I’m sure that you’ve seen it before:
Happy readdresses his ball with composure and optimism, defeating the challenge with a hole-in-one. Happy then returns to his apartment with Chubbs, where they exchange gifts. Chubbs’ offering to Happy is a hockey-stick-shaped Odyssey putter, representing the integration of his hockey persona into the pursuit of successful golf.
Chubbs: “You’ve got the spirit of a hockey player in you, Happy, so I figured, why fight it?”
Happy’s makes a similar offering to Chubbs (similar in its psychological significance), albeit slightly darker. This gift is the head of the alligator that once took Chubbs’ hand (how Happy acquired and preserved it, one can only imagine, but again, the film is to be understood as a dream). As a result, Chubbs reels in terror and falls out of the window to his unfortunate death. Yet, this isn’t a death at all, because Chubbs is an imagined concept more than a real person.
To skip ahead, Chubbs seems to confirm that his death is more of a beginning than an ending in the final “Happy Place” sequence.
Chubbs: “Shut up, Happy. Don’t feel bad about me. I finally got my hand back. (Chubbs waves his hand) See?”
It’s actually somewhat of a mystery why this scene works well at an emotional level. We’ve known Chubbs Peterson very little – perhaps for 5 or 10 minutes of screen time. The answer, I believe, lies in its broader psychological significance. Not only is Chubbs ‘complete’ in that he has his hand back and lives in heaven, but Happy has reached a notably higher level of self-integration.
Happy incorporates a moral attitude that will last him through any obstacle, including back injury and even fallen TV towers. This is represents a new beginning for Happy Gilmore.
Happy: “It ain’t over yet, McGavin. The way I see it, we’ve only just begun.”
Happy recovers from a four-stroke deficit, and even admits to enjoying golf.
In our last bit of logical incoherence, Happy becomes the victim of a “play the ball as it lies” rule. Virginia Venit tells him to putt around the tower, and two-putt around the obstacle to force a playoff, but with renewed confidence, Happy disagrees.
Happy: “No, I’ll just beat him now.”
Let’s contrast this with Happy’s earlier response to the fallen skyscraper at a similar mini-golf hole:
Happy: “Now how the hell am I gonna do that?”
Much like the previous “Happy-Land Mini Golf” sequence, Happy sinks an improbable putt that travels through the pipes of the fallen tower like a Rube Goldberg machine. Realizing his defeat, Shooter shouts in dismay, and in a moment of panic, attempts to steal Happy’s “Gold Jacket”, only to be chased and beaten by a mob of fans.
In the very final scene, Happy returns to his Grandma’s home with his caddy, Virginia Venit, and of course, Grandma Gilmore. We then receive a visual representation of Happy’s psychological integration in a final shot that confirms the dream-like, imaginative quality of the narrative.
Happy looks up at the sky (or ‘to the heavens’, more significantly), where he sees the following:
Happy waves, acknowledging the harmony of these disparate characters. The others look on in confusion, including Grandma Gilmore, who even comments on the peculiar moment:
Grandma: Who are you waving at, Happy?
Happy: Nobody, Grandma. Let’s go home.
Conclusions: The Practical Wisdom of an Absurd 90s Comedy
Happy Gilmore presents golf as an instrument for controlling the aggressive, angry, monstrous aspects of consciousness, allowing for self-integration and contentment. The inclusion of dream-like fantasies (“The Happy Place”) and a parody of nonsensically-circular spiritual ‘gurus’ (Gary Potter, who literally talks about circles) are not necessarily proof of an elaborately intended psychological masterpiece.
Gary Potter: “Harness in the good energy, bIock out the bad. Harness energy, bIock bad. FeeI the fIow, Happy. It's circuIar. It's Like a carouseI. You get on the horse. It goes up, down and around. CircuIar. CircIe. With the music, the fIow. AII good things.”
In an unexpected turn of events, I can’t help but now interpret Gary Potter as a parody of myself, but I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.
Yet, such allusions to “dreaming”, “flow”, and “energy” certainly support that the army of artists who created Happy Gilmore (including writers, director, producers, actors, and costumers) were not far from the plane of psychological (or dare I say, spiritual) thought. What apparently attempts to be another Adam Sandler comedy proves a useful commentary on the nature of golf, and by extension, the individual psyche.
