Lest you doubt her sincerity, Levy is careful to point out that she only takes on volunteers with actual problems. When her first volunteer asks to do her session in the nude, Levy passes the offer, deadpanning, "We don't do sensationalism here." Without missing a beat, she quips, "Maybe that can be the issue we can discuss, why you feel that you should do that!" Her forum attracts all types of exhibitionist pranksters, and Levy tries to defend her show against them. This volunteer, who slipped under Levy's radar, invented a story of kitty-love, perhaps after seeing The Goat one too many times. At the end of the session, she reassured her lover, a human woman, that she was "just kidding."
This woman was no stand-in planted to keep things interesting. Levy reminded her that she takes her time seriously, and does not work with jokers. Rather than play her show for laughs, she presents herself as a genuine public servant. But she seems to forget that the "Master of Clinical Psychology" on her diploma originally read "Master of Fine Arts." Her crude grasp of pop-psychology could not help her identify another patient--perennial doormat to a directionless, mooching "artist" friend--as an enabler. The patient herself had to clue her in to the lingo. The performance artist also lacks the objective cool of a shrink. While projecting a jaded New York attitude, she found herself flustered by a Texan stoner who pushes weed on his unwilling thirteen-year-old daughter. Their dialogue was as interesting as a thirteen-minute bout of dueling indignation can be.