When the Lights Begin to Flicker: The 1944 Film Gaslight, Narcissistic Abuse, and Recovery

I recently watched the 1944 film Gaslight, starring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer. Like most of us, I already knew the word gaslighting. I use it in my work as a therapist, I’ve lived through it in my own life, and I’ve read clinical articles describing it as a form of narcissistic abuse that gradually makes a victim doubt their own perception of reality.

But watching the original story that gave us the word did something different. It slowed the process down. It let me feel the tactics in my nervous system, not just analyze them in my mind.

This piece is about that experience—watching Gaslight as a clinician who works with narcissistic abuse and as a survivor of it. Seeing the film in 2025 shifted the way I think about both gaslighting and narcissistic personality disorder (NPD).

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The Plot Is Extreme, But the Pattern Is Familiar

If you haven’t seen it: Paula (Ingrid Bergman) is newly married and moves back into the London house where her famous aunt was murdered. Her husband, Gregory (Charles Boyer), begins subtly undermining her sanity. He hides objects and insists she’s misplaced them, denies things she clearly remembers, isolates her, and insists her perceptions are “wrong” or “hysterical.”

The title comes from the gas lamps in the house, which mysteriously dim and brighten while he calmly insists nothing is happening.

In the film, his motive is financial and criminal: he’s searching the house for jewels and trying to have her declared insane. Based on my experience, it doesn’t feel melodramatic at all—if anything, it’s an almost tidy version of what this can look like in real life.

If you strip away the Victorian costumes, what’s left is chillingly ordinary:

• He lies effortlessly and repeatedly.

• He rewrites history in real time.

• He attacks her sense of competence and goodness.

• He isolates her from people who might help.

• He uses “concern” and “love” as an early mask for control.

The movie still works today because it is not actually about a jewel thief. It is about a personality structure that needs power more than it needs intimacy—and will distort reality to get it.

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Gaslighting as a Narcissistic Survival Strategy

Clinically, gaslighting is not a diagnosis; it’s a tactic. NPD, on the other hand, is a personality disorder defined by patterns like grandiosity, lack of emotional empathy (though cognitive, or intellectual, empathy is often present), entitlement, and a relentless need for admiration.

Not every person with NPD gaslights, and not every gaslighter meets criteria for NPD—but the Venn diagram often overlaps.

In Paula and Gregory’s marriage, we see classic narcissistic dynamics at work:

1. Idealize and ensnare.

At first Gregory is attentive, romantic, protective. This mirrors what is often called the “love-bombing” phase. The ego of the narcissistic partner feeds on this: Look at me. I am the perfect lover, the rescuer, the only one who understands you.

2. Devalue and destabilize.

Once Paula is attached, the tone shifts. Gregory criticizes her memory, her social skills, her emotional “stability.” This is the heart of narcissistic devaluation: the victim’s sense of self must eventually be deflated so the narcissist’s can stay inflated, rather than face the truth about themselves.

3. Control the narrative at all costs.

For someone with NPD, shame is nearly unbearable. Instead of admitting, I am lying and cruel, the mind flips the script: They are ungrateful. They are the problem. Gaslighting becomes a kind of psychological self-defense. If reality threatens their grandiose self-image, reality itself must be altered.

The film makes this visible in one devastating detail: when the lights dim and Paula comments on it, Gregory cannot allow her perception to stand. If he acknowledges it, his entire constructed story collapses. So her senses must be wrong. Her mind must be failing. Her reality must be edited.

That’s exactly what I see in real-life narcissistic abuse. The gaslighter isn’t simply lying; they are often frantically protecting themselves from the truth.

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The Slow Erosion of Self-Trust

One reason Gaslight still hits so hard is that it shows the pace of psychological abuse.

Gregory doesn’t start with, “You’re crazy.” He starts with:

• “Are you sure? That doesn’t seem right.”

• “You’re so sensitive lately; maybe you need rest.”

• “You forget things all the time, darling.”

At first, Paula pushes back. She’s uncertain, but she still has an intact sense of herself. Over time, the small manipulations—combined with isolation and threat—work like water on stone.

She begins to doubt her:

• Memory: “Did I really move that picture?”

• Perception: “Maybe the lights aren’t changing.”

• Judgment: “Everyone else seems fine with him; maybe I’m overreacting.”

• Worth: “I ruin everything; he’d be better off without me.”

This is exactly how many survivors arrive in therapy. They rarely come in saying, “I’m being gaslit by a narcissist.” They come in saying:

• “I don’t trust my gut anymore.”

• “I think I might be the abusive one.”

• “I keep apologizing and I’m not sure what for.”

Watch Paula’s body as the film progresses: her shoulders round inward, her eyes dim, her voice grows smaller. It’s the cinematic version of what chronic gaslighting does to a nervous system—it folds you in on yourself.

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Gaslighting Is More Than “Lying” or “Disagreeing”

One of my frustrations as a clinician is how casually the word gaslighting is used now—to mean “someone disagreed with me” or “someone lied.”

Returning to the original Gaslight restores some of the word’s weight. Gaslighting, in the way we use it clinically and culturally, has some specific ingredients:

• A power imbalance. One person holds more emotional, social, or physical power.

• A pattern, not a one-off. It happens repeatedly over time, not just once.

• Aimed at your sanity, not just the facts. The goal (conscious or unconscious) is to make you doubt your own reality so you’re easier to control.

• Usually tied to isolation. The gaslighter cuts you off from people or information that might contradict their version of events.

In this sense, Gregory is almost a textbook gaslighter. He doesn’t simply deny a single event; he targets Paula’s entire capacity to know what is true.

Understanding this distinction matters. When everything becomes “gaslighting,” survivors lose language for what actually happened to them—and abusers can more easily muddy the waters by claiming they are being gaslit when someone confronts them.

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When the Narrative Finally Breaks

One of my favorite parts of the movie comes near the end (no major spoilers, but feel free to skip if you want to go in completely fresh): when Paula has an opportunity to take revenge, she instead speaks a different kind of truth.

In that moment, you can see her mind returning to her. She begins to name what has happened to her, right in front of the man who orchestrated it. Her voice doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful; it is grounded, precise, and sane.

In real life, leaving a relationship with someone high in narcissistic traits is far messier than a single climactic scene. There are financial realities, children, safety concerns. Sometimes the bravest thing someone can do is leave quietly and never look back.

But clinically and personally, I’ve noticed a similar turning point to Paula’s: the moment a survivor stops arguing with the gaslighter’s version of reality and starts quietly trusting their own.

The film dramatizes this shift. In the final act, Paula is no longer asking Gregory, “What is happening to me?” The question turns outward: What has he been doing all this time? Her gaze moves off of herself and onto the pattern—and slowly, the fog begins to lift.

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What Gaslight Leaves in the Shadows

As much as I love Gaslight as a metaphor, there are things it doesn’t show:

• Complex trauma. Paula receives something like narrative closure. Survivors in real life are often left with long-term effects: hypervigilance, dissociation, difficulty trusting future partners.

• Different faces of narcissism. Gregory is nearly cartoon-villain obvious. Real-life narcissistic abuse can be far subtler: the charismatic activist, the spiritual teacher, the “wounded healer” who uses their trauma story as a shield against accountability.

• Structural gaslighting. Gaslighting doesn’t only happen in romance; it’s woven into families, workplaces, religious communities, and even nations. Entire groups are told their experiences are “not real,” “overblown,” or “crazy.”

Still, as a cultural artifact, the film offers a painfully accurate metaphor for something psychology was slower to name.

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If You Recognize Yourself in Paula

If any part of this feels familiar, here are a few gentle steps you might consider:

• Write things down. Keep a private log of events, conversations, and your feelings. This isn’t necessarily for court (though it can help there too); it’s for your own sanity.

• Reality-check with safe people. Share specific incidents with trusted friends, a therapist, or a support group and ask, “How does this sound to you?”

• Learn about narcissistic abuse. Sometimes simply having language—NPD, gaslighting, love bombing, trauma bonding—can be deeply validating.

• Remember that confusion is a red flag. Healthy relationships absolutely have conflict, but they don’t require you to constantly doubt your memory, your perception, or your worth.

If you’re not ready to take any action yet, that’s okay too. Sometimes the first step out of the fog is simply saying to yourself: I see the lights dimming. I believe myself, even if nobody else does yet.

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The genius of Gaslight is that it turned an old, private pattern of abuse into a visible, nameable story. As a therapist, I’m grateful to have that metaphor. As a survivor, I’m even more grateful for the reminder that, no matter how convincing someone else sounds, my perception is not disposable.

If you’ve watched the film—or lived your own version of it—your reality matters. The light you’re seeing is real.