The Color-Coded Symbolism of Anne Jackson’s Doctor in The Shining
Adventures in the film, The Shining.
The Color-Coded Symbolism of Anne Jackson’s Doctor in The Shining
There’s no such thing as an accidental costume choice in a Stanley Kubrick film. From the maze-like patterns of the Overlook’s carpet to the eerily symmetrical design of its halls, everything in The Shining is meticulously curated to haunt your subconscious. And yet, amidst the blood rivers and axe-wielding Jack Torrance, there’s one character who quietly—and hilariously—captures Kubrick’s obsession with symbolic detail: the doctor, played by Anne Jackson.
Now, you might be thinking, The doctor? Really? The one who shows up for two minutes to tell Wendy that Danny’s fainting spells are no big deal? Yes, that doctor. Because while her appearance in the film is brief, her wardrobe, demeanor, and symbolic role in the narrative are doing some seriously heavy lifting. She’s not just a character; she’s a walking metaphor for maternal ambivalence, feminine artifice, and—brace yourself—Room 237.
Earth Tones Without the Earthiness
Let’s start with her outfit, because in Kubrick’s world, costuming is as important as dialogue. The doctor wears what we’ll call “earth tones,” but they’re earth tones with an asterisk. She’s clad in brown and grey—colors that gesture toward groundedness and maternal connection but ultimately fail to land the mark. Brown is a classic nod to the earth, to stability, and to femininity, but paired with grey, it takes on a sterile, clinical quality. She’s maternal-ish, but not in a comforting way. It’s the kind of maternal energy you’d get from someone who makes you soup but only because they’re about to lecture you on your cholesterol.
Now, compare her palette to Wendy’s. Wendy starts the film in awkward yellows and pale blues, a visual signal that she’s adrift, out of sync with her environment. As the film progresses, her colors shift—greens and browns emerge, representing her growing connection to earth, femininity, and survival instincts. Wendy’s wardrobe mirrors her arc as a mother forced to confront her own power in the face of Jack’s madness. But the doctor? She stays stuck in neutral tones, signaling her static, ambivalent position in the story. She is a woman who represents maternal care, but only superficially.
The Ambivalence of Authority
The grey skirt is particularly telling. Grey is the color of uncertainty, liminality, and ambivalence—fitting for a character whose role is both authoritative and dismissive. As a doctor, she should embody rationality and care, but instead, she comes off as detached, offering vague reassurances about Danny’s disturbing visions. When Wendy mentions that Jack dislocated Danny’s shoulder in a drunken rage, the doctor’s response is… well, let’s call it lackluster. She nods politely, asks no follow-up questions, and essentially waves off the incident. It’s the kind of response you’d expect from someone half-listening while scrolling through their phone, not a trained medical professional.
Her authority is further undermined by her hair—dyed red, unnaturally so. In Kubrick’s visual language, this signals artifice. Unlike Wendy, who becomes more raw and real as the story unfolds, the doctor presents herself as something she is not: youthful, feminine, and in control. Her red hair is a facade, much like the Overlook Hotel itself—a surface-level beauty that conceals something darker and hollow. This mirrors the hag/beauty dichotomy of Room 237, where Jack’s attraction to the beautiful woman disintegrates as she transforms into a decaying corpse. The doctor, while not nearly as grotesque, operates in a similar symbolic register. She’s a woman who disguises her age and authority, presenting a polished surface that ultimately rings false.
The Doctor as a Mirror of Room 237
Speaking of Room 237, the parallels between the doctor and the infamous bathroom hag are too delicious to ignore. Both are representations of feminine artifice, embodying a duality that lures the audience in before pulling the rug out. The woman in Room 237 begins as an alluring seductress, but the truth of her form—rotting, horrifying—lurks just beneath the surface. The doctor, similarly, presents herself as competent and caring, yet her dyed hair and ambivalent wardrobe hint at a disconnect between her exterior and her true essence.
And like Room 237, the doctor’s scene leaves the audience unsettled. She doesn’t provide answers; she provides distractions. Her explanation of Danny’s fainting spell (“auto-hypnosis”) is as hollow as Jack’s promises to Wendy that everything will be fine. The doctor’s role isn’t to solve anything—it’s to keep the characters (and the audience) tethered to the illusion that things are normal. She’s a gatekeeper of denial, much like the Overlook itself.
Scientism Meets Maternal Ambivalence
The doctor’s symbolic ambivalence also ties into the film’s broader critique of scientism and materialism. Much like the doctors and psychologists in other horror films (The Exorcist, Poltergeist, etc.), she’s a stand-in for the modern tendency to “explain away” the supernatural. By attributing Danny’s visions to psychological stress, she dismisses the deeper, spiritual truths at the heart of the story. Her earth-toned outfit might suggest a connection to nature, but her clinical demeanor and reductive explanations place her firmly in the realm of surface-level thinking. She exists on the periphery of the supernatural, unable—or unwilling—to dive into its depths.
This refusal to engage with the deeper, darker truths of human experience is what makes her such a fascinating character. She’s not evil, per se—just a product of a worldview that values appearances over substance. Her dyed hair, her grey skirt, her shallow explanations—they’re all part of a larger philosophy that denies the existence of Evil (with a capital E). And in a film like The Shining, where Evil seeps into every corner of the Overlook, this denial is both laughable and tragic.
The Philosophy of Color: Beyond the Surface
Ultimately, the doctor’s costuming and characterization are a reminder that in Kubrick’s world, nothing is accidental. Her earth tones without green signal a disconnect from true femininity and nature, while her dyed hair and grey skirt highlight her artifice and ambivalence. She’s a woman, but not fully feminine; an authority, but not a genuine one. She exists in a liminal space, much like the Overlook itself—a surface-level facade masking something hollow and unsettling beneath.
So, Kiddo, take my hand into darkness. Because if there’s one thing The Shining teaches us, it’s that nothing is as it seems—not the Overlook, not the beautiful woman in Room 237, and certainly not the kindly doctor with her faux-maternal earth tones. And if someone ever tries to reassure you with an explanation that feels too neat and tidy, remember: the truth is almost always lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to grab you like a decaying hag in a bathtub.
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