BBC Three Documentary - Don’t Call Me Crazy Collection of newspaper and online reviews, social media reaction and communications the Trust has received Don’t Call Me Crazy Media Reviews The Independent Some of the distress we see on television is representative; some of it stands only for itself. There are, for instance, half-a-million young people dealing with some kind of mental illness at any one time, which means that the handful of teenagers we watched in Don't Call Me Crazy speak on behalf of a much more substantial plight. Don't Call Me Crazy was the result of "unparalleled access" to the McGuinness Unit in Manchester, a mental-health inpatient unit for teenagers, and although it began with an image that might have come from a more unreconstructed vision of such places – a girl pressing her nose into a porcine mask against the glass of an observation slit in a ward door – it was at first striking for the apparent normality of its residents. Beth, a 17-year-old, admitted because of suicidal thoughts and anorexia, did remark that she liked "to see the bone" when talking about her self-image, but she did in such breezy and open tones that you assumed she was on the mend. Emma, a 15- year-old with OCD, was shy and quiet, but talked with a reassuring clarity about her problems. And even Gill, arms tiger-striped with the scars of self-harm, had her moments of ebullience. Emma's story was the most encouraging. From a point at which she fretted helplessly about the rearrangement of her CDs during a staff search (she'd been up at 2am organising them because she was convinced her mother would die if she didn't), she steadily improved until she was ready to return home. But Gill and Beth were less responsive. Given any chance to escape, Gill took it, but the liberty she was after generally involved an overdose, or the opportunity to push a ballpoint nib so deep into her arm she had to be taken to hospital to have it removed. And Beth, with a face and a smile that could drop a teenage boy in his tracks, became so reluctant to eat that she eventually had to be sectioned. She clearly had faith in the film crew. At one point, she furtively showed them the Diet Coke she'd smuggled into her room, so that she could stave off hunger with the minimal of calories. If it had been a razor blade, would they have felt obliged to inform on her? And even though it wasn't, did they owe an obligation to her, or to the people who were trying to make her better? Still not sure about the answer to that, but the trust of everyone in front of the cameras in those behind them was repaid by the end result. The Scotsman Far more sensitive and sympathetic is DON’T CALL ME CRAZY, a three-part observational documentary focusing on patients and staff at Manchester’s McGuinness Unit. One of Britain’s largest teenage mental health units, it’s home to troubled kids with a variety of debilitating issues, ranging from eating disorders to self-harm. Poignant but never cloying, it’s a candid study of fragile young lives: as one staff- member puts it, adolescence is a form of madness at the best of times. The recurring visual motif of depressed patients slumped in corridors may linger for some time. Daily Mail Teenage torment, courage and why humour is the best lifeline: Christopher Stevens reviews last night's TV… Do Not Disturb, said the sign on teenager Emma’s bedroom door. And, underneath, in smaller writing, an ironic message added by her dad: ‘Already disturbed!’ A sense of humour is often the strongest lifeline during bouts of mental illness, as the brave young women on Don’t Call Me Crazy (BBC3) proved. Filmed over a year at a hospital unit in Manchester for deeply troubled teens, the documentary’s unexpected flashes of humour were sometimes touching, sometimes horrifying. When four of the patients at the McGuinness Unit tied their ankles together and staggered along the corridors, giggling wildly, it was hard to believe these girls could really have serious psychological problems. But the lighthearted side of life drained away when Jill, 16, gave a rueful chuckle and told the camera with a smile that she was up to her old tricks again — peeling back a dressing on her arm, to reveal a hole gouged in the flesh with a ballpoint pen. This film, the first of three, launches a BBC3 series on mental health, under the tasteless title A Mad World. It was searingly difficult viewing, but the sheer courage of the girls as they strove to articulate the torments they were suffering made it bearable. With more than half a million young people treated for mental illnesses in Britain every year, their testimony will help many teens to feel less alone — and many adults to gain a glimmer of understanding. Emma, the Do Not Disturb girl, was 15. She had obsessive compulsive disorder, a condition often trivialised on TV — one crass Channel 4 show sends people with OCD into the homes of hoarders, to tackle the mess. (It’s called Obsessive Compulsive Cleaners, though Cheap Exploitation Telly would be more apt.) For Emma, OCD isn’t about cleaning. She hears voices, threatening all kinds of evil to the people she loves, if she doesn’t obey her superstitious impulses. When nurses at the unit jumbled her rack of CDs, during a routine search for razors and other objects that the girls used for self-harming, Emma was wild with anxiety. The voices had kept her up until 2am, rearranging those CDs like a charm to protect her family. She understood her fears were irrational, but that didn’t make them less real. And she was determined her illness wouldn’t define her whole life. ‘I like bands,’ she said, ‘I like music, and chocolate, and the colour yellow. I don’t like all them things because I’ve got OCD, I like them because I’m Emma.’ The Guardian Don't Call Me Crazy 9pm, BBC3 Beth is 17. She's lively and funny. She loves dancing and gymnastics. But Beth also has deep problems with her attitudes towards food, so much so that she's visibly disturbed by the idea of eating even a single piece of carrot. She's just one of the patients featured in a three-part series following life at Manchester's McGuinness Unit, where teenagers are treated for such conditions as OCD and depression. Despite the archly ironic title, this is a documentary that portrays its young subjects with real sensitivity. The Metro Despite its breezy title, Don’t Call Me Crazy (BBC3) was tough going. Filmed in Manchester’s McGuinness Unit, which treats teenagers with mental health issues, it revealed a world continually on the brink of crisis. If you stuck with it, you were rewarded with insights into eating disorders and obsessive compulsiveness – I won’t joke about being a bit OCD ever again – and it was impossible not to be impressed by the commitment of the McGuinness staff. As an introduction to BBC3’s It’s A Mad World season, drawing attention to the nation’s mental health, this was jumping in at the deep end: distressing scenes of a distraught former gymnast Beth, an eating disorder sufferer, being persuaded to have a drink were almost too gruelling to take. Mind.org.uk My take on BBC3's 'Don't call me crazy' Wow, I think, is an appropriate start to this review of last night's first installment of BBC3's 'It's a Mad World' season, 'Don't Call Me Crazy'. If you missed it last night, some would tell you you did the right thing; it was very difficult to watch in places, but I'm sure many others, myself included, would tell you that it provided viewers with a balanced and sensitive, yet incredibly real and raw insight into life inside an adolescent psychiatric unit. Platform Productions, a small independent production company based in Manchester were given exclusive access to the McGuinness Unit in Prestwich, one of the largest teen mental health units in the UK and one that is often seen as the last resort for young people in the North West. An essential and much-needed part of the Greater Manchester West NHS Trust, 3500 teenagers aged 13-17, both male and female, pass through the doors of the unit each year, some under a section, others voluntarily. A year of some of their lives has been cut down into just under three hours; it's an interesting thought in itself to consider that and think about the characters they chose to follow and why. Last night was the first of three episodes of 'Don't Call Me Crazy'; an intense bombardment of mixed emotions resulting in a series of powerful messages, articulated impressively eloquently by the young patients themselves. First, we meet Beth, an award-winning gymnast and dancer who has a history of eating disorders, depression and had recently attempted suicide. She appears bouncy, full of life, pulling faces directly into the camera (acting up or just being herself, who cares?) We're told almost immediately that most patients are depressed and withdrawn and we see shots of huddled bodies curled up in corridors, shrouded in hospital blankets, hiding from the world or too ashamed for it to see them.