Pain is funny. Or at least, that is the gamble Paul Lieberstein took when he stepped behind the camera for his directorial debut. Most people know him as Toby Flenderson, the HR guy everyone loved to hate on The Office. But in 2018, he released something way more personal, way more uncomfortable, and honestly, way more bizarre than anything that ever happened in Scranton. It’s called The Song of Back and Neck, and if you’ve ever dealt with chronic pain, this movie feels like a fever dream you actually lived through.
It didn't light the box office on fire. It didn't win ten Oscars. Yet, it sticks in the brain because it addresses a very specific kind of modern misery: the physical manifestation of being a pushover.
What The Song of Back and Neck is actually about
The plot is deceptively simple. Lieberstein plays Fred Treadway, a man who is essentially a human question mark. He’s hunched over. He’s in constant, localized agony. His back and neck are so tight they might as well be made of rebar. He spends his days working for his father’s law firm, getting walked on by everyone, including his own family.
Then he meets Reagan, played by Rosemarie DeWitt. She’s also in pain.
They bond over their shared physical trauma, but the movie takes a sharp turn into the surreal. Fred discovers that his back pain isn't just a medical condition; it’s a musical instrument. When he gets acupuncture, his body literally makes music. It’s a bizarre, "magical realism" twist that sounds ridiculous on paper. In the context of the film, though? It’s a heartbreakingly literal metaphor for how we "tune" our bodies to handle the stress of existing.
The science of psychosomatic pain
The movie touches on something real experts call psychophysiologic disorders (PPD). Dr. John Sarno, a name famous in chronic pain circles, spent his career arguing that back pain is often the brain’s way of distracting us from repressed emotions. Fred is the poster child for Sarno’s theories.
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He’s a guy who can’t say "no." He can’t stand up for himself. So, his body stands up for him by locking down. It’s a physical manifestation of a psychological boundary.
Why Lieberstein was the only person who could make this
Paul Lieberstein actually suffered from chronic back pain for years. This isn't some researched project where an actor "prepared" by sitting in a chair for an hour. He lived it. You can see it in the way he moves—or doesn't move—on screen. There is a stiffness in his gait that looks genuinely exhausting.
He wrote, directed, and starred in it. That usually smells like a vanity project, but here, it feels more like an exorcism. He’s poking fun at his own past suffering.
The supporting cast helps ground the absurdity. Rosemarie DeWitt is always fantastic, playing a woman who is tired of being told it’s "all in her head" while her body says otherwise. Robert Pine plays Fred’s father with a kind of casual cruelty that explains exactly why Fred’s spine is a wreck. Brian d'Arcy James also shows up, adding some comedic weight to a story that fluctuates between a dry indie comedy and a body-horror tragedy.
The weirdness of "Body Music"
Let’s talk about the acupuncture scenes.
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When the needles go in, the sound design changes. We hear cello notes. We hear ethereal humming. It’s the "song" mentioned in the title. This is where the film loses some people. If you’re looking for a straight-up romantic comedy, this isn't it. It’s a movie about the weird, internal vibrations of the human experience.
It’s almost a spiritual successor to The Office, but without the mockumentary safety net. In The Office, Toby was the punching bag. In The Song of Back and Neck, the punching bag gets a voice, and that voice sounds like a haunting melody played on a bruised ribcage.
Why didn't it go mainstream?
Distribution is a fickle beast. The film premiered at Tribeca in 2018. It got decent reviews—mostly hovering around that "fresh" mark on Rotten Tomatoes—but it’s a quiet film. It’s small. It doesn’t have explosions, and it doesn't have a traditional "happy" ending where everyone is cured by a magic pill.
It tells you that the cure for pain is often just... acknowledging that you’re unhappy. That’s a hard sell for a Friday night popcorn flick.
Honestly, the pacing is a bit slow. Some scenes linger a bit too long on Fred’s misery. But that’s the point. Chronic pain makes time feel different. A minute of a muscle spasm feels like an hour. The film reflects that. It forces the audience to sit in the discomfort with Fred.
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Finding the Movie Today
If you’re looking to watch it, it’s usually tucked away on streaming platforms like Amazon Prime, Apple TV, or Kanopy. It’s the kind of movie you find at 2:00 AM when you can’t sleep because your own shoulder is acting up.
It’s worth the watch for the performances alone.
Key takeaways from Fred’s journey
- Posture is personality. How we hold ourselves is often a reflection of how we feel the world treats us.
- The "Sarno" Connection. Looking into Tension Myositis Syndrome (TMS) can actually change how you view your own aches.
- Humor as a Band-Aid. Using comedy to process trauma is an old trick, but Lieberstein does it with a very specific, dry surgical precision.
Practical steps for the "Back and Neck" sufferers
If you watched the film and felt a little too seen, you aren't alone. Millions of people deal with non-specific back pain that doesn't show up on an MRI. While Fred’s solution involves literal music, your solution might be a bit more grounded.
First, track your "flare-ups" against your stress levels. Most people find a direct correlation between a bad week at work and a "blown-out" lower back. It’s rarely just about how you picked up that box of groceries.
Second, look into the Mind-Body Syndrome approach. Experts like Dr. Howard Schubiner have built on the work shown in the film, providing actual exercises to "unlearn" chronic pain. It sounds woo-woo, but the science of neuroplasticity suggests our brains can get stuck in a pain loop long after the physical injury has healed.
Finally, watch the movie. Not as a medical guide, but as a reminder that being "fine" all the time is a heavy burden to carry. Sometimes, you just need to let the needles in and hear what your body is trying to scream.
Stop ignoring the tension. If your back is singing, you should probably listen to the lyrics. Start by identifying one boundary you’re afraid to set this week. Say no to one thing that makes your neck tighten up. It’s a lot cheaper than a lawyer, and it’s a lot more effective than another bottle of ibuprofen.