The theory that Lanza suffered from bipolar I disorder (or manic depression) was posited by attorney Roland L. Bessette in his 1999 biography of the tenor. Bessette subsequently elaborated on his theory in a series of interviews with Lanza aficionado Lindsay Perigo. These were published in the latter's 2013 e-book The One Tenor.
To support his amateur diagnosis, Bessette argues that Lanza’s behavior during his adult life was consistent with the classic symptoms of bipolar I disorder: “[It was] cyclical with manic highs—during which times he experienced difficulties; periods of normal behavior—during which times he was productive and relatively stable; and depression, during which times he was unable to work.” Bessette also states that five (unnamed) psychiatrists with whom he discussed Lanza’s life concurred that his diagnosis was “valid.”
However, aside from the fact that none of these psychiatrists ever met Lanza, there are many questionable elements in Bessette’s retrospective diagnosis. In the first instance, he places undue emphasis on quotes attributed to Lanza that appear in The Mario Lanza Story, a 1960 biography by Constantine Callinicos and Ray Robinson. Given that it was not Callinicos (Lanza’s accompanist) who actually wrote the book, but journalist Robinson, one has to wonder how accurate these quotes are—or, for that matter, how Callinicos managed to recall them so precisely. (This is, after all, a frequently inaccurate book that is not beneath inventing Lanza’s final words.) Bessette claims that these quotes represent the tenor’s “own diagnosis” of his bipolar condition. “I know, Costa," Lanza is reported as saying to Callinicos, "But I’m so terribly unhappy. When I’m happy, I don’t do these things,” and, “Please, Costa. Tell me tomorrow. I won’t be so low tomorrow. Then we’ll really begin to do a job. It’ll be all right. Just don’t think I’m crazy. It’s just that I have to get away from all these troubles in my head.”
Bessette repeatedly treats these reported statements as prima facie evidence of bipolar disorder. Yet, crucially, he makes no attempt to consider the context in which they may have been uttered. Could these “troubles" not have been allusions to (understandable) self-doubt rather than indications of mental illness? Lanza’s decision to go to Hollywood had, after all, proved disastrous for his operatic aspirations, while undermining his inner security, as his good friend George London and two conductors who worked closely with him—Peter Herman Adler and John Green—all attested. Indeed, in Green's opinion, “He was in truth as insecure as it is possible for a human being to be.” Lanza knew that he was selling his talent short by appearing in films rather than on the operatic stage. The increasing skepticism of music critics only added to his insecurities, and Lanza also had to contend (from 1951 onwards) with an often-scathing press. Would a deeply sensitive individual not have suffered more than most in such an environment?
But Bessette is dismissive of the notion that Lanza was ever “a victim of his own sensitivities and the insensitivities of others.” Convinced that mental illness lay at the root of the tenor's problems, he accordingly interprets selected periods and events in Lanza's life as symptomatic of either the manic or depressive episodes that define bipolar I disorder. These include the tenor’s behavior on the sets of several of his films; his appearance on the 1957 Christophers program, a made-for-TV religious show on which he argues that Lanza displays a “flight of fancy” that is so indicative of “mania at work” that, he speculates, it prompted the program’s concerned host not to broadcast the show; the tenor’s walkout from the set of The Student Prince—symptomatic, he says, of a man “increasingly unable to meet reasonable expectations”—and the tenor’s troubled state in the aftermath of his subsequent dismissal from MGM. He also quotes a high school classmate of Lanza, Arthur Cosenza, as telling him (Bessette) that even in the tenor’s teenage years, “We all knew something was wrong;” cites entertainer Peter Lind Hayes’ recollection of a dinner with Lanza in which the tenor was “uncontrolled and uncontrollable;” and quotes the late Denby Richards, editor of Musical Opinion, as enthusing of his (Bessette’s) portrayal of Lanza that, “You have got him!”
None of this, however, amounts to substantiation of bipolar disorder. Bessette is completely wrong, for example, about the Christophers host—one Father Keller—being alarmed by Lanza's (perfectly unalarming) behavior on the show, as a glowing letter from Keller to the tenor reveals, and the program, contrary to Bessette's claims, was broadcast. (In fact, it was screened on several occasions: in 1958 and 1959, and again in 2013 as a celebration of "classic" Christophers shows.) Moreover, Bessette's selective use of quotes in support of his theory from people who barely knew Lanza (e.g. Richards), or whose acquaintance with him was restricted to one period of his life (e.g. Cosenza), can easily be countered with the firsthand testimony of others who knew Lanza well over many years and detected no evidence of mental illness in him. (It is worth noting here that Bessette, in contrast to fellow biographer Armando Cesari, interviewed only a relatively small number of Lanza's friends and associates.)
That is not to whitewash the man’s at-times regrettable behavior. Lanza had well-documented problems with alcohol (curiously downplayed here by Bessette) during the last five or six years of his life, a volatile temperament, and yes, as Bessette repeatedly emphasizes, could be crude and unpleasant on occasion. But for the probable cause(s) of that behavior, and Lanza's troubles in general, there is sufficient evidence to suggest that Hollywood, rather than mental illness, was the real culprit. Simply put, Lanza lost his way in the movie capital. As Peter Herman Adler observed in 1951, the year in which Lanza achieved unprecedented commercial success for an operatic singer: "Hollywood has become his Frankenstein [and] the pressure he is under is tremendous." That a person as vulnerable as Lanza (for all his extroverted nature) ultimately succumbed to that pressure is tragic but hardly surprising. I would argue that by underestimating the negative impact of fame and unrelenting scrutiny on a super-sensitive individual, Bessette misdiagnoses the true reason for the tenor's downward spiral that began within a year of Adler's statement.
(For further reading, see this forum discussion and Lindsay Perigo's thought-provoking response to Bessette's argument in The One Tenor.)
(For further reading, see this forum discussion. I also recommend Lindsay Perigo's well-considered response to Bessette's argument in The One Tenor.)