After six decades, 89-year-old shares LA’s hidden truths

Dr Arnold Gilberg's sunny consultation room sits just off Wilshire Boulevard. Natural light spills onto a wooden floor, his houndstooth-upholstered armchair, the low-slung couch draped with a colorful Guatemalan blanket. The Beverly Hills psychiatrist has been seeing patients for more than 60 years, both in rooms like this and at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where he has been an attending physician since the 1960s. He treats wildly famous celebrities and people with no fame at all. He sees patients without much money and some who could probably buy his whole office building and not miss the cash.

Gilberg, 89, has treated enough people in Hollywood, and advised so many directors and actors on character psychology, that his likeness shows up in films the way people float through one another's dreams. The Nancy Meyers film "It's Complicated" briefly features a psychiatrist character with an Airedale terrier — a doppelganger of Belle, Gilberg's dog who sat in on sessions until her death in 2018, looking back and forth between doctor and patient like a Wimbledon spectator.

"If you were making a movie, he would be central casting for a Philip Roth‑esque kind of psychiatrist," said John Burnham, a longtime Hollywood talent agent who was Gilberg's patient for decades starting in his 20s. "He's always curious and interested. He gave good advice."

Since Gilberg opened his practice in 1965, psychiatry and psychotherapy have gone from highly stigmatized secrets to something people acknowledge in award show acceptance speeches. His longtime prescriptions of fresh food, sunshine, regular exercise and meditation are now widely accepted building blocks of health, and are no longer the sole province of ditzy LA hippies. He's watched people, himself included, grow wiser and more accepting of the many ways there are to live. He's also watched people grow lonelier and more rigid in their political beliefs.

On a recent afternoon, Gilbert sat for a conversation with The Times at the glass-topped desk in his consultation room, framed by a wall full of degrees. At his elbow was a stack of copies of his first book, "The Myth of Aging: A Prescription for Emotional and Physical Well-Being," which came out Tuesday. In just more than 200 pages, the book contains everything Gilberg wishes he could tell the many people who will never make it into his office. After a lifetime of listening, the doctor is ready to talk. Gilberg moved to Los Angeles in 1961 for an internship at what is now Los Angeles General Medical Center. He did his residency at Mount Sinai Hospital (later Cedars-Sinai) with the famed Hungarian American psychoanalyst Dr. Franz Alexander.

Among his fellow disciples of Sigmund Freud, Alexander was a bit of an outlier. He balked at Freud's insistence that patients needed years of near-daily sessions on an analyst's couch, arguing that an hour or two a week in a comfortable chair could do just as much good. He believed patients' psychological problems stemmed more often from difficulties in their current personal relationships than from dark twists in their sexual development. Not all of Alexander's theories have aged well, Gilberg said — repressed emotions do not cause asthma, to name one since-debunked idea. But Gilberg is the last living person to have trained with Alexander directly and has retained some of his mentor's willingness to go against the herd.

If you walk into Gilberg's office demanding an antidepressant prescription, for example, he will suggest you go elsewhere. Psychiatric medication is appropriate for some mental conditions, he said, but he prefers that patients first try to fix any depressing situations in their lives. He has counseled patients to care for their bodies long before "wellness" was a cultural buzzword. It's not that he forces them to adopt regimens of exercise and healthy eating, exactly, but if they don't, they're going to hear about it. "They know how I feel about all this stuff," he said.

He tells many new patients to start with a 10-session limit. If they haven't made any progress after 10 visits, he reasons, there's a good chance he's not the right doctor for them. If he is, he'll see them as long as they need. One patient first came to see him at 19 and returned regularly until her death a few years ago at the age of 79. "He's had patients that he's taken care of over the span, and families that have come back to him over time," said Dr. Itai Danovitch, who chairs the psychiatry department at Cedars-Sinai. "It's one of the benefits of being an incredibly thoughtful clinician."

Not long after opening his private practice in 1965, Gilberg was contacted by a prominent Beverly Hills couple seeking care for their son. The treatment went well, Gilberg said, and the satisfied family passed his name to several well-connected friends. As a result, over the years his practice has included many names you'd recognise right away (no, he will not tell you who) alongside people who live quite regular lives. They all have the same concerns, Gilberg says: Their relationships. Their children. Their purpose in life and their place in the world. Whatever you achieve in life, it appears, your worries remain largely the same.