The Innocents (1961)
The Innocents (1961), a film by Jack Clayton, is based on Henry James's The Turn of the Screw. Truman Capote was the co-writer of the script, introducing some clever changes into the story that made it clearer for me - although it is still possible to see ambiguity and have doubts. The black-and-white photography by Freddie Francis is as expressive as possible. The musical theme, a sad song, is most haunting and suggestive. And the fragile, tender Deborah Kerr adds poignancy to the story with her admirably sincere, credible acting.
To answer possible questions beforehand: yes, I watched the free version subtitled in Portuguese, which didn't bother me in the least.
The thing is that the film tells a story that differs from the book, sometimes significantly so. It retains its mysteriousness and, to a certain extent, ambiguity, but, unlike Henry James who strove not to clarify anything, Truman Capote and William Archibald tried to shed some light on certain moments. Viewers still cannot come to a single opinion as to whether the house was haunted or it was the governess’s imagination (see multiple discussions on the web). Her imagination - that is my idea. I had a strong impression that the script, together with the acting of Deborah Kerr, conveyed not the horror of ghosts, but rather the horror of a person’s gradual descent into insanity. And is insanity not as horrifying as any paranormal phenomenon? Or even more so?
I love their choice of an actress. See this tender, soft face. She seems almost angelic. So serene, in the manner of those ladies in the old portraits that you look at and think: no, now there are no such faces anymore…
She is so womanly, and it is possible to glimpse, in this very softness, signs of (fatal) weakness that could make you believe: put to a serious test, this fragile one will break. She is not really tough; when she pretends (or sincerely tries) to be that, it is nearly frightening.
The nameless heroine of Henry James gets a name here. She is called Miss Giddens.
Now, I thought lazily, isn’t there an adjective 'giddy', meaning something like 'dizzy', and could her naming be linked to that? I looked into an online Oxford dictionary, and what do I see there?
giddy
adjective
Having a sensation of whirling and a tendency to fall or stagger; dizzy. (Love one of the example sentences: She was giddy with delight and has now fallen head over heels for his feline charms.)
Origin
Old English gidig 'insane', literally 'possessed by a god', from the base of God. Current senses date from late Middle English.
Insane!
Poor fragile lady, she should have been married to someone nice and lived a quiet life of her own... The maddeningly sad thing for me is that it is impossible not to pity her, even at her worst moments. The purity of her features, her grace and gentleness (and the talent of the actress) made me totally commiserate with her, much as I hated James’s heroine. Can it be that she, too, is an innocent? Or even the innocent of the story? At any rate, she is that at the beginning; and the loss of her integrity, innocence and reason is a great tragedy.
Not to forget that the title remains enigmatic, as it can be read ironically.
Oh. *sighs*
The film begins with blackness. A totally black screen, and a child's voice singing about the willow.
We lay my love and I
Beneath the weeping willow
But now alone I lie
And weep beside the tree.
Singing 'Oh willow waly'
By the tree that weeps with me.
Singing 'Oh willow waly'
Till my lover return to me.
We lay my love and I
Beneath the weeping willow,
A broken heart have I
Oh willow I die,
Oh willow I die...
The Fox logo appears silently, which in itself is unusual and even slightly creepy. At the end of the song, we hear birds and a sound of weeping.
A completely deranged woman sobs, 'More than anything I loved the children. More than anything!'
The viewer, familiar with the book, can guess that this is the end of the story.
And this is the beginning.
Michael Redgrave, who plays the uncle: 'Miss Giddens, do you have imagination?'
Oh yes, sir, she says.
She seems enchanted and accepts the offer that scared away other pretenders: to take full responsibility over his two orphaned nephews on the condition that she should never, ever, disturb the uncle.
She arrives on a sunny day. The first strange thing - or, more exactly, the first paranormal event - is when Miss Giddens hears someone singing: Flora! Flora! (just a descending minor second, like a lament) - but there is no one there. And then she meets the merry girl, whose incessant chattering makes her (and the viewer) forget about the little disqueiting episode.
She makes acquaintance with the housekeeper, Mrs Grose, and admires the grandeur and beauty of the house.
She is to share the bedroom with this strange girl.
I always look into the dark, says Flora.
Prays: 'If I should wake b - If I should die before I wake...'
Then she asks where she would go after death.
'To heaven!'
'Are you certain?'
Flora wonders if not, if she would haunt some place: 'Isn't it what happens to some people?'
This interesting conversation is interrupted by some screech in the garden. The miss is worried, but the girl wisely advises not to pay any attention, to pretend that they heard nothing:
'Then we won't imagine things.'
'Sometimes one can't help imagining things.'
This is what she can see from her bedroom window.
Creepy statues abound in this place.
In the morning, they get a letter from school. The boy is expelled.
Flora in the garden: What a lovely spider! And he’s eating a butterfly!
I would not recommend to see here an indication that the girl is creepy and potentially sadistic. Haven’t you ever heard any child making an observation of that kind, which is pretty common? (May I digress? When I was about Flora‘s age, my friend used to make the same kind of comments on spiders, butterflies, worms, etc. She just loved observing nature. Needless to say, she grew up into a perfectly normal woman.)
Soon, Flora's brother arrives. He looks happy and not at all distressed, expelled from school as he is.
But the governess is worried. 'Were you happy at school?'
The boy is clever: 'May I tell you something?'
'Of course you may!'
'You’re too pretty to be a governess.'
He twists her around his little finger too easily. So she is enchanted.
Miss Giddens is now sure that Miles is a perfect boy. Some silly old schoolteacher must have slandered him.
A funny scene is when the kid guesses that the governess is standing behind his door. She is surprised: ‘How did you know I was here?’ The boy explains that he heard a squeak and saw the light of her candle under the door. (Reminds me of… do you remember that scene when Holmes saw Watson’s reflection in a coffee-pot? This is in the same spirit. But the boy is precocious! And the woman’s nervousness makes her silly…)
Miles complains that the uncle doesn’t care what happens to the children.
'I want to help you. Trust me,' says she, and at this precise moment a gust of wind opens the window and blows out the candle. Coincidence or malevolent forces?
'It was only the wind, my dear. The wind blew it out.'
Then there is the unforgettable scene in the garden, with its abundance of white, white roses.
A beautiful lady in a beautiful garden, gathering white roses. The childish voice of Flora somewhere nearby, singing of the willow. Idyllic...
Then she brushes aside a curtain of roses and creepers and sees another statue: that of a child, holding the hands of - his mother? One cannot know, for there are only the hands, disembodied, broken from whatever adult figure was there. That alone could be disquieting.
Then some beetle creeps out of the stone boy's mouth.
She is appalled and does not look anymore.
And then - a sudden silence falls, and she does not hear Flora's voice anymore. That hush sets the stage for the first apparition.
The white rose falls down from an inert hand into the black water -
- and the splash of it breaks the spell. The sounds of the world return.
She is leaving the garden and pauses before the wrought iron gate. It is as if she were a prisoner, caught in this enchanted, rich and beautiful place. And the beauty of it all may hide ruin and decay.
(Now I digress again, but I can't help remembering Lene Kaaberbol's The Shamer's Signet (see my post here) and a similar scene! Well, a girl, prisoner in an evil place with a beautiful garden, finds a statue behind the cascades of roses (red, in that case!), and even a beetle is present... Now I wonder if that could have been directly inspired by this film???)
Okay. Miss Giddens goes to the tower to investigate.
In the tower, one hears the buzzing of flies.
Peace everywhere. Cooing white doves. Sun.
The kid is an embodiment of serenity. A man here? Why, it must have been himself. No one else came there. Flora told him that Miss slept badly that night.
Then, casually: ‘Of course one can never believe Flora. She invents things. Imagines them!’
The kids’ chattering gives away something curious. Miles doesn’t want to grow up, he wants to be just a boy living in Bly. And Flora takes her home for the whole world.
Another sequence: the game of hide-and-seek.
She is looking for the children, when she sees a woman pass silently by. ‘Anne?’ No answer. And that is the second apparition, even though Miss Giddens may not yet realise it…
This is not the ghost, that's Miss and her shadow.
Stairs again. A mound of old toys, and a music box that plays the same melody, ‘O willow Waly’. And a picture!
Miles jumps out at Miss Giddens and scares her.
‘Miles, let me go!’
‘Why?’
‘You’re hurting me!’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes! Please!
Flora enters and saves her. (But the brother’s outburst of violence is more disturbing than the sister's observing the spider breakfasting.)
And when Miss Giddens hides - behind a curtain, by the window -
(we can still see that creepy statue)
- the man’s ghost shows himself for real.
When she goes out, there is no one there, only some sounds like cats fighting.
Mrs Grose appears to resolve her doubts: the man she has seen at the window must have been Peter Quint, the former valet in charge of the boy. But now he is dead.
Here is a very significant difference from the book: the governess saw the image before she saw the ghost: 'A picture with the cracked glass!'
'Dead.' The woman's horror, the sad tender music from the box and the loud echoing laughter of the children, - standing above the adults, separated from them - the whole of that is precious and quite scary.
See the whole of the scene:
Click to viewWarning: In case you never watched the film - and in case now you got really interested in the story - I strongly recommend to go and watch it before you read my further ramblings. It is too full of surprises, and the gradual disclosing of mysteries is a pleasure to follow. Of course I tried to avoid major spoilers and let out some details, but I want to chatter about many interesting things that happen later. So, I have warned. No reproaches later! :)
Before going to sleep, Miss Giddens finds nothing better than to stare at the portrait again.
No wonder he sort of haunts her dreams.
At night, there was a thunderstorm. And now it is still raining.
Another frame that shows her as a prisoner of the place.
Flora sulks because of the rain and does not want to study.
Miles is displeased with his sister's lack of dignity: 'Stop begging for attention!'
But the fool of a governess is won over by the girl: 'Oh poor darling. Of course you may.' (Flora may perform instead of studying. The woman has no firmness with children.)
The children run away. (How they always manage to run away from her!)
Meanwhile, Mrs Grose reveals that it was Miles who found the dead body of Peter Quint 'out there, on those very stairs.' And the former governess, Miss Jessel, was at first very merry and fun-loving person, liked dancing and taught it to Flora, but then she changed.
The boy, this little prince, chooses a strange poem to read to the adults:
What shall I sing to my lord from my window?
What shall I sing for my lord will not stay?
What shall I sing for my lord will not listen?
Where shall I go when my lord is away?
Whom shall I love when the moon is arisen?
Gone is my lord and the grave is his prison.
What shall I say when my lord comes a calling?
What shall I say when he knocks on my door?
What shall I say when his feet enter softly
Leaving the marks of his grave on my floor?
Enter my lord. Come from your prison.
Come from your grave, for the moon is arisen.
Welcome, my lord.
That should create a mood for her when she is alone in the dark house.
With the inevitable circle of statues she can see from the window.
It is daylight now, but she continues to look sad.
The girl is humming the same melody of the willow.
It is possible to imagine she is summoning someone. Then Miss Giddens sees...
'Flora! Who is it? Over there!'
The girl gives that look and says nothing.
The governess, over-excited, reports to Mrs Grose: 'There are two of them. Two of those… abominations.'
Mrs Grose says that the children are never lying. (Naïve?)
Miss suspects there is 'something secret, whispering… and indecent.' She implores the elder woman to help her.
Turning her back to the housekeeper, in a muffled voice: 'Were Quint and Miss Jessel... in love?'
'Love? A sickness, a fever.' (Mrs Grose seems alarmingly well-informed about the details of the affair, and those she gives away unwillingly.) 'No woman could have suffered more.'
And the children might have known of the shameful affair between the lady governess and the servant. 'The innocents!' exclaims the governess bitterly.
White roses cast black shadows.
So, when her lover died, Miss Jessel put on mourning and eventually died here. Of a broken heart.
At night, our heroine dreams of it.
She sees Quint at the tower. Compare with the shot from the garden scene! Now the figure is distinctly that of a man, which it was not before.
And a hand, that of Miss Jessel, takes Flora’s, inviting her to dance.
Church bells. Miss Giddens makes a decision: to fetch the uncle. The children are a pair of calculationg liars, now she is ready to say.
(Note the change of her erstwhile tender expression into an almost predatory look!)
'I must have the truth. All the truth!'
She asks how Jessel died.
'In wickedness. She put an end to herself. She was found in the lake. Drowned.' (Oh, now I see the source of inspiration for so many later film adaptations!)
The church organ plays something that sounds menacing, while Flora puts some flowers on the grave of her dead friend.
Miss Giddens does not approve.
And from now on, she has taken to wearing black.
Another vision of Miss Jessel after the conversation with Mrs Grose. The former governess is sitting at the desk in the schoolroom, weeping.
And the most mysterious thing for me: as Miss Giddens approaches, the vision flees, but she discovers a drop on the desk - like a tear!
A clever guy (in one of the numerous YouTube bickerings about this film) offers a very interesting realistic explanation of this. He notes that at the beginning of the scene we hear a fly buzzing. It must have got in somehow, but the windows are closed. The guy suggests there was a leak in the roof! Then the fly could get in and the drop of water on the board is logically explained. (Wasn't it raining at night?)
But our heroine has gone too far to reason as well as those smart YouTube folks. It is like ‘the last drop’ for her - if before she still had her doubts and failed to be really convinced that the house was haunted.
Like in the book, she imitates the position the ghosts take: she is sitting exactly how Miss Jessel sat before. Mrs Grose finds her like that. And Miss says,
'She was here. I could feel pity for her… if she were not so pitiless. And hungry, hungry for him! For his arms, for his lips.' (Now who is possessed?)
What she says later makes me drop my jaw to the floor:
'And she can only reach him, they can only reach each other by entering the souls of the children and possessing them! The children are possessed.'
Then suddenly she sounds sane again, speaking about the uncle: 'They must be made to admit what is happening!'
At night, she prays.
And a white petal falls on the black prayer-book.
There follows a classical horror-film midnight stroll about the haunted house.
She hears (or she thinks she hears) a woman's voice saying softly words of love, laughter and whispers.
A ghostly figure herself, she moves about the house, and all of it seems to be whispering around her.
Those whispers - things were more erotic in the times when everything was prohibited and censored, more than now when they show you everything. I can only marvel at that.
Then she sees this thing monotonously beating against the window, like a pendulum (any Freudian allusions here?), and then -
This night scene is the scariest one for me!
She escapes to her bedroom, only to make a new frightening discovery: Flora is not in her bed. She looks into the garden...
Miles is there.
The girl is happy at the prank.
Not so the governess. 'What did you see?' (She seems aggressive!)
One of the pigeons died - looks like someone wrangled its neck - and the boy hid its body under his pillow. Could he have killed it while playing, accidentally or following a cruel impulse? Anyway, he plays a nice child.
'Kiss me goodnight, Miss Giddens!'
And he kisses the woman on the lips. She is disgusted.
At day, the boy is playing the willow song to the governess - as it turns out, it is to distract her while Flora slips away.
Mrs Grose is dozing so peacefully, with a cat purring on her lap.
I had to smile when that perfect peace was interrupted by our heroine storming into the room: 'Mrs Grose! Mrs Grose! Flora - she’s gone!'
Note: it is Miss Gidddens' reflection in the water.
Flora is dancing alone when Miss finds her.
A woman in black and the willow; that is Miss Giddens.
And another woman in black that is Miss Jessel.
The governess looks angry with the child: 'Who gave you that music box?'
Flora (sadly): 'I don’t think I remember.'
Miss Giddens (poisonously): 'And where, my pet, is Miss Jessel?' (If the child is innocent, what a cruel question to ask!)
And that scene when she sees the ghost, but Flora does not.
Mrs Grose comes, and the child flees to her in horror of the governess.
She is distressed.
And the silent apparition remains.
The two black women face each other across the lake.
At night, there is again a thunderstorm, and Flora’s shrieks fill the house: 'I hate her! I hate her!'
Miles and his shadow.
Mrs Grose is shocked at Flora's hysterical behaviour.
'You too were a complete innocent! You knew they weren't really dead!'
Mrs Grose dares at a sort of confrontation. That must be seen. She even goes so far as to accuse the lady governess of cruelty.
'To wake a child out of a bad dream, is that a cruelty?' she says.
'If you were my age and had cared for as many children as I have, you’d know that waking a child can sometimes be worse than nany bad dream.'
'No!'
'It’s the shock. And then they’d been suddenly deprived.'
'No, no, you’re wrong, you’re talking nonsense.'
'As you say, miss.'
It is up to the viewer to determine who is talking nonsense here… :(
'Miss! May I ask what I am to tell the uncle?'
'The truth!'
Mrs Grose, so sadly: 'The truth? Yes, miss.'
Mrs Grose is going to leave.
The letter that the governess intended for the uncle has disappeared. Miles must have taken it.
She asks Mrs Grose not to judge her too soon. I can't judge you, says Mrs Grose, and goes away.
Miss Giddens is left alone in this house.
With the doves. Compare with the shot from before:
Now she is not the same; and if before she only peered into the darkness, now the darkness is with her.
The boy is childishly glad to be the only man in the house.
The final tea with the boy.
Note the hands. She reaches out to him, but she cannot succeed in accessing the boy.
Here is maybe the moment to talk about the symbolism of the film. I should think the hands, as a recurring image, are of symbolic significance. The first image we see are the hands of the weeping Miss Giddens. The broken statue, Jessel inviting Flora to dance… These hands nearly touching over the table... The children are deprived of their parents, of anyone who could guide them. The distance between the governess, an adult with a wish to become a surrogate parent to the children, can not be covered though.
There are some most obvious images of innocence, such as white roses and doves, and those of innocence lost. A white flower falls into the dark water… a dove is found dead with a broken neck. (Accidentally killed by the boy? Who knows!) The colours, those eternal black and white, in the dresses of the heroine - note how she gradually ceases wearing light dresses and ends up wearing black. The shadows, covering the face of the heroine more and more often, accentuate her increasing confusion (I am not that clever, I read that shadows-on-the-characters’-faces thing in some cinema critics). And in the end, the darkness claims her. The black screen of the beginning (which is the end).
Windows and stairs also abound. Like a labyrinth through which the heroine rambles and loses herself. I have already said about the trap.
Statues, stone also represent a powerful image.
The film also appeals to previous works of art, giving allusions, weaving a chain of associations and reminiscences. The main thing is not to get carried away too far by your imagination! :)
And that imagination, is it a good thing or a bad one? What is the meaning of it? The characters often speak about repressing it, stopping inventing things, pretending…
I must stop here, I have written too much. I guess the film is so complex it is way beyond me, but I do try to understand. It is so thought-provoking. And well, it’s been a pleasure for me to ramble about it. *blushes*
I cannot imagine a better, subtler and more beautiful film based on The Turn of the Screw.
(That's why, after watching it, I have no wish to see other adaptations... yet.)