Halloween Countdown Top 5: #3, The Innocents

The Turn of the Screw is a novella I'd recommend everyone to read at some point in their lives. Ghost stories aren't my sort of thing in general, but Henry James' seminal Gothic tale of an unnamed governess who arrives at a mansion in Essex to help take care of two most unusual children, is as well-regarded and iconic as it is for a reason. It lingers on with you for days after reading it, and without going for cheap scares or easy answers crafts a palatably horrifying and yet intensely subtle tale of ambiguities.

Such a story is tough to bring to the silver screen; and thus the production team behind The Innocents tried to avoid this initial obstacle, perhaps, by choosing to adapt their screenplay more directly from the stage play of the same name, rather than the original source novella. They needn't have worried if that was the case. Jack Clayton's masterful 1960s horror never pigeonholes itself as either a gothic or psycholcial horror; it's a bit of both really, and Clayton and the film's screenwriters William Archibald and Truman Capote (!!) have a bit of a fun with both sides in bringing James' tale to life.

The film begins with one of the most beautiful, unnerving and minimalist credit sequences ever. Beginning with a blank, black screen with an overture of 'O Willow Waly', that somehow manages to unnerve with so very little, we technically begin in medias res but it is sort of obscured from our awareness; the theme to The Innocents by Georges Auric is both at once creepy and somewhat childlike and...innocent. It sets the tone perfectly and makes you want to watch on, even though the initial few scenes of The Innocents may seem like fairly standard sort of 'set up' for your typical horror film.

The unnamed narrator of The Turn of the Screw is given a name here, as well as one of the greatest actresses in film history, and my personal favourite actress of all-time, Deborah Kerr, to play her. Kerr was actually close to forty when filming The Innocents yet never feels miscast as the a character implied to be in her early twenties in the novel. Always the queen of expressive eyes and physically emotive states, Kerr makes Miss Giddens both a slightly more mature, more experienced figure than we've come to expect with similar sorts of characters, yet there's also a very childlike nervousness and rectitude to her. Kerr simply fits the role perfectly, bringing a very particular, old-fashioned style to her governess figure while blending it perfectly with a disposition more fitting to a timid, scared young girl, who's about to be plunged into an environment far beyond her control.

The orphaned nephews of the wealthy Uncle (a curiously tiny role for Michael Redgrave) she is sent to take care of in question, Miles (Martin Stephens) and Flora (Pamela Franklin), are not all that off-putting initially, nor are they meant to be. You're meant to see them first as just normal kids, Miles being the slightly more troublesome, and cheeky sort of lad, and Flora the more naturally endearing and sweet sort. Franklin's performance as Flora is one which draws appreciation from me upon every re-watch. She's very charming and makes you really enjoy every moment her jolly face and youthful exuberance permeates onscreen, which makes the subsequent revelations of the film all the more jarring; her breakdown scenes at the interrogations of Miss Giddens are incredible scenes, as Franklin shows an incredible amount of visceral power that would make most actresses that age crumble. She holds her own incredibly well in, far as I'm concerned, the greatest actress of old Hollywood, and that she was a mere 11 years old when this film was released is just amazing.

The subject of the interrogations is ghosts, of course, ghosts that are apparently haunting the estate, of the deceased, decadent valet Quint (Peter Wyngarde) and the previous governess Miss Jessel (Clytie Jessop). The handling of the supernatural elements is of course, subdued, extremely subtle, because like the source material, whether the ghosts are actually there, or whether they're the byproduct of Miss Giddens' twisted imagination, is never explicitly made clear even towards the harrowing end. The ambiguities could have fallen completely flat, but they don't on two accords. The screenplay never cheats and gives a fair and balanced possibility to both perspectives without compromising the effects of either the supernatural or psychological horror. And Kerr's performance, of course, balances perfectly the two sides of Miss Giddens, utterly compelling and convincing in her fear of the ghosts, and also suggesting a mental imbalance in the margins that would lend credence to the alternative interpretation of the character.

The direction of the film by Clayton manages to be at the same time, very much faithful to the Gothic elements of traditional supernatural horror films, while at the same time delivering some pretty nifty, subversive tricks of its own. I particularly love each of the 'lighter' scenes which still suggest a bit of creepiness underneath, like in the small moments where the housekeeper Mrs Grose (a wonderfully understated Megs Jenkins) tries to hide away the past with a cheery smile, or when Miles is being just a bit too flirtatious to Miss Giddens for a boy of his age. Then the scenes where the more conventional 'horror' beats come along, Clayton remains supreme in never choosing the easy way out in terms of 'jump scares'. The first appearance of Quint is one of the scariest scenes of all-time because of how unsuspectingly it draws up on you, and any of the scenes where Miss Giddens is investigating the grounds get marvelous 'scare' payoffs because of how Clayton twists your perceptions when exactly, and in what fashion the 'scares' are going to come round.

The lighting in the film is magnificent, and manages to make the nighttime scenes in the mansion (the use of illuminating candlelight being particularly effective) as suspenseful as the daytime sequences where we get iconic images like the hazy figure of 'Quint' on the tower top, or Miss Jessel standing by the reeds in the mansion's lake. Freddie Francis' cinematography is stunning as he captures such a particular sense of horror. Not that of the grotesque variety, necessarily, but of a terrifying beauty to be found in every corner of the household. You can't bear to look away since it's all so beautifully filmed, and at the same time the underlying horror of the screenplay and direction makes you fear every second.

The most controversial element of the film is perhaps the relationship between Miss Giddens and Miles, still extremely daring even when placed in a modern-day context. Stephens quit acting a few years after this to pursue a career in architecture. Whatever the reason (apparently the allure of acting had lost its appeal), certainly wasn't for lack of talent. He plays the iconic role of Miles perfectly, by like Kerr allowing ambiguities over whether he's truly the twisted, cruel child the boarding school which kicked him out suggests he is, or simply a frail young boy being possessed by some extremely terrifying ghouls. The handling of his controversial 'affection' for Miss Giddens, and vice versa, is extremely well handled by the film. It never feels in bad taste, and works within the film as a very serious reflection of how the selfish actions of Quint and Miss Jessel could have imprinted themselves terribly on the children. Even if you take the stance that the whole 'ghosts' element of the film is purely through Miss Giddens' mindset, the predicament of the children is still terrifying; orphaned, closed away in a mansion, with the ghosts, whether literal or figurative, of two twisted people haunting it.

Miss Giddens' determination to save the children culminates in a spellbinding final act where she sends Mrs Grose and a distraught Flora away. The subsequent 'showdown' is of a most curious sort. Unlike The Omen or The Exorcist, there is not something that MUST be done, no imperative action or obstacle that very clearly must be overcome to bring things back into balance. The crux of Miss Giddens' plan fits in perfectly well with her role as governess and teacher to Miles; she must make him confess to being 'naughty', to having misbehaved at school, to having conversed with ghosts, in order to set him free. Their back and forth dynamic in the final act starts off amiably enough over dinner and dessert, with Miss Giddens playing along with Miles' glib and cryptic comments before becoming more incisive and biting in her interrogations. The gradual descent of Miles from the confident, cheery child masking something to a swearing, obscene, manically laughing child with nothing to hide is terrifying, with Stephens and Kerr selling the scenes with their pitch-perfect reactions, and help make Henry James' amazing ending work. The film spends most of its duration being a masterclass in horror and suspense, but ends on an incredibly poignant, heartbreaking note that gradually builds itself up, and creeps onto you the whole way through.