Gothic Adaptations and Literary Mysteries

Gothic Adaptations and Literary Mysteries

by Kristin Battestella

Although some of these contemporary movies and miniseries based on books are better than others are, the literary adaptations herein exude plenty of gothic atmosphere, mood, and mystery.

The Limehouse Golem – Sublime frocks, décor, carriages, and top hats accent the 1880 bodies in the bed, poisoned cordials, and bloody riddles opening this 2016 serial killer about Londontown adapted by Jane Goldman (X:Men: First Class) from the Peter Ackroyd novel. Red gore, orange lighting, and green hues befitting the title join pink and gold dance halls, sing songs, and theatrical cross dressing as Bill Nighy's (Underworld) Inspector Kildare avoids the sensational headlines and public bloodlust in favor of handwriting analysis and murderous journals. Messy footprints, missing police reports, and polluted crime scenes don't need any modern stylistic intrusions – the intercut discovery mixed with on stage recountings of the kills, disjointed past and present point of views, and non-linear editing are unnecessary. Fast moving abusive childhood flashbacks within murder trials when we've hardly met everybody make the focus of the story unclear, the assistant constable repeats everything the inspector already knows just for redundant audience exposition, and the gay comments about Kildare are useless. Famous names, library clues, dance hall girls, jealous playwrights, and life imitating art plays let the evidence speak for itself, piecing together the case with scribble in the book margins, secondhand shop keeper connections, and inspector deduction. Distorted voiceovers, violent slicings, backstage nudity, accidents on theater stairs, and religious undercurrents set off the deceased's recounting of the crimes in fantasy-esque flashbacks repeated with each suspect as the killer. These brutal horror reenactments compete with the song and dance flashbacks, but they also help blur the investigation as important details aren't shared with the kangaroo trials, distracting the audience as information is given and taken for shock value or cinematic reasons when key evidence, set ups, and relationships would be obvious if anyone but Kildare was paying attention. The persons of interest, backstage investigations, play clues, deflection, and one on one interviews are better once the flashbacks stop and the real time case proceeds. There must be a reason why the crimes have stopped – what we need to know is given in the opening scene – and all the back and forth delaying belies viewers into how little time has passed and why the police are unaware the killer hasn't struck again. Longtime viewers of British period mysteries may see through this faulty veneer with padding misinformation and meandering backstory in need of tighter direction rather than style over substance. Fortunately, there's an interesting mystery, multiple suspects, numerous kills, and suspicious ties between them as the execution order counts down to the finish. The infamous show must go on no matter how many people die for it, and this is fun for fans of Steampunk style mysteries.

Rebecca – Artistic ingenue Emilia Fox (Merlin) – companion to wealthy gossip Faye Dunaway (Don Juan DeMarco) – is smitten by the suave yet mysterious Charles Dance (Bleak House) in this 1997 three hour Masterpiece adaptation of the Daphne Du Maurier novel. Sublime style, flapper headbands, candlelight, and long stem cigarettes add to the whirlwind 1927 Riviera's scenic drives, classic convertibles, and charming hats. Unlike the immediately gothic gray scale of Alfred Hitchcock's 1940 version, vivid color and visual depth layer this initially idyllic romance. Our unusual couple have each been shy, lonely, and sad, but Maxim de Winter admires this young lady's innocence and honesty compared to the gilded aristocracy. Picnics, boat rides, a silly girl, a foolish old man – can they make a go of their differences? The dangerous curves and perilous drives suggest something slightly sinister brewing amid glimpses of the unforgettable and beloved by all Rebecca. It's been a year since her death, yet everyone must remind Maxim of his late wife upon this surprising second marriage. The newlyweds return to the lovely English gardens and proper decorum at Manderley, the estate where the Emmy winning Diana Rigg's (On Her Majesty's Secret Service) icy housekeeper Mrs. Danvers won't let go of the first Mrs. DeWinter's memory. The household reception is awkward and chilly – the coastal brightness turns darker thanks to shadow schemes, lighting changes, and the looming silhouettes of both Mrs. Danvers and Rebecca. Despite being a large estate with a west wing facing the sea, the hefty staircases, huge windows, and great fireplace feel congested, closing in on the new, nervous Mrs. as she gets lost wandering the shuttered parts of the house, breaks priceless statues, and hangs her head like an admonished little girl. She doesn't fit into the upper class routine, but the brooding, often misunderstood Maxim doesn't want her to become like those other cruel, aristocratic dames. Everyone is so heavy handed, formal, and not just unhelpful but resentful of how unlike Rebecca she is, and the couple regrets returning home to the rocky cliffs, beach side cottages, and distrustful staff. Crazy hermits, past gossip, vogue cousins too close for comfort, recreating previous fancy dress balls, and one big costuming faux pas strain the relationship further, but she can't exactly ask her new husband about why the pieces on how Rebecca drowned aren't coming together. Her room is still kept as is, almost in worship where our devoted housekeeper can express her creepy vicarious and pathetic intimacy, re-enacting brushing her madam's hair and laying out her perfumed night gown. Was Rebecca really so perfect? If she wasn't would anybody actually say so? Her presence is overwhelming – not because of any actually supernatural mood or ghost, but because the obsessed Mrs. Danvers won't let anyone forget, placing the fanatical pressures of her devotion on the second Mrs. de Winter. Foreboding strings add more ominous, however the suspense is certainly helped by Maxim's not coming clean on his life with Rebecca at the start. While some scenes are very similar to Hitchcock's vision, this is also closer to the novel, and even if you've seen other adaptations, viewers are swept up in wondering how the secrets will play out in the finale. Fog, vintage boats, watery evidence, mistaken identities, inquests – the circumstances surrounding Rebecca's life and death come to light, but our servant oversteps her bounds with cruelty, jealousy, and bullying suicidal whispers just to assure the Rebecca everyone thought they knew and loved won't die. Though more romantic than true crime, the fresh love and warped liaisons are told swift and honestly as the scandalous true colors are revealed with fainting spells, medical discoveries, fiery rescues, and kisses in the rain. Indeed all the gothic staples are here with period mood and performances to match.

Split Opinion

The Moonstone – This five part 2016 series based on the Wilkie Collins novel opens with funerals, church bells, top hats, and tombstones before gloomy Yorkshire estates and a family cursed to unhappiness thanks to the eponymous plundering. Flashbacks to the pleasant year before recount the colorful gowns, piano music, painting, kissing cousins, and birthday gifts. There are, however, prowlers, suspicious visitors, dangerous beaches, melodramatic maids, rival suitors, and awkward dinners. This was not the day to quit tobacco! One and all pass around the diamond – broadcasting its whereabouts before immediately suspecting the “gibberish speaking” foreigners among them of its theft. The hysterical birthday girl doesn't want a public scandal, refusing to speak with the police who bungle the case with a contaminated scene thanks to a meddling maid made obvious by the ominous music. Men are worried about rectifying their reputations over the lost gem, but one wonders why they go through the trouble when the lady herself impedes them amid nonsensical red herrings, cluttered pacing, spliced editing, and foreboding fake outs. The revisiting flashbacks and present conjecture interrupt the tension with coming and going scenes or up and down stairs transitions stalling the seeking of clues while questionable colonial aspects, off humor, and poor acting parodies the deduction with overly pompous, long winded dialogue, and faux sophistication. London to Yorkshire travel looks instantaneous, and timeline breaks should bookend episodes only instead of deflecting the mystery. A ham-fisted superintendent, busybody relations, and back and forth blaming contests hinder the case further with stupid snobbery. Itemized prophecies with clues, convoluted letters, second hand evidence, and missing people string the messy in the wrong direction. The meandering points of view and uneven framing don't build characters or suspense, and viewers already have precious little sympathy since our supposedly so in love cousin so adamant about the girl and resolving the theft up and left for an entire year. Timely deaths, mysterious wills, suspicious marriage proposals, and coastal rescues finally provide something incriminating halfway thru Episode Four as love sick letters recount how the subservient people of the house were lost amid all the upper class hullabaloo. Eyewitness unreliability and laudanum stupor add to the painting clues and prospective motives while secret passages and potential suicides culminate in jeweler trades, bank stakeouts, and bodies at the hotel. Although this comes together in the last half hour, the presentation continually goes back to the night of the crime where it never should have left all the action in the first place. Characters themselves ask how they are always back where they started, but the insipid performances can't disguise the Twelve Days of Christmas cumulative – each hour adds a superfluous person who knows what happened then who travels to read a letter revealing what happened the Monday after the Wednesday that the moonstone was stolen. Such treading tires impedes the game afoot, and there's never a sense that anyone is closer to solving the mystery. This is fine for audiences who like period piece whodunits, yet such an audience is already well versed enough to be frustrated by this piecemeal structure. The series is twice as long as it should be when a streamlined, feature length design would have sufficed. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Disappointing

Labyrinth – Christopher Smith (Black Death) directs medieval heroine Jessica Brown Findlay (Downton Abbey), bad girl Katie McGrath (Merlin), Malfoy in a greasy wig Tom Felton (Harry Potter), gigolo writer never seen writing Sebastian Stan (Avengers: Infinity War), annoying creep Emun Elliot (The Paradise), and the under utilized John Hurt (Only Lovers Left Alive) in this 2012 two-parter based upon the Kate Mosse book. Opening scrolls set the 1209 Carcassonne scene with Catharism sects, reincarnation, and Holy Grail secrets before contemporary archaeology digs and caves with ancient writings. Although the men's armor looks cheap, the medieval costumes have the right silhouette – healers, herbs, and woodwork create period detail while scenic bridges, horses, and country beauty belie ominous bodies in the river, missing fingers, and mysterious books. Unfortunately, this telling of two tales at once is immediately confusing with lookalike sisters both introduced in sex scenes with the same man and a modern woman who takes on this archaeology thing after a bad break up, goes into a cave during an earthquake, and is rightfully chastised for her amateur contamination of the site. While a book can go back and forth per chapter, this television film juggles too much. The Old Speaketh is try hard and everybody in France speaks unaccented English as crusader persecutions are intercut with good cop/bad cop interrogations. Secret brotherhood meetings, double crossing contacts, another corporate woman introduced with a nooner – we're still meeting everybody an hour into the story thanks to the spliced presentation. Longer scenes building tension between the sisters, car accident shockers, and hooded rituals with candles and daggers better show the medieval past and present, and the two parts should have had all the past action naturally building to the present intrigue. Why tell in a current research montage when we can see that past suspense? The uneven structure cheats with women from different times in the same frame or place just for visual effect, delaying the storytelling with attempted edgy. Hot guys in the pool, iPod mentions – leave your number by typing it into some man's phone, is that for real? – and forced chemistry aren't as interesting as a Book of Potions or religious protectors. Secret society bad guys chase something so important one moment only to call it an irrelevant loose end the next, people with answers go unutilized, and clues are waiting in an inherited house but nobody goes there. A righteous thug with a silencer shooting people for not going to confession and information easily given that should have come sooner are too convenient as neither past nor present is primary thanks to no sense of danger and the thin women's tropes such as the one-dimensional illegitimate naked bad girl scorned threatening a man with cries of rape. It's also tough to enjoy the trebuchets, sieges, fire, and cemeteries when all the miscast, messy, mansplaining men are so weak in battle. Although the opening scenes suggest a mystical connection, there is no point to these separate stories being told in parallel. Neither receives the attention it deserves, leaving the medieval hollow despite serious topics and the present lacking an intelligent mystery that doesn't know its audience. While the men in such adventures can handle the Holy Grail, reincarnation, immortality, and get the girl; with women the medieval must be all jealous affairs and a soap opera sappy choice between a lover or the greatest religious and archaeology discovery ever. Boo!

Bleak But Decent Chillers

Bleak but Decent Chillers

by Kristin Battestella

Though less than perfect, this recent movie trio provides bitter frights, unexplained angst, and heaps of despair to match the contemporary plagues, Victorian black widows, and Lovecraftian gore.

It Comes at Night – Gas masks, bodies in the wheel barrow, and backyard executions open this 2017 thriller as rough and bearded Joel Edgerton (Loving) does what he has to do for his wife and son. It's excellent to see an interracial family front and center – horror needs to stop being blonde babes all the time – but we know things won't bode well for the family dog! The lone lantern light and shadows traveling through the expansive but boarded up log cabin add a certain sadness to match the sans electricity, long dark hallways, plastic sheeting, and one red door to enter or exit. Pictures of good times line the walls – the days before this unexplained plague necessitated rifles, the defending of one's castle, and shoot first ask questions later mentalities. What do you do when another family of three is in need of food and shelter? Flashlights, outdoor sweeps, and night time blues aide the tense family protection amid gory dream scares, body horror, and tied up intruders. Interrogations provide talk of precious water, sickness in the city, going off the grid, and trading for supplies. Men can understand these desperate measures when seeing to their families, but can they trust each other? A family conference votes to welcome the new trio in their secure homestead, yet the skeptical, suspicious, on guard feelings remain thanks to the desolate roads, car crashes, and gunshots outside. There are rules to the home, too: they eat together, always travel in pairs, and never go out at night. The families bond over chores and even laugh when reminiscing about desserts or liquor, but barking, noises in the woods, and sleepwalking encounters keep everyone on edge. Testy accusations lead to separations and putting others at risk to save one's own family. No one here is a bad person, but such extreme situations make good people do terrible things. This claustrophobic parable remains tense and doesn't overstay its welcome – but it didn't need the extra horrors or double dream fake outs as the social examination scares and siege stress are enough. Although the unexplained elements continue the debate after the picture ends, it also seems like important staples go unclarified. Were they sick all along? Is there something supernatural at work or not? Some audiences may find the lack of answers a waste, but the subdued chills and bleak statements remain intriguing. 

 

My Cousin Rachel – Rachel Weisz (The Constant Gardener), Holliday Grainger (The Borgias), Ian Glen (Game of Thrones), and Simon Russell Beale (The Hollow Crown) begin this 2017 Daphne du Maurier mystery with happy strolls on the beach and fun bachelor times be it lovely greenery, carriages in the snow, or reading by the fire. The epistle narration gives a hear tell on the titular marriage via secret letters recounting illness and a wife forbidding correspondence before final, unfortunate news leaves the estates to heir Sam Claflin (The Hunger Games) on his next birthday – not the unseen widow said to be so strong and passionate. She's a suspicious enigma for the first twenty minutes before a cross cut conversation introduces the charismatic storyteller, where the audience isn't sure who is more uncomfortable or telling the truth despite the captivation. Divine mourning gowns, black satin, and lace veils add to the half-Italian allure amid more period accessories, libraries, old fashioned farming, candles, and top hats. Between would be scandalous horseback rides, church whispers, and awkward tea times, our once vengeful youth is smitten by Rachel's progressive charm. Interesting conversations on femininity break Victorian taboos, for childbirth is the only thing a man knows about a woman and if she has a foreign remedy she must be a witch. Is Rachel wrapping her wealthy cousin around her finger? Can she when he is forbidding her work giving Italian lessons? Rachel is dependent on his allowance, and at times they both seem to be recreating the late benefactor and husband between them – the awkward new master wearing the dead man's clothes and she the woman he didn’t think he needed. Such romance and heirloom Christmas gifts could be healing for them both, but viewers except the other gothic shoe to drop amid holiday generosity, seasonal feasts, and group songs. Overdrafts at the bank, raised allowances, a history of previous lovers and duels – Rachel puts on her finest grieving widow pity with a child lost and an unsigned will that would leave her everything. Is she orchestrating a careful seduction or is he a foolishly infatuated puppy despite clauses about remarriage or who predeceases whom? The ominous nib etching on the parchment leads to cliffside shocks, birthday saucy, blundered engagements, drunken visions, and poisonous plants. The suspicions turn with new illnesses and financial dependence, as Rachel goes out on the town and says what she does is nobody's business. After all, why can’t she have a life of her own if the estate is now hers? Why should her independence be defined by a man’s piece of paper? We relate to Rachel, but she can only cry wolf and fall back on her sob story so many times... While this isn't as creepy as it could be – audiences expecting horror will find the pace slow – the drama and mood are well done amid the wrong conclusions and written revelations. Were the suspicions warranted? The finale may not be satisfactory to some, but the unanswered questions and ultimate doubt remain fitting. 

 

The Void – Orange fire light, blue police sirens, and yellow hospital patinas accent the screams, gunshots, and fiery executions in this 2016 gruesome – in spite of the opening credits interrupting the radio chatter, hooded figures, and bodies in the road. The cop with daddy issues, his ex the nurse – split over losing a baby, of course – the complaining intern, and the pregnant girl in the waiting room are also cliché, cranky, and too sardonic, which unevenly balances the scares and the snark. Loud music notes are unnecessary thanks to a unique enough setting with an increasingly bleak mood as a nurses stab patients in the eye or peel off their flesh. Fainting, vomiting, handcuffed patients, and state patrolmen create shrewd exposition as questions on what's happening or how many people and where they are set the scene as landlines go down and dispatch remains unresponsive. Cult figures surround the hospital, power's out, and there's blood everywhere. Who's in charge? Where can they go when a hospital should be the safest place to be? The tense is good, but the go for supplies attempt, runs to a car, creepy hospital basement, and cryptic phone calls that don't explain anything become typical. Jerks withhold information because they can, it takes far too long to ask the obvious questions, and the mute character is useless while cult leaders waste time talking vague on fetus swaps and life beyond death trades. Though the esoteric goes on a bit much with outer space, pyramid subtext, and triangle symbolism as it tries to be something deeper, the tropes tossed at the screen become more Aliens meets Silent Hill instead of truly fresh Lovecraft spins. It's easy to forget about several characters amid the confusing slasher and siege splices, and the repeatedly reiterated medical meets undead cult muddles the otherwise fine and entertaining blood, body horror, tentacle monstrosities and creepy crawlies transformations.

More Early Hitchcock Gems!

More Early Hitchcock Gems!

By Kristin Battestella

It's Round Two featuring more early British fare and young Hollywood Alfred Hitchcock diamonds in the rough!

The Lady Vanishes – Only one lovely train passenger has seen the titular dame, causing rail car mayhem for Margaret Lockwood (The Wicked Lady) and Michael Redgrave (Mourning Becomes Electra) in this 1938 mystery. Travel delays and assorted languages invoke the tourist hustle and bustle as our ensemble is humorously introduced – from the governess rambling about her past charges and country songs or dances to cranky Englishmen commandeering the phone just to ask the line from London for the cricket scores. All the rooms are let out in this hectic hotel save for the maid's quarters, and she comes with the room, wink! The bellhop is trying not to look at the scandalous bare legs as our bachelorette orders caviar and champagne, but the men in bed together is gay in both senses of the word with jolly good innuendo. This quirky inn comforts the audience yet there are whispers of pretty American girls and the almighty dollar getting preferential treatment, newspaper sensationalism, and intensifying continental troubles. A hit on the head at the train station leads to a kaleidoscope of confusion, unfamiliar faces, magic tricks, and slight of hand illusion. Everyone's interconnected – incognito affairs, musicians, a famous doctor, magicians, and foreign diplomats. Some genuinely don't recall seeing the woman in question, but others have an ulterior motive for not wanting the train delayed, willful gaslighting compounded by lies, lawyers watching their own back, and that unreliable bump on the head. Tea in the dining car alone, suspicious wine glasses – complaints about non-English speakers, nationalism, political secrets, and conspiracies. Who's really on who's side? Train whistle harbingers pepper the constant hum of travel, matching the rail montages, impressive rear projection, and black and white photography. Despite the confined setting, the pace remains fittingly on the move with perilous comings and goings between cars. There are stoles and divine hats, too, but that giant monogram scarf looks more like a napkin stuck in her collar! Humorous bunging in the cargo with magician's rabbits, trick boxes, false bottoms, and contortionists is good on its own, however, perhaps such fun should have happened earlier before the serious mystery escalates. There are some contrived leaps as well – it's amazing how all the Englishmen can shoot to kill and do it so easily – and though not naming the enemy country is understandable thanks to political relevance then and now, the obligatory bad guys are just nondescript. Likewise, one can see why the sardonic comedy teams and shootouts were included, and Flightplan really steals from this right down to the writing on the foggy window. Fortunately, the ticking clock race to the border, wrong track turns, gunfire standoffs, and international chases roll on right up to the end. But seriously, what it is with Hitchcock and trains already?

Lifeboat– Journalist Tallulah Bankhead is stranded on the high seas with torpedoes, sunken ships, u-boats, and Nazis in this 1944 self-contained thriller nominated for Best Director, Story by John Steinbeck, and Black and White Cinematography. There's no need to waste time on spectacle with the in media res sinking – flotsam and jetsam with everything from English playing cards to dead Germans heralds the nationalism and wartime grays to come amid damp passengers, dirty sailors, famous dames, mothers, babies, and injuries. Tallulah's in furs, smoking a cigarette, and dictating what junk to bridge aboard, and despite the tiny boat space, multiple conversations happen fore and aft thanks to strategic intercutting between the immediate wounded and more self-absorbed survivors. Fog and windswept water sprays accent the superb rear projection, and the strategic filming captures everyone from all angles with foreground zooms and background silhouettes. Natural ocean sounds and the rocking of the ship, however, might make sensitive viewers seasick. There are numerous colloquialisms as well as accents and translations, but conversation is all we have – a stage-like talkative jam packed with insinuating layers, interrogations, and double meanings. Can you make your own law in open waters and toss the Nazi overboard? Everyone feels the need to establish who's American, Christian, or had relatives in Czechoslovakia and France, and the black cook is surprised he's included in all the decisions. It's unfortunately expected that Canada Lee's (Cry the Beloved Country) Joe is the least developed character, yet he's also the most genuine person starboard. This is also a more diverse ensemble than often seen in today's movies, and three women talk to each other about shell shock and lacking supplies but nobody knows the right prayers for a burial at sea. Cold, wet, sleepless individual vignettes allow the refreshingly flawed stranded to come clean, and at the time having a Nazi officer as a realistic character rather than an evil archetype was understandably controversial. Testy questions on who's skipper, united sympathies, and diplomatic delegating drop the formalities, as after all “we're all in the same boat.” However, information is not always forthcoming and no one knows the course to Bermuda – except Herr Kapitan. Can you trust his seamanship? A compass, typewriter, watches, diamond bracelets, brandy, and newspapers with Sir Alfred in the classifieds add tangibles and some humor alongside baseball talk, debate on the superior rowing capabilities of the Master Race, and other unexpected camaraderie, for “dying together is more personal than living together.” Repeated “Some of my best friends are...” quips also address differences as rambling on past regrets becomes veiled talk about shocking revelations and amputations. Lost material possessions give way to symbolic shoes, bare feet, shirtless men, and tattoos, but there's time for intense poker, lipstick, and flirtation. Bermuda is the macguffin, and storms, hunger, delirium, suspicion, and men overboard get in the way of getting there. Rather than just special effects cool, wet and wild action heightens the internal boat suspense as beards grow and tables turn. They're surrounded by undrinkable water, rain is precious, fishing bait is nonexistent, and sudden twists happen with nothing but a splash. Violent mutinies and shellfire are surprising to see in a forties movie, but Bankhead is a stunning, strong, sexy older woman able to be kissing or angry in the same scene – a multifaceted female role few and far between these days. Once stripped bare by the consequences of welcoming your enemy, do you accept your fate, continue to row, or laugh at the irony? Perhaps this warning against fatally lumping all together and the guilty lessons learned in such a no win situation can only be appreciated in retrospect, as this tale tries to see everything from both sides, remaining gripping from beginning to end with nothing but eight people in a boat in the middle of the ocean intensity. It makes one wonder why nowadays everything is so gosh darn bombastic.

Sabotage – Buzzing light bulbs go dark in this 1936 caper based on The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad – not to be confused with Hitchcock's previous Secret Agent or later Saboteur. Whew! Crowds are both confused and giggling in this blackout, singing or arguing by candlelit and wanting their money back from the down picture show. Flashlights, the silhouetted skyline, shadow schemes, and askew camera angles add to the power tampering suspicion, and suspenseful notes follow our mysterious man in black as he returns home, washes his hands, and claims innocence – despite his neighbor's claims to the contrary. He talks of money coming soon yet doesn't want to draw attention to his cinema business, but the professional, public, and domestic are intertwined with families living above the bustling marketplace. Fine dresses, fedoras, and vintage cars add to the quaint, however no one is who they seem thanks to grocers with an angle, Scotland Yard whispering of trouble abroad, and shadowed men with their backs to the camera conversing over promised payments. The innocuous movies, aquarium, and pet shop host seemingly innocent ingredients used for making bombs, and onscreen days of the week lie in wait while the public is occupied by the picture show, hoodwinked by what's in plain sight. Creepy packages, trick bird cages, and threatening “sleeping with the fishes” coded messages become a tongue in cheek nod to the nature of cinema and hidden observations as covers are blown and men scatter. Our wife is clueless abut her husband and oblivious to her family being used for information, creating an interesting dynamic for her between the handsome detective and a damn cold, cruel husband. Who are behind these plans and why? Despite several great sequences, convenient plot points leave too many unanswered questions. The busy start is rough around the edges, meandering for half the movie before becoming eerily provocative as a child delivers a fatal ticking package in the middle of the crowded market. We know the route and the time – delaying for street sales, demonstration detours, and interfering parades ups the suspense alongside traffic jams, stoplights, and montages featuring clock tower gears, dangerous flammable film, our innocuous brown papered package, and the puppy on the bus next to it! A clock on every street corner checks each five minutes passing amid town criers, newsboys, crescendos, and clues in the film canister that go for the big shocker while silent visuals bring the threats home to the dinner table. Although I don't think today we'd have a cartoon singing “Who killed Cock Robin?” but that might just be me.

Love It or Hate It?

Jamaica Inn – Charles Laughton (The Private Life of Henry VIII) and Maureen O'Hara (The Quiet Man) star in this 1939 adaptation of Daphne du Maurier's novel – Hitchcock's last picture before his stateside huzzahs. There's nineteenth century lawlessness, shipwrecks, and the perilous Cornish coast with rocky buildings to match the blustery and unforgiving waters and storms. The opening montages are ye olde well done, and the crashing waves, sailor screams, and squawking seagulls accent the bleak Gothic mood. The unforgiving start continues with bumpy carriage rides, dangerous roads, and a spunky niece warned off the titular lodge only to be wooed with Byron quotes. Creepy uncles, more lecherous men, and racketeering add more brutality – is someone double crossing the scheme or pocketing a percentage? Eavesdropping, spying from above, and perspective camera angles are early Hitchcock hallmarks along with up close knives, a wrongly accused man, and winding stairs. Marriage is rough, women both help or hinder the crimes or remain helpless, and blossoming opposites attract banter sets off the rescues, ironic twists, surprises, and enemies in disguise. Unfortunately, it's tough to tell the pirate-esque but RP speaking henchmen apart, and the back and forth smuggling is overly chatty plodding delaying the better parts. This should be more scandalous or scary than it is, and apparently years worth of crime is just so irrevocably disrupted by a nosy girl in less than two days? Laughton's fake nose likewise takes over the ham – it's not quite Doctor Evil with the pinky smirk but close – and those ridiculously obvious eyebrows are not the kind of hiding in plain sight we had in mind. Using this villain for some kind of comedic effect misses the mark because we are so excruciatingly aware of the scene chewing, which is doubly surprising from the otherwise always on point Laughton. There is some suspense if you aren't familiar with the story, but the book is better thanks to the uneven cat and mouse here. The standard thirties period drama never rises to truly Gothic ominous, but it can be bemusingly watchable fun if you don't expect perfection on the scale of Hitchcock and Du Maurier's next venture: Rebecca.

The Birds (1963)

The Birds One of Hitchcock’s Finest

By Kristin Battestella

My mother hates freaky birds, and to this day, I don’t think she has ever made it through Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 avian fright fest The Birds.  Tragic.

Troublemaking rich girl Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren) crosses paths with San Francisco lawyer Mitch Brenner (Rod Taylor) and plots to get back at him by following him to Bodega Bay for the weekend and leaving two lovebirds for his young sister Cathy’s (Veronica Cartwright) birthday.  While in Bodega Bay, strange bird attacks begin to occur, and Melanie stays with schoolteacher Annie Hawthorn (Suzanne Pleshette) - an ex-flame of Mitch’s.  More birds attack at Cathy’s birthday party, and Mitch and Melanie must come to the aide of Mitch’s widowed mother Lydia (Jessica Tandy) as birds of all feathers frightfully and fatally flock on the coast.

 

Alfred Hitchcock’s (Psycho, Notorious, Suspicion, must I go on?) direction is once again great, with a slow, country town brew of romantic tizzies, humor, suspense, animal disturbia, and more.  Based loosely on a tale from Daphne Du Maurier (Rebecca), the script by Evan Hunter (The Blackboard Jungle) may seem long or stilted by some today. However, the solid two hours and tight pacing from Hitch work seamlessly with all the classic freaky here. There are just so many layers of suggestions to investigate- familial innuendo, social stigmas, birds pecking away at our defenses and plucking out people’s eyes.  Are these the human eyes that can’t see these birds are angry and aren’t going to take it anymore?! What would indeed happen if birds decided to turn against us? The religion versus science hints, witch and evil harbinger debates- I love the diner scene where a boy eating chicken asks his mother if the birds are going to eat him. We would be pissed if the roles were reversed indeed! Whatever the social causes of or paranoid responses to the avian hysteria, the seed is smartly planted- and The Birds is still dang scary. It’s quite easy to think there is intelligent design or feathered revenge at hand, just as we could also think it’s all just some bizarre animal turn or random instinct.  Both possibilities remove our safe controlled answers and thrust the audience into the unknown- and there is nothing more frightening to us.  Instead of contemporary shock and awe and desensitization, The Birds is all about what we see but don’t believe, what we don’t see but know to be true, and what we hear that so scares us.

Wow, Tippi Hedren (Marnie) starts as a real socialite bitch! I couldn’t quite think of a word to describe her at first, but I see online that I’m not the only one who eventually settled on one name: Paris Hilton!  Fortunately, Melanie grows into a charming heroine in the face of this bizarre horror despite her typical blonde helpless babe looks. Hedren does look smashing in her fur coat and high heels- somehow being a woman of sass, smarts, and action without a hair out of place.  Although she does wear that same green suit for three days!  I don’t know that the up-close soft focus glow is really necessary from Hitch, but Tippi most certainly stands out among the crowd in The Birds.  Are these avian attacks Melanie’s fault? Is her ploy of lovebirds the cause? It’s certainly an easy place to point the accusing finger, and Suzanne Pleshette (The Bob Newhart Show) is the perfect dark-haired, pseudo femme opposite.  Annie is meant to be the good girl schoolteacher despite her sexy look- her brunette style certainly isn’t in Hitchcock’s favored ice queen vein. The mixing ideologies, however, work in Annie and Melanie’s relationship.  They become fast friends despite the romantic rivalry over Mitch and a frosty attitude from his mother.  Ha! Frenemies before there was such a thing, eh Paris? Speaking of Mitch, Rod Taylor (The Time Machine) is totally cool as a fun, swinging big city lawyer who ends up protecting his family against freak birds on the weekend.  It isn’t a role that one can take too lightly or overly serious, and Taylor finds the everyman balance.  Mitch is smart, charming, strong and there when you need him without being too sixties misogynistic- even if there is a strange mama’s boy angle going on. 

Oscar winner Jessica Tandy (Driving Miss Daisy) is simply lovely as Mitch’s mom Lydia, too.  Despite her jealousies and overbearing ways, the viewer instantly feels for the widow who can’t hold onto herself and her family with all this titular mayhem happening.  She’s lonely, sad, yet still strong, and again, it’s all a little weird the way Lydia looks to her son to symbolically replace her husband as head of the house.  Fortunately, little Veronica Cartwright (Alien) is so cute- not nearly as annoying as so many old school child stars often are. Cathy is realistic before the trauma and remains sincere while the hysteria happens.  Although I do wonder why these old films always have a college aged or even fully-grown child and then an elementary kid- did people really raise one child to entirety and then have another? Or is there an additional layer of Mitch and Melanie’s action parents relationship with Cathy for us to explore? Yes, a modern audience will notice some of these then latent suggestions or shout at the television, as some of the players’ actions are a little impractical in The Birds.  No one takes the offensive or gets some guns or weapons against the birds. While it’s totally iconic now, you couldn’t even find a phone booth to hide in today- not that one would choose a box made out of glass anyway. Hello, kamikaze birds on the run and no one ever gets away from the windows?  Nevertheless, we like the people in The Birds and get to know them for a little while, thus making it easier to believe their fears and irrationalities when the fantastic avians hit.

Despite its color filming, the dark and light values and cutting edge photography are used so smartly; The Birds almost seems black and white or devoid of palette in some scenes thanks to bleak interiors or flocking crows and sparrows.  Then of course, we get set up for unusual stills, zooms, and angles with pops of fresh red trickles. The sound alternatives are also dynamite. Sometimes the action plays almost as a silent film but for lingering vocals, singing, and squawking bird effects.  Naturally, some of the old school cheats are recognizable to wise contemporary audiences: matte paintings, split screens, innovative composite effects, live birds, fake birds, and every other trick possible.  However, we know The Birds is an old film, and even so, it still looks wonderfully freaky. Toss in that real bird scenery with all the twisted intelligent layers, and the smoke and mirrors trickery, and we still buy in to this definite sense of real world menace and animals gone awry. 

Sigh; there is just something about the production design and style of classic films.  Famed Oscar winner Edith Head’s (A Place in the Sun, Samson and Delilah) limited dressings for Hedren add color and a pop of sixties panache. Toss in cool cars- an Aston Martin no less- gas lamps, tea sets, suave updos, and the casual use of brandy for even more nostalgia.  Today, young actors forget there is a sense of grace and style in the way men used to handle their cigarettes or how the women twist the phone cords as they chat on those sultan type phones.  And using a pencil to dial on a rotary phone- wow, some youths might not even know what the means! The Birds is wonderfully of its time, and yet, there is nothing here so dated to distract new viewers. Everything still looks good, just made to look old perhaps. One might think this bird nightmare did in fact happen somewhere along some coastal inlet some 50 years ago.  The conclusion, I must say, may annoy some, but the infamous and eerie warning should be respected whether you like it or not.  Bird lovers may also have serious problems with The Birds thanks to their onscreen misuses and angry portrayals. That two story pet shop, however, is dang sweet, and the cute and humorous little lovebirds are just that adorable.

If you’ve somehow gone this long without seeing The Birds, this should be your next must see. Classic fans surely already know and love, as should any budding Hitchcock enthusiast.  Horror viewers, thriller audiences, and fans of the cast can also delight.  Earn your A in avian terror from Hitch with The Birds tonight.