Revisiting THE INNOCENTS: Exceptionally Atmospheric Horror

Initially I wanted to write a few words about Robert Wise’s The Haunting, but I considered that title too well known, also thanks to Jan De Bont’s 1999 remake. I ultimately chose the 1961 film adaptation of Henry James’s novel The Turn of the Screw, directed by Jack Clayton, The Innocents. This story has already had over a dozen film versions, yet the one starring Deborah Kerr is considered the best at capturing the ambiguity of James’s text while also being an exceptionally atmospheric horror film.

Applying for the position of governess, Miss Giddens writes in a letter to her future employer that she loves children above all else. For him, who has been given charge of them after their parents’ death, this is excellent news, since he claims he has neither time nor affection for his nephew and niece. He does, however, have a large country house where Miss Giddens is to go to care for and teach the young Flora. Upon her arrival the child predicts that her brother will soon appear as well, despite the fact that Miles, only slightly older than she, has not yet finished his schooling.

Yet the very next day the teacher receives a letter stating that the boy has been expelled from school for being a bad influence on his peers. It is hard for her to believe this when Miles finally appears—polite and well-mannered (like Flora), he is the complete opposite of the boy she imagined after reading the letter. Not long after, Miss Giddens begins to see around the house the figures of people who once worked there and died in tragic circumstances. Even more disturbing, however, is the influence the apparitions seem to have on the young siblings.

The questions that arise while watching The Innocents hardly concern the heroine’s doubts about the existence of ghosts. Her very first encounter with them is something extraordinary and terrifying for Miss Giddens, and at the same time very real. More important is the reason for their presence—just as in life they were strongly connected to Miles and Flora, so after death they do not want to leave them. We do not learn all the details of the previous governess’s relationship with the house’s caretaker, nor how they corrupted the children, but because of this the entire story affects the viewers and the new teacher even more strongly.

Are the siblings possessed, or already so morally damaged that even the operation of evil forces is unnecessary? How far will they go to triumph over Miss Giddens? And how should one understand that triumph? The main heroine is a religious person. It is no wonder, then, that she briefly considers calling the local priest, but quickly dismisses the idea. Perhaps she believes her faith is strong enough to combat evil. Her bodily needs are another matter. Her repressed sexuality is emphasized by screenwriters William Archibald and Truman Capote—one need only recall her reaction to the sight of a bug jumping out of the mouth of a stone statue.

Thus when young Miles begins to behave ambiguously toward his teacher, even going so far as to kiss her, Miss Giddens realizes that her soul too is in danger. Is her declaration of love for children not a perfect provocation for evil?

The horror in Clayton’s film does not stem from the moments of the ghosts’ manifestation but from the conviction that the children are the victims and simultaneously the source of danger. Neither the director nor the author of the novel wants the threat to take a physical form—the governess is attacked by Miles in only one scene, supposedly under the guise of play. This is the type of horror in which the viewers’ imagination matters more than the creators’. Everything is suggested here, rarely shown. The ghosts do not seem aggressive; filmed more often from a distance than up close (except in one situation), they frighten through their mere presence, and their role remains a matter of interpretation until the very end.

I suspect that precisely because of this, The Innocents, despite its many adaptations and the classic status enjoyed by both this version and the original novel, remains a title known to only a few. It lacks not only literalness but also concrete actions on the part of the antagonists. If one looks more closely at the story, it turns out that it contains no clearly defined moments of danger—Miss Giddens, based only on the lies told by Miles and Flora and on the stories of the children’s former caretakers, who now appear as ghosts, draws conclusions about the mortal danger threatening her charges.

And to fight lies, no crucifixes, holy water, silver-bullet pistols, or spellbooks are needed. Only truth can bring salvation. Yet both James and Clayton state that the price of removing the blinders from one’s eyes may be too high.

The visual design of The Innocents is wonderful. It might seem that Freddie Francis’s cinematography is too bright for a horror film, but the decision is understandable when one considers that what is meant to frighten is what can be seen with the naked eye, not what lurks in the shadows. This is confirmed by the emphasis placed on the sad children’s song about the crying willow, sung by Flora, which attracts Miss Giddens’s attention. And finally Deborah Kerr as the teacher. She considered this her best role, though today her exaltation in some scenes may seem a bit excessive.

Fortunately, even then Clayton and Francis come to the rescue, showing us only a fragment of her face, for example her lips, just after the kiss bestowed on her by Miles, which produces a stunning effect. I have no doubt, however, when her heroine states that she does not want to hurt the children, that this is truly the case and that she is ready to do anything for them.

As I have already mentioned, viewers often forget this title or do not know it at all, though among its fans are Martin Scorsese and Guillermo Del Toro, who consider it one of the best horror films in the history of cinema. The Innocents was also a strong inspiration for Alejandro Amenábar and his The Others, and Kate Bush, influenced by Clayton’s film and especially by its underlying eroticism, wrote the dark ballad The Infant Kiss. Perhaps it depends on the expectations we have of the genre that is horror. Often, in a very graphic way, it presents us with death and the disintegration of a person, limiting itself only to inventive methods of frightening.

More rarely does it awaken the dormant desires and anxieties within us, which can have a stronger effect than any madman in a mask or the scream of his victim. This adaptation of Henry James’s novel seduces the viewer discreetly, only to leave them in the finale with a feeling of sadness and bitterness.