THE LIVING AND THE DEAD: A Delicious Victorian Gothic

Although BBC decided to cancel the series, the six episodes of The Living and the Dead that make up the first season form a coherent whole, so the viewer does not have to feel disappointed by the lack of continuation. The creators offer us an incredibly recreated atmosphere of the late nineteenth century, and base the plot on the contrast between a rational worldview and folk superstitions. What exactly, then, is The Living and the Dead?

Nathan Appleby (Colin Morgan, constantly reminiscent of a young Benedict Cumberbatch) arrives at his gravely ill mother’s house with his wife Charlotte. At first, everything seems normal – greetings with old acquaintances, Nathan rejoices at returning to the place where he spent his childhood, while Charlotte tries to find her footing in the new reality. At a certain point, a tragedy occurs that shakes the hermetic community. Then inexplicable phenomena begin to happen, interwoven with mysterious disappearances and incomprehensible behavior of the characters.

The truth must be discovered by Nathan himself, for these incidents, from episode to episode, begin to threaten him more and more. The Living and the Dead is a dialogue between modernity and traditionalism; between rationalism and religion and faith. The series skillfully introduces industrial issues that simple people from the Somerset valley are only beginning to encounter, which gives it an original historical context.

Charlotte’s modernity becomes a counterpoint to the distrust of the villagers, who by no means want to familiarize themselves with new farming machines.

Such a background for the main plot deepens the immersion remarkably.  To this are added all sorts of paranormal motifs – the viewer, together with the protagonist, tries to discover what lies behind all the inexplicable events. The series prompts us to question what we observe on the screen. Nathan, as a man engaged in psychology, must explain issues incomprehensible to himself.

Could the girl have been possessed, or might it be connected to her psychological problems? Did the boy invent imaginary friends, or could their presence be related to events from the past? Nathan falls into a stupor, because from episode to episode he begins to understand less and less, and in addition to doubt his own mental health.

Individual episodes presenting unrelated stories of sin are thus a kind of chapters, slowly merging into a whole.

Futuristic inserts are also original, as is the fact that until the very end The Living and the Dead strives to remain impartial on the issue it so carefully explores – whether we are dealing here with unclean forces, or perhaps only with phantasms of tormented minds. It resembles The O.J. Simpson Case in a gothic version. Although we see visualizations of nightmares on the screen, until the end we are not sure where the creators are heading.

The series skillfully plays with genres – balancing on the border between psychological drama and true horror, and calling it a combination of both would not be an exaggeration. The impact of The Living and the Dead is completed by the actors. The performers of the two main characters deserve applause, as does Malcolm Storry, playing Gideon, a kindly old man who also plays his part in this gloomy theater.

Among these advantages there is also one flaw, surfacing somewhere in the middle of the series – the production at times lacks greater panache, because although its intimacy in no way appears as a drawback, very often the episodes unnecessarily prolong dialogues and shots which, though beautiful, are simply redundant.

There is no point, however, in quibbling over aesthetic-narrative details, because The Living and the Dead is able to delight with its atmosphere, unpredictability, and at the same time skillfully directed storytelling. In this series, it is truly frightening to be afraid. And rightly so, for cinema in the horror tradition should be just that.