Whilst
famous for its pasties, fudge and clotted cream teas, Cornwall added another
less welcome attraction for visitors in 1944’s eerie supernatural thriller The Uninvited: ghosts that weep in the
night. It was director Lewis Allen’s feature film debut for Paramount Pictures
and fine work he and his collaborators made of it, conjuring up an atmospheric
handsomely-crafted film of subtle tastefulness, humour and intrigue.
An excellent
screenplay was based on Dorothy McArdle’s novel Uneasy Freehold (an apt understatement), co-written by film noir
writer Frank Partos who went on to a shared Oscar-nominated with Millen Brand
for 1948’s The Snake Pit, and
actress-turned-playwright-turned children’s novelist Dodie Smith, later famous
for the novels of I Capture the Castle
(1949) and One Hundred and One Dalmatians
(1956).
Essentially The Uninvited is a more substantial variation
on the old haunted house formula yet raised from too much heavy lifting by
great performances and Allen’s confident balance between the paranormal
goings-on and a light, witty touch. Ray Millan and Ruth Hussey play
sophisticated London siblings Rick and Pam Fitzgerald holidaying on the Cornish
coast, whose squirrel-chasing dog leads them into the enchanting Windward House
which on impulse soon becomes their new home. Their survey-free hasty purchase
(driven by Pam) soon becomes a lesson in ‘buyer beware’ when they discover it’s
not as empty as it appears.
Having a
brother and sister as leads rather than a lovey-dovey couple is a refreshing
change, allowing Milland and Hussey to have fun sparking believable sibling
banter off each other. They not only have an urban metropolitan worldliness as
the characters; Hussey had already been an Academy Award nominee as a practised
exponent of quick-fire wit among debonair socialites in The Philadelphia Story (1940). Milland, long before his run of
celebrated horror movies for the likes of Roger Corman, was here midway through
a twenty-year spell as a Paramount leading man, becoming their highest-paid
actor and the following year winning an Oscar for the alcoholic writer in the
heavyweight The Lost Weekend. Here, he is similarly upmarket and artistic
playing a playfully scornful music critic
but battling with altogether
different demons along the way.
Although the
opening gives us a thoughtful retrospective voiceover by Milland over
tempestuous Cornish coastal waves, the tone never lingers in ponderous
psychological complexity for long. Eminent composer and fellow Oscar-winner
Victor Young underscores nimbly the scenes intended to lighten the mood as much
as the darker tones. Rick decides against sliding down the bannister of their
dramatic staircase with the droll realisation that “My landing gear isn’t what
it used to be”.
The title of
The Uninvited may not just apply to a
gradual discovery of paranormal occupants in their
new abode; it is also very
much the attitude radiating from the owner who sells the Fitzgeralds Windward
House. The part of Commander Beech is a perfect fit for Donald Crisp, a firm
hand on the tiller of stern patriarchs most notably in his Oscar-winning turn
for 1942’s How Green Was My Valley
(strengthening this movie’s pedigree even more). The Commander is as keen to
offload the house, with its previous history of tenant “disturbances”, as he is
not to permit his granddaughter Stella Meredith to set foot in it again. Gail
Russell makes a wholesome and lovely Stella recalling the young Elizabeth
Taylor, innocent and fresh without becoming grating. This is vital since she
and Rick develop a charming romance against her grandfather’s wishes to offset
moodier concerns. Indeed, such is Stella’s influence as a muse upon Rick that
he (thanks to Victor Young) composes the song Stella by Starlight for her in the movie that became a jazz standard.
The earliest
hint of visitors from the other realm is when Rick and Pam explore the attic
room overlooking the sea. There are restless waves outside the window, yet
inside a subtler presence is felt. Aside from the physical chill felt by both
siblings, there is a pervasive air of awful melancholy that infuses anyone who
lingers there for long. The film’s effects work introduced in this scene, as
pleasingly delicate and restrained as the other elements, manifests the sense
of foreboding in the seemingly simple time-lapse rotting of a flower bouquet.
Paramount’s Head of Visual Effects was the renowned Farciot Edouart richly
deserving of two career Oscars amongst other Academy accolades. I have already
featured his masterful photography FX in my review of Dr Cyclops (1940) and that merely opens up his account in the
horror genre. He would grace something like 350 Hollywood films up to 1968’s Rosemary’s Baby including the whole decade
of 1940 to 1949 for Paramount. Clearly the studio’s management must have been
doing something right to encourage such long-serving company creatives as he,
Milland and Edith Head whom we shall come to shortly. Part of his legacy was
the mentorship of Universal’s John P Fulton, whose own ground-breaking effects
we covered in their Invisible Man
series on this site.
Throughout The Uninvited, Edouart’s visuals (assisted
by an uncredited Gordon Jennings) subtly
suggest an emerging spectral force,
one that crucially must not be too easily identified for plot purposes and
benefits the viewer with their elusiveness. We are treated to a milky vaporous
shape that develops over time into a vaguely feminine form, threatening the
Fitzgeralds along with their friends – not just Stella but also the welcome
Alan Napier as Dr Scott whom fantasy fans will know particularly as trusty
butler Alfred to Sixties TV’s Batman. The
murkiness of the ghost’s appearance is mirrored in its history. We are told it
is a vengeful spirit seeking justice for a torrid affair between Stella’s
father and a Spanish gypsy Carmel that resulted in her mother Mary falling from
the cliff-side – and yet who exactly is this restless soul? Is it actually Stella’s
mother Mary as we are led to believe? Again, part of the satisfaction of this
film is in its successful construction as an engaging whodunnit to complement the
humorous and the softly chilling.
Amongst the
rest of the cast there are vivid turns by Barbara Everest as warm Oirish
housekeeper Lizzie Flynn and an enjoyably eccentric cameo from Dorothy Stickney
as the suitably named flighty mental patient Miss Bird. The most striking
support though comes from Cornelia Otis Skinner as the sinister nurse Miss Holloway,
director of the Mary Meredith Retreat (labelled a hospital for convalescing
mental patients). She is a splendidly poised villainess, an occult-tinged Nurse
Ratched. In real-life Skinner was a critically acclaimed theatrical monologuist
and brings to this role a self-possessed (if not Mary-possessed) imperious authority.
There are Sapphic undertones to her devotion to Mary, constantly defending her increasingly
domineering actions to a huge portrait of Stella’s late mother. She has watched
over Stella with an intensity far in excess of the girl’s grandfather and with
a deliciously macabre intensity.
By the climax, Paramount’s illustrious house
costume maestro Edith Head carefully augments the suggestion of pagan weirdness
by clothing Holloway in a ceremonial gown and amulet. Her dialogue flirts further
with our suspicion that she is in the service of very dark forces when the
Fitzgeralds confront her about the missing Stella. She burbles about “those
moments when the light is very clear, when the scales swing into perfect
balance”. As the band of heroes race to save Stella from being home alone with
the resident evil, Holloway gleefully turns to the painting once more to
celebrate their telepathically-perceived plans: “No frayed edges. All straight.
All smooth” which is more than can be said for her unravelling mind.
The
narrative drive builds to an inevitable face-off between Rick and the finally
identified ghost (no
spoiler here). This sequence caps the tremendous
cinematography by yet another Academy Award winner Charles Lang in his sublime use
of shadowy depths, shrouding Milland artfully on that signature staircase before
he cancels out the apparition with a throw of the candelabra. As if his cheeky
grin payoff isn’t enough to remind you of the comedic thread running through
the film, the final exchange between Rick and the concerned Stella hits a
bullseye worthy of Bob Hope:
“You’re
shaking, Rick”
“I’ve had a
narrow escape. She might have been my mother-in-law!”
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