The Haunting (1963)
Have you ever watched a film so repeatedly it replays in your sleep? I have seen Robert Wise's The Haunting, based on one of my favorite novels, at least 12 times since I turned 10. In my nightmares, Hill House has become the dark twin of my dream home. Now that I'm older, I don't mind. Those lost hours tossing and turning in the middle of the night were worth the sacrifice. This movie is a masterpiece of quiet horror. If you aren't familiar with Robert Wise, he also directed West Side Story, The Sound of Music, and The Sand Pebbles.
The video, thankfully, has been kept in circulation probably because it reigns in popularity among fans of the ghost story. I would be first in line to buy the DVD. Don't balk because it's not in color. Many black and white films produce an artistic and sometimes eerie quality. The shadows are deep. The contrasts, angles, and textures are profound. Like many of the film noir movies, or Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho and Rebecca, William Wyler's Wuthering Heights, or Carnival of Souls, when you experience these classics in black and white you witness the past spring back to life: and in the case of The Haunting it feels like something has crawled right out of the grave.
It is my philosophy you can't inspire true fear with special effects. OK. Maybe the carnival ride kind of fear, but not the mind-numbing kind where you can't concentrate on anything late at night but the sound of someone you can't see but you're sure you hear breathing beside you. For that kind of worry to consume you, you have to allow the filmmakers to seduce you in subtle ways. The story unfolds in your mind building gradually so you care about the characters. A sudden shift of focus, an awkward camera angle where something may have moved, but you can't prove it, underlined with music by Humphrey Searle that is deviously wistful all work together to evoke the terrifying atmosphere of the novel. You become unbalanced. Tricked into submission, you laugh a little, feel your nerves gradually exposed one by one. You are hypnotized looking for clues that might scare you and your imagination turns reptilian: because those primitive fears still lurking inside your brain are much more frightening than anything you can see. Then when you believe something hiding in the dark is ready to jump out, you are ready to jump, and you do.
I tested my theory on one of my jaded friends who, unlike me, doesn't wince at the site of gore. She enjoyed the 1999 "remake" of the Haunting, and yawned listening to my spiel about the original film made in 1963. But after she popped the video into her VCR, she later told me she was so scared, she couldn't finish watching the film alone.
In this adaptation of The Haunting, which remains true to Shirley Jackson's novel, timid Eleanor Vance accepts an unusual invitation and embarks upon a journey of a lifetime. She takes a stand against her controlling sister and defiantly "borrows" the family car in order to leave her hometown. Once at the ghastly estate, Eleanor is expected to participate in a psychic experiment she doesn't yet grasp involving three strangers: an anthropologist, a skeptic, and a telepathic. She accepts the challenge without reservation because it's the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her. She goes believing she will be able to start her life over now that her invalid mother has finally died. Eleanor is taken aback by the brooding house, yet feels more comfortable when she meets the attractive Dr. John Markway a refined, idealistic anthropologist who wants to prove once and for all that haunted houses exist. Eleanor makes new friends, but having lived a sheltered life, she tries to blend in with the group by inventing parts of her past. Her little white lies don't set well with Theo, the other woman who is telepathic (and there are subtle hints that Theo is attracted to Eleanor, which creates the tension of an underlying love triangle throughout). Unfortunately, though Eleanor is also psychic and gets much attention from Dr. Markway, her guilt about her relationship with her mother makes Eleanor easy prey for the predatory house. And Hill House is the epitome of dread. Overly ornate Victorian Gothic architecture, a violent history, everything off-kilter, it has built within its very foundation the essence of dimentia. Though in this new millennium we are used to the typical trappings running rampant in ghost lore: the cold spot, muffled voices, footsteps on the stairs, you will feel your skin crawl the first time a haunting takes place in this film.
Unlike many horror flicks, you care about these multi-dimensional characters, their history, and what happens to them in the end. Having bonded through trauma, will they reunite when the experiment is over? Will the enticing but married Dr. Markway return the love Eleanor has begun to feel for him? Will he prove his theories that hauntings are real? Will the young skeptic who has inherited the mansion decide to sell? Will the ghosts claim another victim, and if so, how? To me, this movie is not as much about what's hiding around the corner, but what's festering inside each of us: guilt, frustration, anger, loneliness, repressed desires. And it asks us how dangerous is it to indulge our curiosity about the unknown? A great ghost story reminds us not only of a tragic past event, but how it effects those who are left behind.
Forget the remake of this film unless all you want to see is interesting architecture and special effects. If you want to watch great filmmaking, an ensemble cast of excellent actors including Claire Bloom, Julie Harris, Richard Johnson I, and Russ Tamblyn then rent or buy director Robert Wise's version of The Haunting. If you prefer a film where they mangle the author's original intention by changing the plot, write a bad script (the dialogue in the remake was so inane at some points, I almost left the theater), and leave you with a silly, predictable ending, by all means, enjoy the latest version.
Though I watched this movie for the first time when I was about 10, I don't recommend it for most children. You have to understand my older sister sang me Tom Lehrer's "Irish Ballad" in lieu of a lullaby. I also thumbed through pages of Edward Gorey's artwork instead of comic books. My date and I skipped the senior prom in favor of hanging out at the local cemetery in our fancy duds to discuss art and politics. I once spent the weekend in an actual haunted house and would do it again. I grew up enjoying the macabre and I would probably feel quite cozy lodging with The Addams Family. However, The Haunting terrified me when I was young, much more than the usual Creature Feature programs such as The Wolf Man, or The Mummy, that I watched with relish on Saturday nights. For years after viewing The Haunting, I couldn't sleep without putting both hands under the covers (I won't tell you why). Hill House is one place I'd prefer to visit only in my dreams (or at the movie theater). So, if you're a parent, you might want to screen this movie first. If you're an easily frightened adult, invite a friend to spend the night. Otherwise, you'll be "all alone in the dark." Although in the case of this story, even the company of a friend or two probably won't help you that much.
Update! Since I wrote this review, The Haunting has become available on DVD.
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