Distributor: The Criterion Collection
Release Date: September 23, 2014
MSRP: $39.99
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Film: A / Video: A / Audio: A- / Extras: A-

A British horror movie adapted from a great American author by another noted American writer, The Innocents stands out from its contemporaries before you view even a single foot of film. That the source material in question is Henry James’ insoluble The Turn of the Screw, and that Truman Capote infuses the material with an erotic, Southern Gothic bent only further isolates it tonally and stylistically.

Compared to the absurdly shlocky sets of Hammer films, where you can’t even feel sorry for any of the monsters’ victims for being stupid enough to hang around such visibly evil locations, The Innocents unfurls in a hyperbolically idyllic setting. It takes place on grounds that are tamed but not unnaturally neat, leading to a country mansion decorated to give a sense of comfort, not dread. Miss Giddens (Deborah Kerr) arrives at this home to act as governess for a wealthy man’s orphaned niece and nephew. Though she has no experience in the position, Giddens benefits from her employer’s sheer lack of concern for the kids tossed in his lap, and at first the whole thing could pass as the setup for a corseted version of babysitter comedies.

Then, the kids come home. Miles (Martin Stephens) and Flora (Pamela Franklin) are blessedly free of the immature overacting that befalls kids in horror films, their performances aided, no doubt, by director Jack Clayton withholding the more insidious details of the script from the kids. But they nonetheless tilt the film ever so gently off its axis. They stare blankly and mitigate their childish emotion with a strange detachment that lends even their outbursts a dissonant formality. Miles, in particular, becomes creepier and creepier without overplaying his hand, speaking to Giddens with adult frankness and, at one point, giving her a goodnight kiss well beyond a peck on the cheek.

Many movies would be content to simply lean on such shocking acts for their own sake, or in the scenes of Giddens roaming the halls at night, hearing increasingly loud, overlapping noises of a man and woman pleading and mocking. But part of the film’s charm and lasting relevance is how the question of whether Miles and Flora are possessed by the souls of two dead servants who were lovers ultimately weighs on Giddens’ repression more than the kids’ safety. It would not be difficult to program a double-feature of this film and the Archers’ Black Narcissus, another Kerr film in which nature’s increasingly terrifying beauty highlights the unnatural sexual constraints erected by social standards, restrictions so antithetical to instinctual drive that it cannot help but cause madness.

By illuminating Giddens’ inner demons instead of punishing her body with external ones, the film bucks the usual stylistic tropes of black-and-white horror. Even the scenes of Giddens roaming pitch-black hallways at night are less about surprises leaping out from the blackness than in the total focus kept on her face as she gets lost in her fear. Numerous scenes induce chills during the day, where shots of animals and trees contrast with Giddens’ nervousness and the figures she sees hang just out of focus in the background. The obscuration of the ghosts is a deft touch in a film that otherwise employs deep focus and split-diopters to keep everything unsettlingly clear; in one of the best moments, a shot/reverse setup between Giddens and the apparition of Miss Jessel cuts from a medium close-up of Giddens and a long shot of Jessel that shows the outline of the woman but leaves her face blurred just enough to remain unknown. It’s one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen in a movie, and its a simple matter of camera placement. All great horror films display restraint of some sort, either as a result of spare means or conscious limitation, and The Innocents, with its anti-shock scares and meticulous direction, is surely one of the genre’s finest entries.

A/V

Criterion brings The Innocents to Blu-Ray with a pristine transfer that maximizes the details in every reserved, secretive face. It’s easy to just get lost in how beautiful Freddie Francis’ cinematography looks: the glint of light on a slick turtle shell, the dust and dirt gathered onto giant windows that can never be truly clean, the flop sweat on Kerr’s petrified face. Black levels are consistently stable, which makes it easier to admire the creative choice to make the edges of the frame deliberately unclear, even fuzzy, magnifying the fear of the unknown. The lossless mono track is also strong, showcasing the carefully modulated, and occasionally explosive, sound design; the sequence of Giddens losing her mind as the screams of children and laughter of ghosts builds to a frenzy marks one of the few times a mono track could actually give a modern audio setup a workout.

Extras

Film scholar Christopher Frayling provides a 23-minute introduction to the film, recorded in 2006 at one of its key locations, that covers basic elements of the production and of the film’s lasting legacy. Frayling’s informative, professorial tone carries over to his commentary track, which the man launches into without even giving his name. Despite his academic dryness, Frayling’s obvious passion for The Innocents is infectious, and he switches between talk of themes, background, production and observation of acting and direction with ease. “Between Horror, Fear, and Beauty” features interviews with Francis, editor Jim Clark, and script supervisor Pamela Mann Francis about the film’s production, with some fun anecdotes about Jack Clayton.

The meatiest extra of all, however, may be a new piece featuring cinematographer John Bailey going in-depth on Francis’ work on the film. For those who see Criterion as an informal film school, Bailey’s concise explanations of lens choice, blocking, lighting, and position represent a particularly useful lesson plan. This cannot be the only such feature in Criterion’s vast library, but it’s a damn shame things like this don’t crop up more often on their releases. Their practical application could be invaluable. Lastly, a theatrical trailer and an essay by Maitland McDonagh round out a package that may not overflow with features but clearly stresses quality over quantity.

Overall

One of the great horror films—one of the great British films, even—receives a top-shelf treatment from Criterion, including a faultless A/V transfer and a strong, informative set of extras.