A masterful supernatural horror, Jack Clayton's The Innocents is often criminally overlooked by connoisseurs of the horror genre. At 50 years old, it is staggering that it should still hold the power to horrify audiences. And yet it does. Indeed, Clayton's ghostly masterpiece lingers with the viewer much longer than the majority of modern horrors.
The Innocents is a screen adaptation of Henry James' acclaimed novella The Turn of the Screw, a chilling tale in its own right, and one that has had more than its fair share of reimaginings. However, The Innocents stands out as by far the most accomplished and effective interpretation of the novel. Its success can be seen as a combination of director Clayton's unique idiosyncratic adjustments to the source material and renowned cinematographer Freddie Francis' incredibly skilful and original approach to capturing the ghostly essence of the narrative. His utilisation of bold, minimal lighting and deep focus frays the edges of the frame and allows us to believe that terror lurks in every dark corner of the film's gothic mansion setting. Clayton aptly disregarded the title of James’ original piece, instead favouring The Innocents as a title, which is entirely appropriate given that the film centres its horror on the debatable innocence of the child characters, questioning whether or not it has been tainted. The change of title is notable also because, although the narrative is borrowed from James’ prose, the film is entirely Clayton’s vision.
The story tells of a young governess (Deborah Kerr - in her forties at the time but managing to channel innocent naivety) who is sent by a wealthy socialite (Michael Redgrave) to care for his two children at his idyllic country estate. The children, Flora and Miles, turn out to be charming, and the maid, Mrs Grose (Megs Jenkins) friendly and welcoming. However, the governess becomes unsettled when she begins to hear voices and see figures watching her, first from atop the tower and later from the far bank of the river. Clayton and Francis' superb filming techniques create ambiguity in the images of the figures, allowing we the audience to question whether the figures exist or are merely in the mind of the over-imaginative governess. The children, however, soon begin to appear secretive and devious and, upon probing Mrs Grose, the governess learns of the fate of her predecessor, Miss Jessel, who began an illicit affair with the valet, the devilish Peter Quint, their descriptions matching those of the figures witnessed by the governess. Why is this news so terrifying? Because both of them are dead. Now feverishly paranoid, the governess sees evil and corruption all around her - a letter from Miles' headmaster, stating that he is to be expelled for being a bad influence on the other boys; the eerie lullaby hummed with a knowing smile by Flora; and a disturbingly adult kiss goodnight from Miles. All suggest to both the governess and we the audience that not everything is as it appears and that dark forces may be at work, influencing and corrupting the children. The governess becomes more and more hysterical; her aggressive, desperate questioning of Flora prompting the girl to scream obscenities and denounce the governess as wicked. After sending Flora away with Mrs Grose, the governess accompanies Miles in a final confrontation with her ghostly demons...
The story alone is fairly unsettling but Clayton's vision of James' prose adds numerous more layers of terror. We, like the governess, are led to believe that ghostly figures could lurk in every shadow, adding to the suspense and heightening the horror. In one particularly haunting scene, a pale, ghastly face glides out of the gloom to stare through the window at the petrified governess. From that point on, we see horror lurking behind every window and are forced to question whether the dark figure in the background is simply one of the mansions many statues or something more sinister.
Sound is also effectively utilised throughout The Innocents and helps to convey the unearthly, supernatural qualities of the narrative. Be it via Flora's gentle lullaby; the shriek of a creature outside the governess' window; the steady tap of a curtain cord swinging against the window pane or the plethora of disembodied voices that plague the protagonist, the skilful manipulation of sound contributes to the feeling of unease maintained throughout the film, until its dreadful conclusion. In a terrifyingly fervid climax, which ultimately ends in tragedy, we the audience are left shaken, burdened with the ghastly images of Quint and Jessel and yet, chillingly, still none the wiser as to whether they were ever there at all.
The Innocents is a screen adaptation of Henry James' acclaimed novella The Turn of the Screw, a chilling tale in its own right, and one that has had more than its fair share of reimaginings. However, The Innocents stands out as by far the most accomplished and effective interpretation of the novel. Its success can be seen as a combination of director Clayton's unique idiosyncratic adjustments to the source material and renowned cinematographer Freddie Francis' incredibly skilful and original approach to capturing the ghostly essence of the narrative. His utilisation of bold, minimal lighting and deep focus frays the edges of the frame and allows us to believe that terror lurks in every dark corner of the film's gothic mansion setting. Clayton aptly disregarded the title of James’ original piece, instead favouring The Innocents as a title, which is entirely appropriate given that the film centres its horror on the debatable innocence of the child characters, questioning whether or not it has been tainted. The change of title is notable also because, although the narrative is borrowed from James’ prose, the film is entirely Clayton’s vision.
The story tells of a young governess (Deborah Kerr - in her forties at the time but managing to channel innocent naivety) who is sent by a wealthy socialite (Michael Redgrave) to care for his two children at his idyllic country estate. The children, Flora and Miles, turn out to be charming, and the maid, Mrs Grose (Megs Jenkins) friendly and welcoming. However, the governess becomes unsettled when she begins to hear voices and see figures watching her, first from atop the tower and later from the far bank of the river. Clayton and Francis' superb filming techniques create ambiguity in the images of the figures, allowing we the audience to question whether the figures exist or are merely in the mind of the over-imaginative governess. The children, however, soon begin to appear secretive and devious and, upon probing Mrs Grose, the governess learns of the fate of her predecessor, Miss Jessel, who began an illicit affair with the valet, the devilish Peter Quint, their descriptions matching those of the figures witnessed by the governess. Why is this news so terrifying? Because both of them are dead. Now feverishly paranoid, the governess sees evil and corruption all around her - a letter from Miles' headmaster, stating that he is to be expelled for being a bad influence on the other boys; the eerie lullaby hummed with a knowing smile by Flora; and a disturbingly adult kiss goodnight from Miles. All suggest to both the governess and we the audience that not everything is as it appears and that dark forces may be at work, influencing and corrupting the children. The governess becomes more and more hysterical; her aggressive, desperate questioning of Flora prompting the girl to scream obscenities and denounce the governess as wicked. After sending Flora away with Mrs Grose, the governess accompanies Miles in a final confrontation with her ghostly demons...
The story alone is fairly unsettling but Clayton's vision of James' prose adds numerous more layers of terror. We, like the governess, are led to believe that ghostly figures could lurk in every shadow, adding to the suspense and heightening the horror. In one particularly haunting scene, a pale, ghastly face glides out of the gloom to stare through the window at the petrified governess. From that point on, we see horror lurking behind every window and are forced to question whether the dark figure in the background is simply one of the mansions many statues or something more sinister.
Sound is also effectively utilised throughout The Innocents and helps to convey the unearthly, supernatural qualities of the narrative. Be it via Flora's gentle lullaby; the shriek of a creature outside the governess' window; the steady tap of a curtain cord swinging against the window pane or the plethora of disembodied voices that plague the protagonist, the skilful manipulation of sound contributes to the feeling of unease maintained throughout the film, until its dreadful conclusion. In a terrifyingly fervid climax, which ultimately ends in tragedy, we the audience are left shaken, burdened with the ghastly images of Quint and Jessel and yet, chillingly, still none the wiser as to whether they were ever there at all.
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