The Uncertainty of The Innocents
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In gothic horror, female sexuality is something that is feared just as much as the spectres that haunt the darkened halls. Female protagonists of gothic horror are terrorized by their own secret desires and warped ideals, often manifesting in the form of hypersexual antagonists. Nowhere is this more apparent than in The Innocents, the 1961 film adaptation of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James.
The Innocents sees Miss Giddens (Deborah Kerr) become the new governess of Flora (Pamela Franklin) and Miles (Martin Stephens), two orphaned siblings under the care of their indifferent bachelor uncle (Michael Redgrave). Miss Giddens is a spinster and in her own words, inexperienced, but she is elated to accept the position after being swayed by the uncle’s charms and her love of children.
The horror of The Innocents begins quietly. Miss Giddens is, upon first glance, normal: she is caring and kind, and excited to be working at such a beautiful estate. When she arrives at Bly manor, she takes a leisurely walk through the garden. It’s there that she hears someone calling out for Flora. No one else hears it, and she never finds out who it was. This is brushed off and quickly forgotten, but it’s one of the first clues that Miss Giddens may not be of sound mind. Miss Giddens tosses and turns her first night at Bly, and most nights that follow. She is tormented by unseen forces even before the haunting unfolds.
In the garden, Miss Giddens tends to the flowers and cuts roses for a bouquet. Flora is nearby and unseen, singing:
We lay, my love and I
Beneath a weeping willow
But now alone I lie
And weep beside the tree
Singing “O Willow Waly”
By the tree that weeps with me
Singing “O Willow Waly”
Till my lover returns…
Suddenly, the insects stop buzzing, birds stop chirping, and Flora stops singing. Miss Giddens looks around the garden, puzzled at the silence. Her eyes wander around, then up. There, in the blinding light of the afternoon, Miss Giddens sees the first apparition: a man atop the tower in the garden, staring back down at her. She sees the man again that night while playing hide-and-seek with the children, and this time she’s able to describe him clearly to housekeeper Mrs. Grose (Megs Jenkins): a “handsome, obscene” man with “the hardest, coldest” eyes. Mrs. Grose knows the man she speaks of, but it’s impossible that Miss Giddens saw him. The man is Peter Quint (Peter Wyngarde), the uncle’s former valet. And he’s dead.
Quint and the former governess, Miss Jessel (Clytie Jessop) were having a torrid, abusive love affair. Flora and Miles, having been neglected by their uncle, took kindly to them, but were traumatized after their deaths. Quint died on the steps of the manor after a drunken slip and fall on a winter night, and was found by Miles. Miss Jessel died soon after – apparently of a broken heart – but it’s later confirmed that she died “of wickedness” and drowned herself in the estate’s lake. What alarms Miss Giddens most is that according to Mrs. Grose, they didn’t care what anyone, especially the children, saw; it’s alluded to that the children witnessed Miss Jessel and Quint’s inappropriate sexual behaviour during their affair. The revelation haunts Miss Giddens, and she becomes convinced that the children are being overtaken by the spirits of their dead caretakers. Her paranoia goes into overdrive.
Flora and Miles begin The Innocents as harmless figures, forgotten children cast aside by their only living family. At times, the children are just that: children. But as the film progresses, they become increasingly disturbing. Their dialogue is just ambiguous enough for Miss Giddens to cast doubt upon them, leaving the intent of their words and actions up to interpretation. Flora watches a spider eat a butterfly trapped in a web, toying with its wings as it struggles; Miles puts Miss Giddens in a headlock during their game of hide-and-seek and refuses to let her go, reveling in her discomfort.
Later, when the children perform an impromptu play for Miss Giddens and Mrs. Grose, Miles recites a poem. He walks, lit by candlelight, to the same spot where Quint was seen by Miss Giddens. The poem makes it seem as though Miles is addressing Quint directly, which solidifies the possession in Miss Giddens’ mind.
What shall I say when his feet enter softly, leaving the marks of his grave on my floor?
Enter, my lord. Come from your prison.
Come from your grave, for the moon is arisen.
Welcome, my lord.
The connection between Miles and Miss Giddens is at best, dubious; at worst, it is a manifestation of a psychosexually disturbed woman’s need to preserve purity. From the beginning, Miss Giddens is unnervingly obsessed with protecting Flora and Miles from what she sees as corrupting influences, namely the spirits of Miss Jessel and Quint. She goes to great lengths to protect “the innocents”, but in the end, she harms them both in irreversible ways. It remains unclear whether or not the ghosts in this story are real, whether Miss Giddens’ sanity is slipping, or whether the children are traumatized from some form of abuse suffered at the hands of Miss Jessel and Quint. Maybe it’s a combination of some sort. There is no correct answer, but what remains most horrifying about The Innocents is that it exists within a certain ambiguity where no definitive answer is any less disturbing than the last.
Frankie Quinn is the resident scaredy cat who takes a particular interest in the intersection of feminism and queer culture in horror media.
