
1961 · Jack Clayton
In a mid-19th century Essex country house, a young governess for two children becomes convinced that the house and grounds are haunted by ghosts and that the children are being possessed.
dir. Jack Clayton · 1961
The finest screen adaptation of Henry James's 'The Turn of the Screw,' and still the high-water mark of the ambiguous ghost story. Jack Clayton — fresh from Room at the Top and Britain's kitchen-sink vanguard — turned instead to Victorian gothic, with Deborah Kerr as the governess whose conviction that her young charges are being corrupted by the dead may be perception or projection; a screenplay polished by Truman Capote keeps both readings alive in every scene. The film's real spectre is Freddie Francis's CinemaScope photography: deep-focus compositions lit by candelabra, faces isolated in pools of light while the wide frame's edges sink into engineered darkness, so that something always seems to wait just beyond legibility. The children's nursery rhyme 'O Willow Waly' drifts through the sound design like an infection. Truffaut admired it; The Others and The Haunting of Hill House are unthinkable without it. Few horror films have trusted daylight so completely — some of its most unnerving apparitions stand in full sun, across a pond, perfectly still.
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