mimosa by starlight: the Lewtonian vibe of The Uninvited (1944)

 

*** MINOR SPOILERS in the comments below ***


“They call them the haunted shores. These stretches of Devonshire and Cornwall and Ireland which rear up against the westward ocean. Mists gather here. And sea fog. And eerie stories.”


The 1940s were the golden age of the cinematic ghost story. Two close relatives, the supernatural fantasy and the supernatural noir, also peaked in that decade. Audiences flocked to these new kinds of horror films. Battered by true and very violent horrors of world war, perhaps they were ready for something otherworldly, but presented in a quieter, more reflective manner. Whatever the ultimate explanation or aesthetic classification, arguably the best of the ghost movie lot is 1944’s The Uninvited, which has been described as the first movie to treat ghosts in a serious manner. The usual ghostly suspects are adapted and presented in surprisingly original ways to craft a story both conventional and offbeat, unsettling and ultimately not so scary after all. But the very fact that Uninvited mostly embraces the ghost story conventions, along with its quintessentially Forties black & white look [1], accounts for a great deal of its charm and continued appeal.  

At about the same time a group of horror films produced at RKO and helmed by maverick producer Val Lewton gently nudged the envelope even further, in turn creating and perfecting the aforementioned subgenre of supernatural noir [2]. It’s tempting to view the Lewton films, with their low-keyed thrills, minimalist sets and chiaroscuro lighting, as setting off a trend that peaked later in the decade as other studios brought forth similar products. But the Lewton canon exist in such a self-contained, sui generis world, that their unique alchemy could never be duplicated, and thus any idea of influence is tenuous at best.  Still … in some cases the resemblances are uncanny [3], and such is the case with The Uninvited. It’s in this context that we’ll note similarities in style and content to the Lewton films.

If Uninvited does not exactly invent the supernatural mystery overlaid with family secrets and aberrant pathology, it crystallizes all the elements in a way that previously had not been done, and does so with a deft touch that subtly mixes atmosphere, story and low-keyed acting, along the way sneaking in some surprising shadings of plot and character. Thus Uninvited is as much psychological drama as ghost tale, with much of the terror inflicted, sometimes self-inflicted, by living mortals with their own issues. Uninvited is also an old fashioned romance, even if it’s difficult to pin down the romantic protagonists, especially so, since, structurally and thematically, the romantic element is always subordinated to the eerie goings on.

And inasmuch as all the above-mentioned themes and stylistics are present in the Lewton films, it would seem a curious contradiction then that none of the Lewtons is of the haunted house variety, although two of them, Isle of the Dead and I Walked with a Zombie, contain characters that for all the world resemble spectral images. One might stretch the definition of a ghostly presence and also cite Simone Simon’s angel from the beyond in Curse of the Cat People. A mention is also due to Curse of the Cat People’s old Gothic house that’s gloomy and creepy, and certainly has a past, but is not literally haunted.

However, when considering similarities between the Val Lewton films and Uninvited, the inevitable starting point has to be mood and atmosphere [4]. Ultimately what binds the Lewton oeuvre and Uninvited is this less direct approach to shivers, most vividly expressed through the visual language. Most of the supernatural feel and general sense of unease is created by the gloomy lighting, minimal special effects and shadowy camera work that bathes the goings on in perpetual semi-darkness. This sense of never quite getting a clear vision parallels the inner motivations of the characters, which are often ambiguous and unclear. Special kudos then to Uninvited’s cameraman Charles Lang and Lewton’s favorite cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca.

But let’s move on to actors, and more important, characters and their various inter-relationships. First, to point out two relatively minor but not totally insignificant connections: that’s the presence of Lewton favorites Alan Napier and Elizabeth Russell. Napier takes the role of the kindly but mostly ineffectual doctor, and Russell – well, accounts vary. One is that she’s the sitter for the two large portraits of Mary Meredith, while other versions credit her as being the model for the ectoplasmic ghost image we see at the end of the film. Some sources credit the ghost as being played by Lynda Grey [5].

As for characters a good place to start is with nominal leads Roderick and Pamela Fitzgerald (Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey), a brother and sister pair easing into middle age. They have an unconventional sibling relationship that borders on the kinky: they live together in London, take vacations together, and eventually buy and reside in the haunted house. There’s no mention of parents or other living family members (note: their, presumably deceased, mother is mentioned, but only in passing), and when we first encounter them neither has any significant romantic attachments, that we know of anyway (except perhaps to each other). Since the story is set in the late 1930s one can only wonder what became of Roderick and Pamela during the war.

In any event the two siblings function more like husband and wife, down to the good-natured bickering. Pamela wins most of the arguments as she seems to be the dominant partner. Thus it’s natural for us to think she’s the older, bossy sibling, which she indeed may be in the story, but actually Ray Milland was about five years senior to Ruth Hussey.

Roderick and Pamela set the tone for several unusual family relationships in Uninvited, a dynamic not uncommon in the Lewton films, where incestuous, ossified human relations contribute to the moody atmospherics. Roderick’s and Pamela’s arrangement also foreshadows even more shocking, ‘unnatural’ revelations in Uninvited – but more on this later. The offbeat sibling dynamic is softened by the gradual pairing off of Roderick with Stella, and later, Pamela with the doctor, though even here we sense that something isn’t quite right: Milland was nearly twenty years Gail Russell’s senior – she was nineteen when she made the film and if anything looks younger – and his courting her seems just a bit creepy. Likewise there’s scant chemistry between Pamela and the doctor: neither has shown any romantic feelings toward the other. It’s just tossed out as the promise of a happy ending and hardly has the ring of truth.

In any case, other Lewton-like aspects of Uninvited include: the main character is a creative artist, in this case a music critic and composer; it takes a while for the thrills to appear, as there’s a fairly lengthy first act that sets things up; a diseased eroticism hovers, hothouse-like, over all the goings on; the sound of weeping emerges from the darkness from no discernible source; a somewhat naïve yet headstrong young woman ventures into dangerous territory – both literal and figurative – recalling the famed Val Lewton walks; Stella’s wafty persona suggests a memorable Lewton heroine, the enigmatic Jacqueline in Seventh Victim; gentle breezes and the nearby ocean assume prominence, if only as backdrop; personal inter-relationships are implied and incomplete, and thus plot threads are left unresolved; the scent of mimosa recalls Irena’s perfume in Cat People; the principal villain is a woman, two women actually if we count both Miss Holloway and Mary Meredith [6]; the women characters tend to be independent, older, dominating, or sinister (Stella being the exception), while the men are generally bland, passive or effeminate.
Moreover, all the characters exist in a self-contained, insular universe that never mentions events happening in the rest of the world. The elephant in the living room is the unseen presence of World War II, so responsible for the dark, melancholy atmosphere, especially in the Lewton films, but never referred to directly (since Uninvited is set in 1937, WW2 has yet to occur, though storm clouds swirling on the horizon, likewise not referenced in the film, are happening in real life).


‘large audiences of questionable type …’

There’s another aspect of Uninvited that makes it not only a ghost movie classic but a cult classic as well, and that’s the portrayal of the sinister quack psychiatrist Miss Holloway. She presides imperiously over a sanitarium for nervous (read: lesbian) middle-aged women, and her presence adds a welcome touch of danger and threat (primarily to Stella). Moreover, the character is a source of continued fascination and even debate. There’s a strong, not so subtle suggestion that Mary and Miss Holloway were quite a bit more than just friends, or in their case, something beyond caregiver and patient (Miss Holloway was Mary Meredith’s nurse). Naturally Miss Holloway’s institution is named – what else? – the Mary Meredith Retreat.

Thus Uninvited has attained the status of camp favorite, and it’s tempting to look upon the Sapphic undercurrent as being (re)discovered decades later by astute critics and film historians. But this is not necessarily the case: contemporary audiences were apparently in on the coded references too:

Father Brendan Larnen of the Catholic Legion of Decency wrote a complaining letter to Will Hays, head of the infamous Production Code Administration which censored Hollywood movies. Father Larnen noted that “… in certain theatres large audiences of questionable types attended this film at unusual hours, drawn by certain erotic and esoteric elements in the film.”

Yes, it was there all along, hiding in plain sight, and the audiences (at least those of 'certain questionable type') knew it. The relationship between Miss Holloway and Mary then has a not unappealing romantic tinge, a proverbial longing for the abyss and a state of transcendence, expressed via a love and fidelity that goes unto and beyond death itself [8].

Cornelia Otis Skinner’s brilliant camp take on Miss Holloway is one of the more overt portrayals of a lesbian in a mainstream film in the Forties, right up there with Judith Anderson’s unforgettable Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca. The irony is that, in our seen-and-heard-it-all Twenty-first Century world, Miss Holloway is likely to be viewed as an anachronism, a quaint, almost comic, relic from a more innocent age, and objections to her depiction would be along the lines that she’s a cruel caricature.

In any case, tradition dictated that the evil lesbian had to die or go mad at the end. In our case Miss Holloway is still very much alive when we last see her. She disappears from the movie with no further explanation as to her ultimate fate, but we can infer from her ramblings and the far off look in her eyes that she’s well on her way to going mad.

There are other unsung (and sung) heroes and heroines beyond character and atmosphere. Composers Roy Webb and Victor Young merit special mention. Young’s lushly romantic score for Uninvited contrasts with Webb’s low-keyed music for the Lewton films, and yes, we must give the obligatory shoutout to the haunting and unforgettable tune “Stella by Starlight.” The wardrobe designs by Edith Head in Uninvited and Renié in the Lewtons are unshowy and nondescript but get the job done. Much credit must also be given to the mise-en-scène, so kudos to the art directors and set designers, and just plain directors Lewis Allan (Uninvited) and Jacques Tourneur, who directed the first three, arguably best, Lewton films. But perhaps pride of place must go to a surprising contribution, and that’s the wise and witty scripts by Frank Partos and Dodie Smith (Uninvited), and Ardel Wray and Dewitt Bodeen (Lewtons). With no disrespect to atmosphere or the actors, which remain paramount, these films wouldn’t be what they are without the literate, incisive dialogue, always delivered spot on by well cast performers.

If there’s one weakness in Uninvited, it’s the far too many attempts at humor, most of which fall flat and impede the suspenseful narrative. This is one time where Uninvited parts ways with the Lewton films, which are conspicuously bereft of humor and bathed in unremitting moodiness and melancholy.

But such a minor quibble amongst the proverbial embarrassment of riches. If anything, the passage of time has only added to Uninvited’s luster. It looks back fondly to a quieter, less obvious time in Hollywood, and still beguiles with a sense of mystery and incompleteness.

However, and as much as Uninvited is a great, or near-great film, both differing from and also possessing the best qualities of its era, for me it doesn’t quite scale the existential heights of the best Lewton films. It’s difficult to put into words why this is the case. Paradoxically it might be the very fact that Uninvited is a full-on big budget production by a major studio, and as a result there’s a certain bloated, overbaked quality to its otherwise elegant veneer. By contrast the Lewton entries never pretend to be anything more, or less, than B movies, and thus they have a stripped down, to-the-bone gestalt that gets right to the matter at hand.

There may be another explanation, though it tends to contradict what I’ve written above. Despite all the spiritual shenanigans, Uninvited is at heart a romance presented in a romantic, old school way (Young’s melodious score is one tipoff). And in spite of the sometimes Freudian undertones that spice up a love story subplot, the Lewtons are essentially dark, fatalistic meditations and most definitely not romances. Consequently, Uninvited is of its time, while the Lewtons have a timeless quality and have stayed fresh and modern.

Whatever their relative merits, both Uninvited and the Lewton films treated the subject matter – and the audience – with great respect, opting for intelligent stories and understated effects that leave much to the imagination. Uninvited in particular can be recommended as an old-fashioned ghost tale best viewed late at night, candles lit and fireplace crackling full blast.  


[1] Not so coincidentally, the Forties were also the summit of black and white movies. It was perhaps inevitable that supernatural films emphasizing mood and atmosphere went out of fashion in the Technicolor-drenched Fifties and Sixties. There were exceptions: schlockmeister William Castle’s House on Haunted Hill, from 1958, has such a camp feel to it that it hardly counts. Likewise the less-than-stellar 13 Ghosts. However, 1964’s The Haunting, a kind of homage to Val Lewton, must merit a mention. Haunting was directed by Robert Wise, who, not surprisingly, directed two of the Lewton films and was an admirer of the Lewton aesthetic.  

[2] The films are: Cat people, I Walked with a Zombie, The Leopard Man, Curse of the Cat People, The Seventh victim, The Ghost Ship, The Body Snatcher, Isle of the Dead, and Bedlam. To label these films supernatural noir is as good a moniker as any, but it’s somewhat inaccurate: at most only three of the Lewton films deal with overtly supernatural themes. The others might varyingly be described as domestic melodramas, adventure stories or historical dramas, all with a touch of horror thrown in.  

]3] Other Lewton-like films of the era include Alias Nick Beal, Jane Eyre, The Spiritualist, and especially The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.

[4] Interesting in the context of atmosphere is the film’s signature scene, which invokes a Lewton-like sense of unease. This is where Roderick and Stella visit the studio, and while he is playing the piano the candles turn dim and his playing takes on a darker tinge. Stella rushes to the cliff edge, apparently possessed by a spirit that wishes her ill. Similar tableaux of two persons, one playing the piano and one listening nearby, in which the music changes from mellifluous to sinister, occur in the horror films Dracula’s Daughter and House of Dracula. Another vintage Lewton-esque scene is when Roderick and Pamela first hear the ghost weeping while they listen atop the staircase, candles in hand.

[5] The redoubtable IMDB muddies the waters further: it confirms Russell as the model for the portrait, but lists both Grey and Russell as the Mary Meredith ghost.

[6] In the Lewton films, as well as Uninvited, the female villain is a mysterious Other (sometimes even a ‘monster’), defined by ethnicity (Irena in Cat People), catatonia (Jessica in Zombie), superstitious beliefs (Kyra in Isle of the Dead), family rejection (Barbara Farren in Curse of the Cat People) or sexual orientation (Miss Holloway and Mary in Uninvited). The sympathetic Jacqueline in Seventh Victim is a kind of villain, living a bohemian lifestyle that’s far outside society’s norms. Even in Bedlam Nell Bowen is (mistakenly) labeled a ‘monster’ (i.e. madwoman) and confined to the infamous asylum. And of course Carmel, a foreigner, thus quintessentially Other, is initially taken to be the villain in Uninvited.
    Aside: Although she's obviously playing an English character in a very English milieu, Gail Russell is the only character in Uninvited who doesn't speak with a British accent. Even with her cultivated American inflection, it would be a reach to suggest that Russell's accent is even mid-Atlantic. Still, it doesn't detract from her wondrous performance, especially praiseworthy considering Uninvited was her first substantial role in a major production.

[7] Homoerotic touches are present in several of the Lewton films, most prominently in Cat People and Seventh Victim, both of which have implied lesbian subtexts.

[8] Not for nothing that when we view Miss Holloway ensconced at her mausoleum-like retreat, the music in the background is Wagner’s ‘Liebestod’ (Love’s Death) from Tristan und Isolde. Aside: some sources cite Pamela and even Stella as also being gay. Perhaps. Perhaps not, depending on how one reads the clues. These were the censor-laden 1940s, when everything had to be viewed through a subtextual prism. So who can say? On the other hand, that such an obviously Sapphic character as Miss Holloway could be smuggled into the story, in the open as it were, is all the more remarkable.