Crooked House: ‘Gaslight’ (1940)

This post is part of the 6^th Annual Rule Britannia Blogathon, hosted by A Shroud of Thoughts. See the other posts here.

In Gaslight, objects have a peculiar habit of going missing. A picture, a pocket-watch, a brooch—all seem to disappear into the bowels of the house and reappear where they ought not to be. To Paul and Bella Mallen (Anton Walbrook and Diana Wynyard), these aren’t signs of absentmindedness or a practical joke. They mean something far worse: they mean Bella is losing her mind.

The house has a history. Twenty years ago, a thief broke in and strangled the old lady who lived there. We watch him creep up behind her and drape a cord around her neck as she embroiders, a scenario which would be cartoonish if it weren’t so chilling. As the hours tick by, he rifles through her possessions, his restless hands prying open her jewellery box, plunging a knife into a chair’s upholstery to dig through the stuffing, tossing her body aside like so much dirty laundry—all in search of something he cannot find.

Number 12 Pimlico Square stands vacant for two decades, until the Mallens move in. Outward respectability masks an undercurrent of unease. One afternoon they sit together in their living room and Bella begs Paul to be patient with her. Disposed to be kind, he smiles and plays a waltz for her on the piano, watching her twirl across the room. Suddenly, he stops. The atmosphere curdles; Bella is just as confused as the audience. A picture is missing from the wall behind her and Paul is convinced she’s hidden it. The Mallens’ parlour is filled with bric-a-brac—feathers, china, photos, paintings. One absent picture shouldn’t matter, save for a shadow on the wall. Yet Paul advances on Bella like a dark cloud. He is a meticulous man who cannot tolerate weakness. And Bella is weak. She steals and hides things and when he confronts her, claims she doesn’t remember doing so and weeps.

Bella knows she’s close to collapse. It isn’t just her failing memory or Paul’s anger; it’s the footsteps she keeps hearing on the disused floor above—footsteps always heralded by the gas lamps flickering.

Adapted from Patrick Hamilton’s play, Gaslight is a study in domestic terror in which every emotion is heightened by constraint. Most of the action is restricted to a handful of sets and Bella spends much of her time indoors, slowly smothered by a house which seems to shrink and close in on her as the rest of the world slips out of reach.

Her isolation is no accident. Gaslight, its American remake and Hamilton’s original play collectively introduced the term ‘gaslighting’: a form of psychological abuse in which the perpetrator systematically undermines his or her target’s sense of reality. Paul cuts Bella off from her family, lays traps which feed her insecurities—the missing picture—and watches as she grasps at whatever crumbs of affection he chooses to offer.  

Director Thorold Dickinson tells his story with style and economy. The house is ransacked in a series of frenzied cuts—a reminder that Dickinson began his career as an editor. He also displays a sharp eye for Victorian mores. As the Mallens leave church one Sunday, their new neighbours linger on the steps and render judgement: “Only two maids,” a woman sneers.

The cast is excellent. Diana Wynyard captures Bella’s fragility and eagerness to please, playing her with such sensitivity that at times her disintegration becomes too agonizing to bear. Even more remarkable is Anton Walbrook, whose watchful intensity makes Paul’s sadism terrifying. Paul isn’t just cruel; he is an animal with the mask of a man.

Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about Gaslight is the miracle of its survival. Spurred by the success of Dickinson’s film and the Broadway run of the original play, MGM purchased the rights and released a lavish remake in 1944 directed by George Cukor and starring Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer. It also set out to erase all memory of the British version, buying and destroying every print it could find. Dickinson was forced to rescue his film himself, secretly striking a print before the negative was removed. Gaslight has lingered in the shadow of its remake ever since, one of only nine films Dickinson made in a frustratingly sporadic career.

Yet his Gaslight is the better film. Just look at B.G. Rough, an ex-detective who takes an interest in Pimlico Square. In Dickinson’s version, he’s an arrogant, if talented investigator, slightly portly and played by Frank Pettingell. In Cukor’s, his equivalent is a dashing love interest played by Joseph Cotten. Dickinson’s Gaslight is darker, more twisted and unsettling, a claustrophobic nightmare which plunges into the mouth of madness—and stays there.