Unreleased in the United States for more than two years by Miramax (released here by its genre subsidiary, Dimension Films), Darkness, produced in Spain with an English-language cast, is a moderately effective, if flawed, supernatural (read: haunted house with an occult twist) mystery thriller. Darkness was co-written and directed by Jaume Belagueró (The Nameless) with an almost obsessive focus on atmosphere, mood, and shocks (with an assist from production designer Llorenç Miquel and cinematographer Xavi Giménez). Plotting, characterization, and performance are often given only secondary attention, but caveats aside, Darkness succeeds where it should: in creating an encroaching sense of existential menace and dread, a dread neatly capped by an unexpectedly nihilistic, uncompromising ending (which saves Darkness from complete mediocrity).
A prologue gives the audience a glimpse of a series of critical events that deeply impact present-day events: the kidnapping and disappearance of seven children 40 years ago. All but one of the children is presumed dead, murdered by an unseen killer for an unspecified reason. The one survivor, interviewed by an off-camera investigator, has blocked out most of the experience. Flash forward 40 years: Mark (Iain Glen), an academic, his wife, Maria (Lena Olin), a nurse, and their two children, the semi-rebellious Regina (Anna Paquin) and her younger brother, Paul (Stephen Enquist). Regina, a teenager, is unhappy with the family’s relocation from the United States to Spain, ostensibly for her father’s career, and apparently at the suggestion of her grandfather, Alfred Rua (Giancarlo Giannini). The family has moved into an isolated, multi-level house in need of repair. Regina’s semi-rebelliousness and unhappiness, however, is quickly shunted aside (the first of several plot conundrums): despite being in Spain for three weeks, she’s already acquired an admirer in photographer Carlos (Fele Martínez). Regina’s world consists of her family and Carlos. Mornings are spent in swim practice, but here Belagueró and his co-screenwriter, Fernando de Felipe, add a layer of detail (the first of several) with no real payoff: Regina’s swim practice serves little purpose, plot wise, except to get her out of the house and into the city proper.
Although Regina is the ostensible protagonist, she’s not the initial target of the ghostly children in the house: her brother Paul is. Paul receives nightly visits from the six children but even in daylight, he’s not immune to their menacing presence: his colored pencils disappear underneath his bed. Regina’s family, however, faces an internal threat from her father’s emotional instability (he’s prone to fits of irrational anger and epileptic seizures). Her mother, overburdened by both work and the strains in her family, refuses to admit the problems inside her family and the increasing dangers posed by the ghosts. Here again, Belagueró and de Felipe stretch credibility: Maria’s enabling behavior grows increasingly irrational, despite hard evidence of Mark’s instability, and more importantly, the increasing threat he poses (echoes of Stephen King’s The Shining to his family, and specifically his son, who appears in the mornings with bruises on his neck. Regina’s frantic pleas for help are met with denial (“Everything’s fine”) or a surprising deference to Mark’s father, Alfred. Mark has also uncovered what appears to be an altar in the living room (a discovery which seems to elicit little reaction from Maria).
Regina then turns to Carlos, who helpfully researches the symbols contained on the altar via the Internet and a centuries-old book in the local library on the occult. There, the entire ritual, including the connection to an impending astrological event, is laid out. In yet another plot inconsistency, Regina’s discovery of additional information that clearly places her family in jeopardy leads to more fact digging, rather than in removing her brother from the potential danger posed by the house or her dangerously unstable father. Additional research leads to an exposition-spouting architect, who, despite his obvious fears, reveals the purpose for the house, and later, after the 40-years old ritual nears fruition, Regina’s unintentional discovery of the hidden antagonist, who after casually subduing her, reveals the nature and purpose of the ritual (i.e., reawakening and personifying an ancient evil). His motives, however, remain murky, and the explanation he offers for dabbling in the occult is less than persuasive. Regina is then faced with a classic dilemma, risking the release of an apocalyptic horror on the world or saving her family.
Problematically, Regina is an obviously passive and reactive protagonist (and one who often portrays a lack of common sense), and one unlikely to stir audience sympathy or empathy. Cultural attitudes might be at play here, more specifically Spanish cultural attitudes about women. Given Spain’s long history of autocratic rule, which ended only in 1975, it’s not surprising to find a central character (and even a secondary character) constantly deferring to authoritative figures, parents and grandparents and men in particular. At various times, Regina defers to her father, her grandfather, and Carlos, who takes the lead in discovering the house’s haunted history. Obviously, Regina’s often counter-intuitive behavior serves another purpose: to keep the narrative moving toward its denouement, but its also likely cultural attitudes colored Belagueró and Fernando de Felipe’s screenplay.
A word needs to be said about the performances, which range from the passable (Anna Paquin) to the awful (Iain Glen, who’s no Jack Nicholson): with an English cast, a Spanish production team, presumably a Spanish-language screenplay (as indicated by the occasionally awkward dialogue) translated into English, and onset communications between a director and a cast speaking different languages, poor performances are almost a given. Further evidence can be found in the odd inflections the cast often gives to their line readings and, in one case, a badly misjudged accent (e.g., Lena Olin’s).
Moving from plot and performance to technique, Belagueró also relies too heavily on cheap scares, built around sharp cracks on the soundtrack, quick, jittery editing, and worse, a shaky, handheld camera meant to increase tension (it doesn’t). Nonetheless, Belagueró proves himself adept at creating and generating real tension throughout the film, primarily through the evocative use of lighting and camera placement, but also through pacing and the slow disclosure of key plot information. For example, Belagueró often films the ghost children in silhouette, grouped together in the darkness, with the camera peering past their shoulders through a long shot of a distant hallway, with the onscreen characters oblivious to their presence. Belagueró and de Felipe also deserve credit for their handling of the final set piece inside the darkened house with its minimal reliance on CGI, as well as the stark, memorable denouement.
© Mel Valentin, 11th January, 2005
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