Sexual hysteria, starring Colin Firth

Film adaptations have historically had a way of altering ever so slightly one’s perception of a work, be it for better or worse. The filmmakers’ placement of emphasis on one element or motif over others speaks volumes about their interpretation of a work’s meaning. Because these subtle changes in emphasis can shape the interpretations of viewers unfamiliar with the source text, they are crucially important to be aware of and control as a filmmaker or as a critical viewer. Since these alterations are often conscious efforts put forth by screenwriters and directors—and even if they were implemented subconsciously—it stands to reason that they are reflective of their thoughts regarding the source text and the message they wish to convey to new viewers. With this in mind, the filmmakers’ emphasis on elements highlighting the governess’s sexual anxiety in the 1999 teleplay adaptation of The Turn of the Screw¹ suggests that they interpreted James’s novella² to represent a Victorian-age sexual hysteria manifested in psychological constructions masquerading as ghosts rather than a simple horror story concerning the supernatural.

At the outset, lustful forces between the governess and her interviewer and soon-to-be-master are placed at the forefront and are painfully impossible to ignore. Throughout the scene the governess is shown to be out of breath, glancing helplessly at the looming figure of actor Colin Firth. At one point he takes her hand in his, apparently sending her heart aflutter and helping viewers realize the level of attraction the governess feels for him. The pair are visibly flirtatious throughout the interview, sharing giggles and smirks with one another during the numerous awkward silences worked into the dialogue. These are elements incorporated into the teleplay which have little to do with the traditional supernatural storyline, suggesting that the screenwriter and director have something to share regarding her sexual feelings and her repression thereof.

A rather simplistic motif added into the film was that of the white orchid, one which the master sniffs during the interview when speaking of his brother and sister-in-law and another which the governess picks from the grounds at Bly shortly before seeing the apparition of Peter Quint for the first time. The flower, to my memory, goes unmentioned in the source text, so the filmmakers added these dual scenes to highlight a connection between two characters. This is perhaps intended to suggest that the governess is thinking fondly of her master during her tour of duty at the estate, and the bit’s proximity to her first encounter with Quint might suggest a relationship between her affections towards the master, as represented by orchids, and the sexual repression to which Quint is the metaphorical antidote. In this way, one could assume that the sexual feelings the governess feels for her master made obvious in their interview scene are intertwined with the lustful forces Quint represents in both the novella and especially in this film adaptation.

The apparition of Quint himself is roughly equivalent to his text counterpart, which either speaks to the faithfulness of the adaptation or to the filmmakers’ appreciation of the importance of the character’s description as made evident by Renner’s article concerning his devilish red hair³. Quint looks vaguely like Colin Firth in the film adaptation with similar sideburns and reminiscent facial features, a casting choice which might have been intentional or purely coincidental. In any event, his every appearance is marked by a sort of seductive glare aimed at the governess, returned with her look of utter incredulity and, usually, curiosity. The actors’ performances create a great deal of dramatic tension which never quite makes the leap to sexual tension, but this could be an error of direction or acting rather than a deliberate result.

Finally, the ultimate scene in which the governess encounters Quint for the final time and [un]intentionally murders Miles—which, by the way, features an arrangement of orchids—becomes briefly and insanely violent the instant Peter Quint appears in the window. The governess’s hysterical laughter and maniacal shouting of “I have you now!” shortly before Miles’s body goes limp seems to suggest the conscious smothering effort of a deranged caretaker rather than any sort of accident or fault of Miles’s nerves. Despite a great deal of tears and poignant music after this climax, it’s never once suggested by the direction or by Miss Pegg’s performance that she hadn’t meant to kill Miles, only that she realizes the gravity of the situation and perhaps regrets the act’s necessity. Nothing said or done throughout the film does anything to negate my earlier claims that Quint represents a sort of sexuality the governess herself is petrified of and which she wishes to shield the children from, even if that means murdering them before they have to come to terms with it.