Scrooge (1951)

Everybody has their own favorite film adaptation of Charles Dickens' classic A Christmas Carol, and this just happens to be mine. Titled simply Scrooge, it starred the great Scottish character actor Alastair Sim as the vile Ebeneezer Scrooge. In fact, Alastair Sim is the very reason that I love this version of the story. While all of the other actors who have played Scrooge are very capable of portraying the hard, wrenching, grasping, covetous, old sinner, no one has ever managed to capture the happy, joyful, reformed Ebeneezer anywhere near as well as Sim did. So while the likes of Michael Cain, George C. Scott and Patrick Stewart can play mean Scrooge with ease, they simply are not believable as the happy Scrooge. In fact, George C. Scott looks like he's in pain every time he attempts to force a genuine smile across his face, and the outcome is rather scary. But when Alastair Sim smiles, his entire face lights up, and he beams joy and youthful exuberance as he tries to stand on his head, or sends the little boy to buy the goose for the Cratchets, or promises to raise Bob Cratchet's salary. His laughter bubbles out of him like a little child's. And it's infectious laughter. You can't help but smile and laugh yourself.

I'm not going to summarize the plot for you. There's really no need for that. Unless you've been living under a rock your entire life, you probably already know the story, how four ghosts haunt the miserly Scrooge on Christmas Eve, showing him his life as it was, as it is, and as it soon will be, how he devolved from a decent person to the wretch that he now is, and what effect he's had on those around him. Oh yes, we all know the story well enough. What makes one version better than another is not the story itself. You can't go wrong when you're starting with something so well written (although Bill Murray's updated version came close to murdering the original story). No, what makes one version good and another not so good lies in how the story is told, and director Brian Desmond Hurst sets the bar pretty high in his Scrooge. First of all, screen writer Noel Langley pared down the story so that it flows more quickly. Then Hurst films it in black-and-white, which is not only cheaper to use, but it also lends the movie a certain dreariness that is perfect for telling a ghost story. All of the sets are exquisitely done, and are true to mid-19th century England. Scrooge's quarters are heavily paneled and sparsely furnished, and the tiny fire on the grate does little to cheer or warm them. Watching him move about his rooms, you can almost feel the cold that the pitiful flames cannot drive out. In fact, the one sensation that pervades the entire movie is one of cold. The only times we really see or feel any warmth are when Scrooge is in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Present, played wonderfully by Francis De Wolff.

In fact, all of the actors in Scrooge put in very fine performances. Mervyn Johns makes an excellent Bob Cratchet, and Hermione Baddeley is wonderful as his hot-tempered wife. Michael Horden portrays one of the best Jacob Marley's that I've ever seen, and a very young Patrick McNee is pretty good as the young Marley. But it's Alastair Sim's movie all the way through. Not that the other actors don't carry their own weight, but Sim simply steals the scene every moment that he's on camera, something that he was guilty of all through his career. It wasn't something that he set out to do, either; he just did it without even trying. With his great bald head, his bulging eyes, and his deep, ghoulish voice, Sim was forever out-shining more seasoned actors, sometimes stealing entire movies from them. His presence could make a bad movie good and a good movie better. Scrooge is an outstanding movie, and Sims is largely to credit for that. The only weak spots in the entire film are the fact that Tiny Tim is simply too big (almost as tall as his father) and the fact that they cut some of the greatest lines from the story. For instance, when Marley shrieks at Scrooge, "Mankind was my business! The common welfare was my business!" he leaves it right there. The entire line reads, "Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business." As you can see, the entire line carries much more weight and would have improved the film substantially.

But these are minor critiques. Over all, Scrooge is an outstanding movie, and one that I'm sure you will enjoy. Scrooge is rated G and has a runtime of 86 minutes.

The Innocents (1961)

Jack Clayton's The Innocents is a wonderful Gothic horror story, the likes of which we seldom see in our day of CGI ghosts and ghouls. Miss Giddens (Deborah Kerr) is hired by a wealthy gentleman (Michael Redgrave) to serve as the governess of his young niece Flora (Pamela Franklin) and nephew Miles (Martin Stephens). The uncle gives Miss Giddens complete authority to deal with any problem, telling her that she must never bother him under any circumstances. Miss Giddens arrives at the country estate where the children live and meets Flora, who appears to be a sweet little girl. Soon after her arrival, Miles arrives, having been expelled from boarding school. Seems he corrupted the other boys. Nothing more is said. The housekeeper, kindly old Mrs. Grose (Megs Jenkins), can't believe it. She maintains that Miles and Flora are innocents. Miss Giddens isn't so sure. She becomes obsessed with the former governess, Miss Jessel (Clytie Jessop). There's some dark secret surrounding her. Miss Giddens pries it out of Mrs. Grose. Seems there was a valet who ran the estate. Peter Quint (Peter Wyngarde) was a cruel and domineering man. Miss Jessel was devoted to him. Turns out, so was Miles. Quint treated Miss Jessel like his slave. Used her for whatever he wanted. Wherever he wanted. No matter who was watching. Right in front of Miles and Flora. They got an early education in things they should never have known. Then Quint died in an accident. Miles was distraught. So was Miss Jessel. After pining away for several months she drowned herself in the lake. Trouble is, as in all good Gothic horror stories, the dead don't stay in their graves. Quint's and Miss Jessel's hunger and desire drive their spirits to use Flora and Miles to fulfill their beastly desires. Miss Giddens is determined to stop this, to save the children, at any cost. The price turns out to be higher than she imagined.

The Innocents is not just another ghost story though. It deals with some subjects that were simply not dealt with in movies in 1961. Sexual perversion. Domination and submission. Child abuse. These things aren't talked about outright. You couldn't do that in 1961. Instead, they're hinted at. Alluded to. Suggested. It's not hard to miss the implications and allusions. These children were enthralled to a man who abused them, who abused their governess, who still cannot let them go. His hold on their young minds extends beyond the grave. But is it a real ghost? Or is it all in the mind of Miss Giddens. Mrs. Grose claims she doesn't see the ghosts, even when Miss Giddens is looking straight at them. Flora and Miles deny the presence of ghosts too, but they would. This calls into question Miss Giddens' sanity. Has she taken the stories told to her by Mrs. Grose and created in her own mind something that did not exist? Has she summoned up the ghosts from her own self-conscience? Does her insistence that the children face their demons cause them more damage by forcing them to relive again the horrors they endured while Quint and Miss Jessel were alive and rampaging through the house? None of these questions are answered in the film. The audience is left to draw their own conclusions. Three possibilities exist: 1) the children were abused and there are ghosts trying to possess them; 2) the children were abused and Miss Giddins thinks the Quint's and Miss Jessel's influence over the children are ghosts trying to possess them; 3) the cheese done slipped off Miss Giddins' cracker. In any case, it all makes for one mighty good story, with a few hair raising moments.

The Innocents was adapted from William Archibald's 1950 Broadway play of the same title, which was in turn adapted from Henry James' novella, "The Turn of the Screw." The movie is filmed in starkly contrasted black and white, with plenty of deep, deep shadows where anything could be lurking. The country estate house is expansive, and the film is shot in wide screen, but Clayton fills the scenes with darkness, crowding the actors, hemming them in and creating that wonderfully claustrophobic atmosphere that every good horror movie needs. Interestingly, most of the images of the "ghosts" appear not at night in darkened hallways, but in broad daylight, standing atop a tower, standing in the middle of a lake, sitting at a school desk. The juxtaposition of the dead under the bright sunlight lends a creepiness that would not exist had they appeared out of the shadows. Quint's ghost also appears at night in the window, leering, smirking, laughing, mocking Miss Giddens' attempts to pry the children out of his grasp. Then there are the voices and the laughing that Miss Giddens hears at night. Or does she hear them? No one else seems to. Not even Mrs. Grose. All of this combines to create a wonderful ghost story or a great psychological thriller, or both. It's hard to say. But I'll guarantee that it'll send a chill or two up your spine.

The Innocents is unrated, but I'd rate it PG on account of mature subject matter and disturbing scenes.

The Uninvited (1944)

Lewis Allen's The Uninvited is one of the best little horror stories ever filmed, and a movie that you'll be lucky if you ever get to see. Like Under the Tuscan Sun, it involves an old deserted estate, and the dream someone has of fixing it up and starting a new life in the country far from the strife of the city. There the similarity ends, however. Roderick and Pamela Fitzgerald (Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey) discover Windwood Manor, a beautiful old mansion sitting empty on the sea coast. This brother and sister duo decide to purchase the home immediately and make it their own. Only one problem. The house isn't quite as deserted as they thought it was. Two women died there in less than fortunate circumstances. One is Mary Meredith, cold-hearted wife of the artist Llewellyn Meredith. The other is his model, Carmel Casada. As Roderick and Pamela try to unravel the mystery of these two ghosts - the former cold and threatening, the latter sad and weeping - Roderick falls in love with Stella Meredith (Gail Russell), the daughter of Llewellyn. Stella is also the granddaughter of the man who sold them the house, Commander Beech (Donald Crisp). He forbids Stella from seeing Roderick or going near Windwood Manor, much to the dismay of the young lovers. When Stella does finally show up there, she's at first filled with intense happiness as she smells the fragrance of mimosa. Later, she's scared out of her wits by the cold, angry spirit. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, Roderick, Pamela, and Dr. Scott (Allan Napier) go to see Miss Holloway (Cornelia Otis Skinner), who was a dear friend of Meredith's. Eventually, the trio solves the mystery and exorcises all of the spirits from Windwood Manor for good. Roderick and Stella will be married, as will Dr. Scott and Pamella.

The Uninvited is a wonderful old spine tingler, a tale of an angry presence that threatens the life of a sweet young woman and a beneficent presence that seeks to check the other. It's a story of love and revenge, of hatred and control, of repressed emotions and lesbianism. Yes, you read that correctly. Like Rebecca, there's a strongly hinted relationship between the cold Mary Meredith and the creepy Miss Holloway. Of course, such things could never be said outright back in the forties, so they had to be implied. This film implies quite a lot, enough to say that something more was going on between these two twisted women. I say "twisted," because that is the only was that homosexuality and lesbianism could be shown back in 1944. If a character's gender preference was called into question, they were by default evil. It's just the way it was. Like all of the really good suspense stories of the forties, it's shot in a deliciously moody style, with lots of deep shadows, even during the daylight hours. Windwood Manor is a creepy old pile of bricks, with its long, winding staircase and the reflections from the ocean cast onto the walls and ceiling, much like in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. There are some wonderfully funny scenes when Roderick takes Stella sailing and promptly gets sick, and when Roderick and Pamela visit the sanitarium of Miss Holloway. Like Cruella deVille, "if she doesn't scare you, no evil thing will." Finally, there's the ghost itself. Mary Meredith's disembodied presence was rendered with a wonderful special effect that revealed only enough of her spirit to scare you, but not enough of it to let you "see the strings." I've seen this movie a dozen times, and I still get shivers up and down my spine when that ghost appears on screen. That's how well it was done.

The Uninvited is rated G and is available in creepy black and white. It's only available in this country on VHS. This wonderful thriller has never been released on DVD in the United States. Why? I dunno. You'll have to ask Paramount about that one.

Rebecca (1940)

Imagine a movie in which the main character is never once named, in which the title character never once steps on screen, yet in which the title character's presence permeates every scene. That film is Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca. It's a ghost story, of sorts, but only because Rebecca is dead, and everyone else in the film is haunted by her memory. It's not a good memory. Not for most, anyway. Meet Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier). Wealthy, educated, cultured, from good old English stock. He's visiting the south of France, a lovely place. He's also about to kill himself. Kind of reminds one of "Richard Cory." Anyway, a young woman (Joan Fontaine) stops him from leaping from a cliff. He's rude to her. Later he apologizes. They spend time together. She starts to fall in love with him, even though she knows he's way above her social standing. He asks her to marry him in an off-handed way and she accepts. Don't you just love whirlwind romances. Everything is roses until Maxim takes his new bride back to his ancestral pile of bricks and mortar, Mandalay. It's a creepy, shadowy, Gothic travesty with vast rooms and soaring ceilings. It's haunted too. The maid, Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson), keeps the ghost of Rebecca alive. Rebecca's name is repeated over and over through the film, like a mantra. "Those belonged to Rebecca...Rebecca always wrote her letters in here...That's Rebecca's room...Tell me about Rebecca...." Often she's referred to as Mrs. de Winter, even though it's obvious that there's now a new Mrs. de Winter, and - Oh, look! - she's standing right here. The new Mrs. de Winter is overwhelmed by the house, by Mrs. Danvers, by Rebecca.

Mrs. de Winter wants to put on a ball at the house. Mrs. Danvers tricks her into wearing the same costume Rebecca wore at her last ball before she drowned in a boating accident. Maxim is furious when he sees her. She runs into Rebecca's room, which Mrs. Danvers has kept exactly the way it was before Rebecca's death. The room is a shrine. Mrs. Danvers tries to get Mrs. de Winter to take her own life. She almost does it too. But a flare fired out at sea breaks the spell. A ship has hit the rocks. All hands rush to the beach. Mrs. Danvers learns that divers, sent down to examine the hull of the stricken ship, have discovered Rebecca's sail boat. Rebecca's still in it. Maxim then tells his new wife the story of his previous wife, how she cuckolded him with just about everyone she could find. One night, in her private cottage, she told him she was pregnant and that the child wasn't his. She laughed at him. He struck her. She fell. She didn't get up. He put her body in the sail boat, went out to sea and scuttled it. Now there has to be an inquest, and all of it will come to light. Enter Jack Favell (George Sanders). He's Rebecca's favorite cousin. He's a car salesman who's getting tired of selling cars he can't afford to own. He'd like to move up in the world. From the things he says to the new Mrs. de Winter, you get the feeling that he and Rebecca were a little closer than cousins. More like kissing cousins. Favell makes threats. He has information about the accident. He'll tell, unless.... Well, you can guess.

Rebecca is a fascinating movie for many reasons. Adapted from the novel by Daphne de Maurier, the film explores female sexuality at a time before such things were discussed in polite society. Mrs. Danvers says, "Love was a game to [Rebecca]." Love, here, is a Hollywood euphemism for sex. It is hinted, though never stated, that Rebecca was having a lot of it with a lot of people, including Favell. Maybe even Mrs. Danvers. She's obsessed with the memory of Rebecca. She touches her belongings with gentle hands, like a lover's caress. Lesbianism - like homosexuality - was never shown back in the day. It was only inferred. Rebecca infers a lot. The movie was filmed in glorious black and white on the same stretch of California coastline where The Ghost and Mrs. Muir was filmed six years later. It's a gorgeously haunting area, perfectly suited to ghost stories. This is one of the best you'll ever see, although you won't ever see the ghost. And you won't ever learn Mrs. de Winter's real name. Cuz, in the end, the film keeps its secrets to itself.

Rebecca is rated G.

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947)

There aren't very many mash-ups of romance and ghost story, for very obvious reasons - the lovers can never touch. I mean, think of it. They exist on different planes. One's corporeal, the other spiritual. How, therefore, do you have the meetcute? The first accidental touch? The first kiss? And the sex scene is, by necessity, downright impossible. That's not to say that it hasn't been tried. Ghost tried it in 1990. They solved all of the above problems by making the two characters lovers before one of them died. We all remember the clay pot scene. *yawn* But no movie has ever accomplished this mash-up better, or with more class, than The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Directed by Joseph L Mankiewicz, the film stars the lovely Gene Tierney as Lucy Muir, a widow who moves to Gull Cottage on the English coast with her daughter and her housekeeper in the late 1800s, and Rex Harrison as Captain Daniel Gregg, the ill-tempered sea captain whose ghost haunts the cottage.

When Lucy and Anna (a very young Natalie Wood) arrive at Gull Cottage, Lucy discovers to her grief that it is not entirely empty. The cantankerous ghost of the late Capt. Gregg still walks the corridors and bedrooms of the cottage, and at first he makes life quite unpleasant for Lucy. He has plans for his house, and he's not about to let a little thing like death stand in the way of his plans. He wants Gull Cottage to be made into a retirement home for old seamen, and he doesn't want Lucy and her family renting it. By the time her dividend checks have run out, however, and she faces eviction, Capt. Gregg has come to admire her brass, and he thinks up an idea to save her. He will dictate to her the story of his life, and she will write it down and publish it. Thus begins one of the greatest movie romances of all time between two characters who never lay a finger on one another. They are left to convey every emotion, every bit of longing with their words and their looks. And do they ever do a good job of it. As the captain unfolds his life-story to her, Lucy grows fonder and fonder of him. And as her own story comes out, the captain falls in love with her too. They gaze lovingly while they talk, but seldom at each other, often out to sea, as their voices sound the affection that their words never say. But it's a doomed relationship. Capt. Gregg is a spirit, and Lucy is a woman. She needs a man, and, while he doesn't want to stop her, he nevertheless gets jealous of every man she meets. Finally, after the book is published and becomes a success, the captain decides to leave Lucy, to let her live out her life without him among the living. His final words, spoken to the sleeping Lucy, are some of the most heart-wrenching ever uttered in any film.

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir is a moody, atmospheric film, shot along the Monterrey coastline. The sets of Gull Cottage include plenty of deep recesses where the shadows cluster thickly, light reflected from the water that ripples across the walls and ceilings, fog that curls in through the open windows. It also includes plenty of humorous moments, usually involving the captain's dealings with the poor mortal men that enter Lucy's life. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir is a film that has aged beautifully and hasn't lost one bit of its charm or its pathos in the last 65 years. Next time you're in the mood for a great love story, one that'll require at least one Kleenex, check out The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir is rated G and is available in velvety black and white.