Crimson Peak – Bitch Flicks

Mining the Feminist Messages of ‘Crimson Peak’

In fact, she genuinely began to feel “depressed” from playing Lucille. However, when she confided this in on-screen brother Tom Hiddleston, who has famously played characters such as Marvel villain Loki, he shared that “you only have fun when your character is having fun,” and, as Chastain explains, “Lucille hasn’t had a fun day in her life.” As the victim of intense patriarchal oppression, it’s no wonder.

(Contains SPOILERS for Crimson Peak.)

When filming Guillermo del Toro’s most recent film, Crimson Peak, Jessica Chastain felt surprised that playing the villain, Lucille Sharpe, wasn’t as “fun” as other actors describe playing villainous roles to be. In fact, she genuinely began to feel “depressed” from playing Lucille. However, when she confided this in on-screen brother Tom Hiddleston, who has famously played characters such as Marvel villain Loki, he shared that “you only have fun when your character is having fun,” and, as Chastain explains, “Lucille hasn’t had a fun day in her life.” As the victim of intense patriarchal oppression, it’s no wonder.

As patriarchal values are all Lucille has known, those are the tools she uses to attempt to gain and maintain control over her own life and to protect her beloved younger brother, Thomas. By adopting patriarchal means of action, even while being miserable doing it, Lucille becomes a “formidable” antagonist to Mia Wasikowska’s protagonist Edith. This is despite Lucille being entirely (and sympathetically) driven in her actions by profound love and a deep-seated fear of being alone. Turning on other women, including Edith, leads to Lucille’s ultimate downfall, and at Edith’s hands, who was only trying to defend herself and others. As Lucille’s sad life portrays, oppression, such as that from patriarchy, cannot be combatted by becoming an oppressor oneself.

Like many of del Toro’s films, this film deals with knowing and learning about the past in order to move forward and not repeat past mistakes or crimes. Lucille experiences abuse, internalizes it, and then takes it out on other women. Edith, meanwhile, suffers minor abuse, is supported in her efforts to rise against it, and attempts to support other women herself. Though the men in the story make many mistakes in their attempts to be allies to Edith, some of their actions aide Edith when her strength and determination need a little boost. However, it is largely due to the help of other women, albeit none still living, that Edith is able to accomplish what she does, whether it is through the role model of “Frankenstein” author Mary Shelly, or the female ghosts that warn and aide her.

It is only when Edith chooses to listen to the messages that these female ghosts have for her, whether through old wax recordings or their own spectral presences, that Edith learns what she needs to know in order to move forward in her own life. Through joined female effort and learning about what came before her, Edith and the audience can effectively move into the present and take the most effective action in efforts to support the lives of women. With the help of other women, the occasionally non-burdensome help of male allies (again, the men make a number of dangerous mistakes – usually by underestimating both Edith and Lucille), and a lot of her own effort, Edith succeeds in getting through danger, not unscathed, but alive. She then publishes the fruit of her labor, her novel, under her own name – quite something for a woman to do in 1901. (The date is not provided in the film, but was given by Tom Hiddleston in this interview.)

Lucille is strongly compared to and contrasted against Edith throughout the film. Edith is an ambitious writer who defends her career choice and preferred suspenseful genres against patriarchal and condescending men and women alike. Edith marries the baronet Thomas Sharpe, who is “a dreamer” like her, in part because he is supportive of her writing. Edith continues to work on her novel after their marriage, just as Thomas continues to work on his mining invention (Yes, the “Sharpe Mines” – I see what you did there, del Toro). Lucille could have made a career as a marvelous composer and pianist, but lacked the supportive upbringing that Edith received, and rarely writes or plays (or, indeed, lives) except for her younger brother. At one point, Lucille throws Edith’s manuscript, page by page, into the fire, saying dismissively “You thought you were a writer….” Meanwhile Lucille never takes credit for the beautiful lullaby she seemingly wrote – for Thomas, naturally.

This reflects the internalization of her years of neglect and abuse, a childhood alternately locked away upstairs or physically beaten with a cane, forced to care at an early age for her abusive mother after her father “snapped [Lucille’s mother’s] leg under his boot,” and then sent to and locked away in a mental institution in continental Europe, away from her only comfort – her brother. So internalized is the abuse and pain, Lucille even thinks she is doing her female victims a favor by killing them, as shown in the scene in which Lucille feeds Edith (poisoned) porridge while speaking about her relationship with her mother.

Throughout her life, Lucille protects Thomas both from oppression and from becoming much of an oppressor himself, keeping him from having to “get [his] hands dirty.” Thomas therefore comes out of a patriarchal past relatively less broken than Lucille, and is able to maintain a bit more of his humanity. It is this humanity, which Lucille made sure to help him preserve in himself, that leads him to experience guilt for what Lucille and he do – exploiting and poisoning vulnerable women for their wealth. It is this guilt that Edith, the protagonist, inadvertently exploits when she encourages him to not live “in the past.” Edith does not seek out to reform Thomas, unlike in so many “romances” that glorify toxic and abusive relationships – he himself makes the choice to help and defend Edith against Lucille. In fact, when Edith finds out what he has done, she understandably does not hesitate to attack him in self-defense. Heartbreakingly, it is revolutionary even today that Edith is not a Bella Swan or a Manic Pixie Dream Girl used by Thomas to feel better about himself. Edith is romantic with Thomas only when she is unaware of what he has done, and then defends herself from her would-be co-murderer.

Meanwhile, while Edith moves into the future after learning from the past, Lucille is “entrenched” in the “history” of the house and the family, and does not “progress.” Lucille grew up in Victorian England and continental Europe being abused by patriarchal society, patriarchal figures, and patriarchal values. Much of what she does is in keeping with these values, clinging to “the past” and the “shadows” as the Edwardian era begins. Patriarchal values are all she has known, and her actions in the film reflect that, whether she is playing the role patriarchy expects her as a woman to play, such as caretaker, or when she emulates patriarchal violence in order to sustain the way of life she and her brother share, such as when she brutally murders Edith’s father Carter Cushing (played by Jim Beaver).

Patriarchy makes many demands on women. It demands that women internalize sexism and abuse, then take out their anger and frustration on other women in horizontal/in-group violence. Lucille fulfills this requirement of patriarchy many times and in many ways, as did her mother before her – and against her. Patriarchy demands that women lack confidence in themselves, and predominantly define themselves by how they do or do not look. Lucille implies that she feels that she “lack[s] beauty” and youth, while women are still fighting against confidence-destroying beauty and age standards today. Patriarchy demands that women value men more than other women, and more than themselves. Lucille centers her brother, Thomas, and her family’s history above all else, and even seems to blame her mother more than her father for the family’s suffering and destruction. This is especially sad, since it was her father’s abuse of her mother that made her mother take out her anger at him in abusing her children. Patriarchy demands that women compete with each other for the little that is offered them, and so Lucille preys upon other women to uphold the life she has created for her brother and herself.

In some ways, Lucille opposes patriarchal ideas of women, but only as manifestations of her role as protector for Thomas. Del Toro describes Thomas as “a stunted man, an adolescent,” and Lucille fills the roles of both mother and wife to him. As depicted by Katherine Fusciardi on Bitch Flicks, violence by women is seen as justifiable by society if it is committed by a mother to protect her child. Lucille takes on the role of violent protector for Thomas, the masculinity of it being emphasized when she crossdresses in order gain access into a men’s club. There, she violently kills Edith’s father, who was “coarse and condescending” to her beloved younger brother. Her role as protector, her clothing, and her violence in that scene are all culturally seen as masculine. When she emulates patriarchy, it is in order for her and Thomas to maintain a place in it, thereby attempting to be free from patriarchal oppression themselves. However, as stated in Alize Emme’s review of Heathers, “the power” of patriarchy to oppress others “is not something to aspire to.” Instead, female friendship creating support systems are all important. In order to gain true power and freedom, patriarchy must be overthrown in a group effort lead by women, not emulated by the individual. Though Lucille gains much needed money by oppressing other women, it hardly relieves her misery from years of external and internal abuse.

Not only does the story of Crimson Peak have many messages that can be mined (I would say the pun wasn’t intended, but that would be lying) for feminists, but del Toro’s casting choices reflect the feminism of his piece, with Jessica Chastain and Tom Hiddleston being open feminists. What is disappointing is that hardly any women were involved at all behind the camera, not even on the script, with the notable exception of Kate Hawley’s beautiful costume design. Del Toro then, unintentionally it seems, highlights his theme that men can make mistakes as allies, even when they have the best of intentions. Jessica Chastain is particularly vocal about the need for all women and all People of Color to be hired for work behind the camera, and for “all stories” to be told, not just that of “the few.” Hopefully del Toro and the other men onset learned these lessons while filming Crimson Peak, and they continue in learning how to be better allies.

‘Crimson Peak’: Guillermo del Toro’s Gothic Romance Offers a Gorgeous Chill

‘Crimson Peak’s connection to the “women’s pictures” of the ’40s and ’50s, and particularly Hitchcock’s ‘Rebecca,’ is instructive in reading it as a feminist film. Del Toro takes the tropes of a goodhearted, innocent protagonist, an oily older suitor, and a dangerous female rival whose hostility to the heroine is in part motivated by an “inappropriate” sexual desire, and recontextualizes them.

Guillermo del Toro’s eye-poppingly gorgeous new horror film/gothic romance, Crimson Peak, has generated mixed reviews, even getting panned by critics who acknowledge its aesthetic strengths. While complaints about the script (by del Toro and Matthew Robbins) aren’t entirely unfounded, complaints about the film’s excesses — from its gore to the batshit commitment of Jessica Chastain’s over-the-top performance, to the visual splendor itself — seem to misunderstand the filmmaker’s aim. Your mileage may vary, as always, but del Toro seems to be in complete control here. The movie is consistent in its vision, and consistent with the filmmaker’s work as a whole.

As he’s done throughout his career, del Toro mines the past for inspiration, then puts his own dark twist on the material. Crimson Peak‘s antecedents include Jane Eyre, Hitchcock classics like Suspicion and Rebecca, and the equally blood-drenched Hammer horror films of the 1950s-1970s. A horror geek of the highest order, del Toro makes loving use of the mood and plot elements of these older works, but makes the material his own.

Crimson Peak‘s connection to the “women’s pictures” of the ’40s and ’50s, and particularly Hitchcock’s Rebecca, is instructive in reading it as a feminist film. Del Toro takes the tropes of a goodhearted, innocent protagonist, an oily older suitor, and a dangerous female rival whose hostility to the heroine is in part motivated by an “inappropriate” sexual desire, and recontextualizes them. He makes the heroine, Edith Cushing (most likely named for Hammer star Peter Cushing), not merely an aspiring author who’s recently written a ghost story (“the ghost is a metaphor,” she explains), but the author of her own fate. As played by the consistently excellent Mia Wasikowska, Edith is a brave, resourceful, and powerful woman, with her own sexual desires.

Tom Hiddleston is Thomas Sharpe, British nobility fallen on hard times. Thomas is charming but weak, as he is batted about by the passions of the two powerful women in his life.

Chastain plays Lucille Sharpe, and from the beginning, both actor and director relish the character’s seething menace. There’s no doubt from the moment Lucille is introduced that she’s bad news, and that she’s running the show. As she explains threateningly to Edith early on in the film, Lucille is that black moth, thriving on dark and cold, and feeding on Edith’s pretty butterfly. It’s not a logical point in the film for Lucille to issue that veiled warning, but it delivers the intended chill, and, as with those ghosts, is a keen metaphor.

Edith is a frustrated author, living in turn-of-the-last-century Buffalo with her wealthy industrialist father, Carter (the great Jim Beaver, beloved of HBO’s Deadwood, bringing an unusual but perfect gruffer-than-thou haughtiness to the role). Edith has personal experience with the supernatural. Her mother’s ghost issued a mysterious warning to her, as a child: “Beware Crimson Peak!” But Edith’s ghost story is not taken seriously because of her gender. She has a suitor, Dr. Alan McMichael (Charlie Hunnam), an ophthalmologist with an interest in Sherlock Holmes, but he clearly doesn’t inspire her. Then Thomas Sharpe comes into her life. He’s handsome and charming and seems genuinely interested in her work. Sharpe is looking for a partner to fund some technical advances at his red clay mine in England, but Carter sees through Sharpe’s charm to his financial desperation.

Noting Sharpe’s interest in Edith, Carter hires a private investigator (Burn Gorman) to look into Thomas and Lucille, and what he uncovers (not revealed to the audience until later in the film, but it should be increasingly clear to all but the densest viewers what’s going on here) is unsettling enough that he threatens Thomas and Lucille with exposure if they don’t leave town immediately, sweetening the deal with a bribe, payable only if Thomas breaks Edith’s heart before he leaves. Thomas knows just how to do it, too, attacking her writing ability.

One gruesome, beautifully staged murder later, Edith is a new bride on her way to Allerdale Hall in England. Her mother’s ghost probably should have told her, “Beware Allerdale Hall!” and not referred to the place by its nickname, which Edith doesn’t find out about until it’s too late.

Allerdale Hall is a wonderful, creaky setting for a ghost story. It’s a classic haunted house, ancient and decrepit, filled with secrets and fluttering black moths. It’s built atop a deposit of red clay, and the blood red seeps into the building through the floors, walls, and pipes. Filled with mournful ghosts, it’s the perfect setting for a scary story, even if its true horrors are contained within the hearts of its living inhabitants.

It seems clear to me that del Toro is less concerned with creating a steel trap of a plot, which he fails to do in any case, and more concerned with atmosphere and with the emotional twists and turns of the story. If you’re chuckling and aghast at the film by turns, it’s working.

Even its detractors admit that Crimson Peak has atmosphere to spare, but they don’t give enough credit to del Toro and his collaborators (chief among them cinematographer Dan Laustsen and production designer Thomas E. Sanders) for creating a work that’s both gorgeous and extremely personal and unique. Crimson Peak is beautiful, but it’s not picture-postcard beautiful. It doesn’t look like a commercial for anything. It’s a fully realized vision of decay, gore, and grue. The playful transitions del Toro uses, those endearing wipes and irises, make it clear that del Toro is relishing the artificiality of it all. The performers play it straight, though, giving the story emotional heft despite that artifice.

Some have complained about the role the ghosts play in the film, but it’s as Edith says, they’re only a metaphor. They serve their function by being beautifully terrifying in their warnings to Edith. And their look — captured in the horror of their untimely deaths, wispy, smoke-like tendrils splaying out in every direction like flayed skin — is unique. It’s one of the few examples I can think of where CGI brings a unique visual sense to the horror — where it’s used expressively, and not just as a way to indicate scale, or to do things to the human body that can’t actually be done on a film set. These beautiful, unsettling ghosts are unlike any I’ve seen onscreen before.

Edith falls ill as she unravels Lucille and Thomas’s plot. Thomas begins to develop genuine feelings for his mark, enraging Lucille. Alan, meanwhile, begins his own stateside sleuthing, uncovering the truth about the Sharpes. During the film, I felt like Hunnam’s adenoidal performance was the weak link of the film, but again, I feel like this is something del Toro intended. It’s clear that neither Alan nor Thomas is truly worthy of Edith.

Her passion for Thomas is real, however, and eventually, she gets him away from Lucille long enough for him to have sex with her, on her terms. He’s weak and devious, but she wants him, and takes control of the situation to have her way.

For a while it seems Alan might save Edith, the damsel in distress. Those familiar with del Toro’s work know better, though. Since his second feature, Mimic, he has always had strong female characters in his films. In this instance, the strongest, Edith and Lucille, are destined to settle their score while the men look on from the sidelines.

If you’re alternately giggling and gasping, the movie is working. It’s outlandish and baroque, but the actors keep it grounded, and I found myself moved, not just by the passion of the characters, but by the evident passion of the filmmaker for the material. Crimson Peak may actually be Del Toro’s masterpiece. I’m convinced it is every bit as heartfelt and coherent as Pan’s Labyrinth, widely considered his best. This is a filmmaker working at the height of his abilities to deliver a grandly entertaining, uniquely gorgeous, and emotionally involving work of cinema, with a pronounced feminist bent.

Click here to see Del Toro discussing the film.