Orphan - (film review)

            There’s something wrong with Esther.  It is a very simple aphorism that deceptively screens the underlying psychosexuality of the film.  There’s something wrong with Esther.  In this, we may be able to also say that there is something wrong with John, Esther’s adopted father and husband to Kate.  However, before delving into the imbricating and intricate layers of this film, it is necessary to warn the reader that I will be discussing all aspects of Orphan, including the reveal of what precisely is wrong with Esther—so be forewarned if you would rather retain this mystery.

            This film is not an exercise in reality representation in film—art imitating life, etc.  The most obvious evidence of this surrealism is the simple fact that no one would earnestly make a film about the evils of adoption, or even foreign adoption.  So clearly there is something more intricate at work here.  This is reflected in the atmospheric thematic elements (including the above mentioned apothegm) that suggest to the audience something deeper, embedded within the superficial first layer of the film.  The opening title credit and the way in which it shifts from a monochromatic title to a disturbingly black-lit multi-coloured title is an indication of the profoundly entrenched dark substance the film exudes.

            Before Esther is even introduced, we meet Kate and John, an average couple entering the hospital so Kate may deliver her third child—this quickly turns sour as blood begins to pour out from her and it is reveled that her child is stillborn.  What is revealing in this scene is the placement of John, who fills the role of the doctor and father, and his detachment and lack of empathy towards Kate’s obvious distraught—this suggests an underlying dissonance between the couple, implying Kate’s distrust of John and John’s inability to relate to Kate.  Each character in this film is intertwined in such a way as to add another layer of intricacy not seen in any film, let alone a horror genre film.  Each relation be it Kate and John, Esther and John, Kate and Esther, Kate and Max, Esther and Max (I could literally go on), adds to the psychosexual tensions the film portrays.

            When Esther is introduced it is no coincidence that John is the first person to spot her and talk to her—for it is their eerily disturbing relationship that provides the film with its disquieting appeal.  We soon begin to understand that beneath Esther’s prim and proper exterior lies something darker, however it is not only Esther’s behaviour that is questionable.  Prior to Esther’s entry in the film, we get a glimpse at the sexually starved husband who is let down by his unwilling wife.  On the very first night Esther is there, Kate initiates oral stimulation which sparks Esther’s desires inciting her to interrupt the act with her little sister Max.  When they enter the parents’ bedroom, Esther insists: “I want to sleep next to Daddy”, causing John to shift position so as not to make any inappropriate gestures of fatherly love.  The second instance of sexual incitement comes days later when John begins to stimulate Kate in the kitchen—moments later, Esther catches them in their mutually consenting act.  It is at this precise moment that an audience member must ask: “Is this explicit display of sexuality appropriate in a child-centered horror film?”  Perhaps it is this confluent sexual undertone paralleling the central storyline that drives the underlying substance of the film?  It cannot be a coincidence that the budding sexual desire is not directly related to Esther’s presence in the house—the question is: why is this sexual desire resurging?

            Freud is infamous for the psychosexual development of little boys—labeling this process the Oedipus complex.  In direct contrast, little girls develop in a similar but more pathological manner.  Little girls’ psychosexual development is coined the Electra complex by Carl Jung and the Feminine Oedipus attitude by Freud.  Ultimately it implies a sexual attraction to the father and a direct practically murderous competition with the mother—this complicated and highly problematic psychological process is investigated largely by Nancy J. Chodorow in her book Femininities, Masculinities, Sexualities: Freud and Beyond.  This largely discredited, but somehow socially withholding psychological theory is the underpinning essence of the film—another example as to why the film cannot be taken as a literal interpretation of actual events, but rather a highly fictionalized narrative of the feminine Oedipus attitude brought to life.  The daughter, according to Freud, adorns her penis envy by desiring one in her—and her first interaction or knowledge of a penis is through her interaction with her father.  Another example of the underlying developmental sexuality occurs during the scene where Esther threatens Danny (the son) with cutting off his penis before he even knows what to do with it—these explicit references to sexuality and sexual impulses are not an accident.

            As Kate begins to distrust Esther, which happens very early on in the film, another confluent subplot and subtheme arises: the dismissive patriarchal attitude towards the indelibly labeled ‘hysteria’ of femininity.  No one believes Kate as she begins to relay her understanding of Esther and the deeply rooted disturbance of her newly adopted child.  In other, less effective films, I would argue that this is a lazy narrative device that attempts to insert drama where drama is not necessary or relevant.  In the case of Orphan, the disbelief of Kate and subsequent lack of trust that both John and her psychiatrist have of her is indicative of the historically pathologized sexual female (Chodorow 1994).  It would almost detract from the film’s aim if her husband and psychiatrist did believe her.

            An alternative motivation for John to disbelieve Kate is his subconscious compliance to be seduced by Esther.  The suggestive scenes of father-daughter affection border inappropriateness (the scene where John chooses Esther over Kate to share in his conjugal bed comes to mind), and there must be something that underlies John’s complete disinclination to side with Kate in her accusation of Esther’s sinister attitude.  Something is there, and Orphan is careful to hint at it without complete explicitness (so as not to offend the masses in the way that Birth did).  It is not until Esther makes her intentions clear to John that John (just barely) refuses—for what else could he do in that instance?

            The rest of the film is a careful interactive struggle between mother and daughter as it relates to the Electra complex, with one glaring difference—Kate refuses to be victimized by the absurdity of historical psychiatric pathologization of femininity as ostensibly hysteria, and with every turn struggles against her confinement.  Near the end of the film she decides to give up on an aspirations of saving her marriage, considering that even after it is clear Esther started the fire, which almost cost Danny his life, John still refuses to admit her involvement.  Instead Kate declares her desire to protect her children and her willingness to do whatever it takes to ensure her continued mothering of them.

            Every plot device and thematic element is a deliberate, well-planned intricate layer in this film.  Nothing is accidental, and each interactive character relation is directly implicated to the overarching psychosexual narrative of the film.  The blood-related children work in tandem to prove Esther’s malevolence—they can’t go to their parents just yet, because of considerable threat from Esther herself and the obviousness that their father is too involved and enveloped by Esther to believe them.  Going to their mother may only further their parents’ separation, so they must prove Esther’s sinister action before divulging what she has done.  The film is also careful to offer a counter perspective to some of the more potentially offensive aspects: namely the foreign dark-haired child that ultimately proves to be evil.  Esther is definitely the ‘other’ in this film, however so is Max—the adorable biological daughter who is deaf.  Their relationship reflects their individual othered status, and the inclusion of a deaf biological child is a clear attempt to offset the foreign otherness of Esther—however thin this device may be, it definitely does not detract from the film but rather enhances its allure.

The film is not a direct Evil-Child subgenre horror film, because Esther is not an evil child.  The usage of typical horror movie devices and their subsequent retraction is how the film plays with its audience, further suggesting something more involved than immediate appearances.  The horror here is not from shocking reveals, but rather through the slow unraveling of disturbance of psychosexuality.  Esther is actually 33 years old (experiencing a hormonal disorder which simulates proportional dwarfism), and when this final revelation occurs it may seem automatically ludicrous—I know I felt a little let down when it happened.  However, upon subsequent viewings it becomes clear to me that there could be no other possible reasoning for Esther’s disquieting behaviour.  In this last plot point, every aspect that are previously hinted at are made explicit in such a visceral manner to suggest precisely how Esther became the way she is.  

With intricate overlapping layers of substance, and boasting some of the best performances this side of the horror genre, Orphan is a well-calculated venture into the world of psychosexuality and the often ignored sexual development of children—and the potentials for this going awry.  There may be something wrong with Esther, but there is very little wrong with this film.

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Grade: 93% (A+)

The Children - (film review); Grace - (film review)

            When I was a wee lad I got spanked for misbehaving—never hard enough to really hurt, but enough to sting, and never more than three times at once.  My acts of misbehaving ranged anywhere from throwing a fit in public or in front of company, to talking back and disrespecting my elders.  In recent years this form of child discipline has been greatly frowned upon and slowly pushed out of practice—anyone now who practices spanking is shamed into believing that they are committing a form of child abuse.  In many cases, this spanking as child abuse may be true.  However, I have grown to maintain a constant love for my parents, while learning to respect and consider the rights of those around me.

            Not being a parent myself, but an uncle of four nephews and one niece (and counting) and an avid observer of family dynamics, I’ve noticed a rather disturbing trend in the approach of child rearing and their lack of discipline (not to say this is entirely the case with my niece and nephews).  I regard this as the ‘my-child-is-the-most-important-thing-in-my-world-and-yours’ syndrome.  It implies rather obviously that parents excuse child behaviours as being acceptable at all times, in all contexts, no matter what the repercussions or ramifications.  Children are granted free range of everything, and everyone else is expected to adjust their actions to accommodate the standards parents have set (“Won’t someone please think of the children?”). 

The protection of ‘innocent’ and easily impressionable child minds is the justification for right wing (and many liberalist) organizations to argue against the exposure or representation of queers in media, educational institutions, and families, or the backbone of the censorship movement.

            These themes are all too prevalent in both films The Children and Grace.  Years ago I watched Isaac Webb’s First Born (starring Elizabeth Shue), a zealous film that turned the dissonance and disconnect of a mother and her child (which is expected to occur from the moment of conception) into a taught terror film.  Although the movie had it’s problems I was fascinated at how it represented the diverse relationship of parent and child in a manner that works against the social gender roles that have been indoctrinated by patriarchal regulations.  This belief that there is a natural connection to nurture their child in women is a socially constructed fallacy.  This connection generally only exists if there is proper social support to help nourish this fabrication.  As good as I think First Born is, I admit that both Tom Shankland’s The Children and Paul Solet’s Grace are far superior (the former more so than the latter).

            In Grace, a mother/child relationship sees the desire to provide the child with absolutely everything it needs for nourishment and sustenance, at the cost of devouring the very life-blood of the mother.  Madeline insists on carrying her stillborn child to term and shortly thereafter manages to resuscitate it back to life through feeding it her blood.  It takes some time for Madeline to realize precisely what is happening here, but once it is clear, she becomes eerily disturbed at what she is required to do to provide her child with the means to live.  This disturbance however does not stop Madeline from actually following through with murder in order to obtain blood for her child to feed on.  The symbolic strength of the need for blood is a potent device that Solet uses to startling effect here.  Grace not only requires her mother to provide her own life for hers, but at times necessitates the need for others to offer their lives.  Grace is the monster in this film and an interesting monster at that.  Instead of tormenting her victims and killing them by force, she remains perfectly still and by the sheer fact of being a child and the social implications that surround how a child is to be loved and cared for, manages to reek havoc and mayhem through the actions of those who love her most.  Grace is easily defeatable, however the socially ingrained desire to conceive of and raise children in order to obtain the picture-perfect family dynamic is so potent and strong that Grace becomes the most dangerous and effective monster to date.  Everyone around her dies in effort to vie for who will take care of her most (even at the expense of their lives), while she remains perfectly still.

            Shankland’s The Children, is similar in ways, but imagines a scenario where a newborn like Grace is three or four years older and is capable of her/his own violence.  The perceived happiness that comes along with raising a family is the main focus of the first act of this film, until young Pauly becomes weirdly unsettled.  Needless to say, this plot device is hinted at but never expressly explained—it is some type of viral disease that affects the children in disturbing ways.  Subsequent reviews of this film hinge on the surface of its core.  Brad Miska (http://www.bloody-disgusting.com/film/2197/review) of Bloody Disgusting, and Michael Gingold (http://fangoria.com/reviews/2-film/3412-fantasia-09-the-children-film-review.html) of Fangoria, both discuss the difficulty of the parents’ decision to harm their children for their own perseverance.  For Miska and Gingold, the most complicated aspect of the film is how those who are the life and joy of these parents soon becomes their worst nightmares.  What is lacking in this (albeit correct, but ultimately pedantic) interpretation is the actions of the parents once the hardcore violence becomes evident.  The children are sensed to be nearby the violent acts but cerebrally intuited to have no part in the macabre at hand.  The parents know who is responsible for these acts and yet they refuse to believe it, instead prefer to point fingers at the less ‘innocent’ teenager, or suspect adult—for there could be no possibility of the involvement of the children in these violent actions, could there?  This denial becomes so strong that a husband prefers to believe the accusation that his wife (with help from her teenaged daughter) maliciously intended to kill their own four-year-old son without any prior precedence to lend plausibility to this scenario—even though they both appear visibly hurt (the daughter with blood dripping down her face, and the mother with her knee protruding from her leg).  Why would his wife kill her own child without some kind of provocation?  Would he really believe that she harmed Pauly for some fleeting reason, unless it was absolutely necessary?  Does he think so little of her? Ironically, it is the husband who would be suspected of harming his child as he is seen moments earlier spanking him—of course this is met with communal disapproval, spurring one parent to superiorly utter: “We don’t hit kids here.”

            They sure don’t hit kids—even if they’ve become menacing terrors bent on manipulative terror and torture.  It seems to me that Shankland decided to pen a scenario whereby the “my-child-is-the-most-important-thing-in-my-world-and-yours” syndrome is tested and exploited.  The only character willing to believe the violent manipulation and severity of the children’s behaviours is the teenage daughter.  She does not have children of her own and she has matured enough to comprehend the internalizing manipulation of children in ways that objectively discerns proper bratty behaviour—and so, she becomes the film’s heroine.  Although it may be difficult for the mother Elaine, to harm a child and give them much needed discipline (as Miska argues in his review), she later manages to decipher the difference between ill-intended violent childlike behaviour over the life and consideration of her teenage daughter, Casey (who may not be as socially ‘innocent’ but still deserving of respect).  She drives over her younger daughter to save Casey—so ultimately Elaine has learned to step outside of the socially accepted role of ‘child-comes-first’ to manage the situation properly, giving every party involved consideration and respect.

            These two films, The Children more so than Grace, manage to forcefully address common social misconceptions over the rearing and care for children in ways that require us to examine our own implications in this disturbing, albeit well-intentioned, trend.  I’m not trying to argue that nurturing or caring for children is an innately wrong thing to desire, only the need to place this care above and beyond the consideration and respect for others and yourself.  I argue that these films are less about the difficulty in raising children, and more about commenting on the social trends of over-protected and overly privileged child rearing.  These ideas are even more interesting if you consider that Tom Shankland, Paul Solet, and Isaac Webb, are all men.
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The Children grade: 86% (A)
Grace grade: 80% (A-)