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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+)
