I reckon it is now time to confess that the real reason our
family moved out from our house in Richmond Town was because we knew that we
were not the only ones inhabiting the place. As long as I remember, I
had always been acquainted with them right from the beginning and it was always
a comfort to have them around. Nevertheless, when I say that, it was
not that everything was hunky dory – they did provide their fair bit of
frightening us on more occasions than one. When my parents’ became aware of
them and decided to move out, I was crestfallen and much to the dismay of
everyone I received their pronouncement with great sadness. Perhaps this might startle
some, but I feel that when the parallel universe, as we customarily call them, begin
to grow fond of us, we form an inimical and yet an inseparable bond together.
For a long time after we left home we knew that we were never
alone, and so in order not to offend them, I refrained myself from watching,
reading or even discussing anything regarding the topic until I found myself
nearly beckoned (twenty years hence) by something deeply instinctive to watch
The Woman In Black.
It is not astonishing to become aware that it has been the
highest grossing film of the year 2012 so far. On a wider platform, the art of
playing on fear is what rings in the cash registers, but for those who have
gone through anything, however remote it may be, will tell you that they never
scare the wits out of you unless their intent is such. I say so with such confidence
because they troubled us less; were on friendly terms, yet I cannot but help
imagine the dread of those who happen to be in their path of wrath. Right from
the start it was lovely to witness Daniel Radcliffe delivering a stoic, and yet
stellar performance, as the young Arthur Kipp, an inexperienced London
solicitor who is dispatched right at the start to a swampy coastal area of the
Midlands to settle the affairs of a recently deceased widow. We learn that he
loses his wife at childbirth and bears the misfortune via his watery light haunting
eyes throughout the journey although one can assume that it is merely a figment
of his imagination that she periodically hovers around him. Puzzlingly, the
peasants treat Arthur with unexplained hostility, accusing him in instances for
having brought about the bad luck upon them by venturing into the house that is
a curse to their villages. Arthur finds in Mr Daily (who drives around a Silver
Ghost Rolls Royce) somewhat of a protector than a mere friend and an
intelligent and somewhat lost Mrs Daily is shown scrawling images, she claims,
the deceased communicate through her. I know cynics might consider such a
notion rather ridiculous, but the fact remains that indeed there are many
things in this world that we think reason and science might explain, but like
everything else they too fall short due to their limited capability and
capacity to prove. What survives ultimately is the belief and the faith that
life other than ours exists alongside us and the sooner we begin to accept it,
the better it is for our wellbeing.
Without giving away more, I would like to throw light upon how
Arthur spends the night at the gothic mansion with cobwebs on the chandeliers as
the things go bump in the night in the company of a chair that rocks, the
stairs that creak, the toys that begin movement and how once in a way, he sees a
face in the windows. If you are looking for meaningless blood and gore, as one
would expect from a movie made in America, refrain yourself from knocking on
this door. This is a story, depending on the level of ones tolerance that could
either creep you, or calm you.
The script by Jane Goldman is handsome in taking you along
the successfully long and wordless interludes. Direction by James Watkins is effective
as it veers you along the meandering hallways that seem alive with rasping and
murmuring. The director of photography Tim Maurice-Jones does not paint the
screen red but daubs it with a fine chromatic contrast with the assistance of a
white, black, dun brown and grey palette. The editing by Jon Harris makes sure
that something wicked arrives in every frame, but rather subtly and slowly, and
at times not without an element of disturbing effectiveness. The music by Marco
Beltrami is best suited to the setting – eerily soothing.
Many actors rely on dashing heroics to drive their point,
while my belief is that it is only the confident that leave it to their eyes which
Daniel delivers with utmost deftness. I have read critics making meaningless comparisons
to his present character with that of Harry Potter. I don’t know really what to
make of it other than saying it most blatantly that perhaps it is the inadequacy
of their limitations that are prodding them to draw such childish conclusions
rather than giving the kid, who is now all grown up, his deserved due.
