the woman in the attic
by Douglas Messerli
John Houseman, Aldous Huxley, Robert
Stevenson and Henry Koster (screenplay, based on Charlotte Brontë’s novel),
Robert Stevenson (director) Jane Eyre /
1944
The 19th century fiction about the
unloved orphan, Jane Eyre (Joan Fontaine) who falls in love and is loved by her
employer, Edward Rochester (Orson Welles) is so well known that it doesn’t need
to be retold. Although Stevenson’s solid direction departs from the novel in a
few places, it basically recreates the often menacingly and forlorn world of
its heroes, as they make their way through bleak worlds without love.
At first her relocation to Thornfield mansion to serve as governess for
her master’s young daughter, Adele (Margaret O’Brien) seems almost paradisiacal
after the halls of Lowood. Jane’s young charge appears so lovely and charming
that it is apparent she has lived in a world entirely the opposite of Jane. But
soon the halls of Thornfield, despite the seemingly gentle ministrations of the
housekeeper Mrs. Fairfax (Edith Barrett), also hint at unnamed horrors, if only
because of strange noises in the night. And it is similarly during a walk one
night that Jane encounters, quite dramatically, one of the most romantic
outsiders in all of English fiction in the form of Rochester atop a stallion,
both of whom are startled by the sudden appearance of the young woman.
If the blustery and still dramatically handsome Orson Welles immediately
consumes the attention of Stevenson’s camera, Joan Fontaine almost retreats
from her character—as she had previously been forced to do in her roles in Rebecca and Suspicion—becoming more of an observer and questioner than a
forceful figure in Rochester’s house. When Rochester brings in a whole caravan
of wealthy and sophisticated guests, moreover, Jane shrinks into nonexistence,
becoming ever more pained to hear from Mrs. Fairfax that the dashing man to
whom she indebted to her survival may marry one of the well-dressed women,
Blanche Ingram (Hillary Brooke).
What’s more, Jane begins to perceive that something in this large house
is terribly wrong, as she awakens, previous to the visitation of Rochester’s
guests, to a screech of laughter, finding Rochester’s bed has been lit on fire.
The destructive “other” woman (whom she believes to be Grace Poole) might
almost remind one, in fact, of a mix of Rebecca (the former wife of Hitchcock’s
melodrama) and the evil housekeeper of that work, Miss Danvers, who also sets
the house afire. Other visitors to Rochester, such as a man named Mason,
further convince Jane (and us) that something is strangely amiss in this house,
which may also explain Rochester’s long absences. Mason’s visit also results in
another attack by the strange woman in the closet, as Rochester leaves the governess
to care for the bleeding visitor as he fetches a doctor.
Miscomprehending events and fearing for
her own future, Jane finally comes somewhat into her own by confronting her
employer with the question of her own future once he marries, only to suddenly
discover that it is she whom he wants
to marry; and, soon after, facing the revelation that the woman in the attic is
not Grace Poole but Rochester’s mad wife, Bertha, to whom he is still married.
Despite her painful upbringing, Jane is still a moral (and perhaps bourgeois)
being, who refuses Rochester’s offer for the two of them living unmarried
abroad, and leaves the only real home she has ever had.
Taking up Rochester’s call, Jane returns to Thornfield with a resolute transformation of her character so complete, now faced with Thornfield’s destruction and Rochester’s blindness, that she finally perceives herself in a position that she has found not only someone who truly loves her but to whom she can minister, the art that she has been so dutifully taught through all her life. And in that transformation, a true miracle seems to occur, as Rochester regains his sight enough to see their new-born baby.
Although we are told that Bertha, in her mad attack on her husband and
house, jumped to her death, in a sense it does not matter that Rochester has
finally been freed of his social and marital ties to the past, because Jane has
herself finally abandoned the moral sanctimoniousness of the world that so
abused her. Stevenson’s Jane (just as Brontë’s) finally is able to assert her
being against a patriarchally-controlled and class-bound society which has
previously contrived to nearly destroy her.
Los Angeles, November 24, 2013
Reprinted from International Cinema Review (November 2013).
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