by Frank Calvillo
When I was younger, I was drawn to reruns of the popular ’60s soap opera Dark Shadows. I loved how the classic series took standard dramatic storylines and set them against a supernatural world which bore little resemblance to any I had ever known. It was the first time I had become truly aware of the great power of storytelling and the endless bounds it possessed.
Watching Guillermo Del Toro’s Crimson Peak, I was reminded of what happens when a storyteller dares to defy conventions and take them to levels not too often explored.
In Crimson Peak, young well-to-do Edith (Mia Wasikowska) has lived with her widowed father (Jim Beaver) since her mother’s death, well over a decade before. Strong and independent, Edith dreams of being an author until she encounters the mysterious Thomas (Tom Hiddleston), an English aristocrat who instantly sweeps Edith off her feet, much to the dismay of her childhood friend and local physician Alan (Charlie Hunnam). After her father suffers a horrible death, Edith and Thomas decide to marry and soon find themselves traveling to Thomas’ childhood home in the remote English countryside, where both his domineering sister Lucille (Jessica Chastain) and various ghosts from the past still live.
Numerous films have repeatedly tried to be hybrids of other movies, mixing genres in an effort to spin the most unique yarn, with only a handful actually managing to pull it off. Within a half hour of watching Crimson Peak, it becomes obvious that Del Toro has managed the greatest hat trick by giving his eager and devoted following a film that works equally well as a sweeping love story and a campy melodrama.
While the film is marketed as a straight out ghost story, I naturally expected the romance aspect of Crimson Peak to serve as nothing more than a function. It was a pleasant surprise then to discover that in the midst of the violence and the supernatural, Del Toro and co-writer Matthew Robbins had taken the time to craft a genuine love story. The relationship between Thomas and Edith begins with obvious intentions (on Thomas’ part at least), but actually blossoms and develops in spite of the horrific trappings which continuously plague them. There’s a genuine tenderness to their moments together, such as enjoying their first time as husband and wife while stranded at the local inn, and the growing protectiveness Thomas shows towards Edith when faced with Lucille’s sinister presence. Wasikowska and Hiddleston’s performances are perfectly in tune with what their storyline calls for both and make for an entrancing, yet complex, couple. Make no mistake, Crimson Peak is as dark a tale as one would expect, but it also contains the kind of period love story that’s easy to be swept away by.
Working hand in hand with the romance of Edith and Thomas is a steadfast campiness to Crimson Peak that’s hard to ignore and even harder to resist. There’s a great level of fun that Del Toro and his actors have at playing up some of the grander aspects of Crimson Peak’s plot in touches that can be found all over the film. Doug Jones’ cameo (via portrait) as Thomas and Lucille’s mother, and lines such as Thomas telling Edith, “I find myself thinking of you at the most inopportune of times,” provide nothing but giddy fun. If Hiddleston and Wasikowska’s performances are seeped in romance, their fellow castmates have no problem camping it up. Chastain brings forward Lucille’s evil nature, but also highlights her outrageousness such as throwing a pot full of scrambled eggs all over the kitchen when she finds out Thomas and Edith spent the night in town. Similarly, Hunnam channels every dashing leading man from past period films and amps up both the heroics and charm as Edith’s savior and longtime secret love.
However, even though the characters may venture into a more animated world from time to time, Del Toro makes sure the even in his film’s campiest of times, the audience remains invested.
Even if Crimson Peak doesn’t prove everyone’s cup of tea, there’s no arguing that the film is more than successful at reminding people just how versatile and committed Del Toro is as a filmmaker. The director does a fairly remarkable job jumping back and forth between Edith’s own supernatural reality, which is filled with actual (and impressively constructed) ghosts, and the silently menace-filled one presided over by Lucille (who turns out to be the most horrific presence in the entire film).
Much like any film Del Toro directs, Crimson Peak is incredibly stylized to perfection, with every scene so artfully composed, there’s no way an Oscar nomination isn’t on the way for its costumes, art direction, and production design. Del Toro contrasts this with an unflinching brand of violence, which is more than startling enough for a period film, yet never reaches levels of excess.
A handful of Crimson Peak’s plot devices do indeed lean towards the familiar, and yet the film manages to work in spite of them, largely owing to the world Del Toro has created. It’s a truly fascinating world where realities are blended and beauty proudly stands alongside darkness. Its a world I could have spent all day in; one which is unmistakably Del Toro’s.
