My name is Jane Eyre... I was born in 1820, a harsh time of change in England. Money and position seemed all that mattered. Charity was a cold and disagreeable word. Religion too often wore a mask of bigotry and cruelty. There was no place for the poor or the unfortunate. I had no father or mother, brother or sister. As a child I lived with my aunt, Mrs. Reed of Gateshead Hall. I do not remember that she ever spoke one kind word to me.
Charlotte Bronte’s 1847 novel Jane Eyre chronicled the life of a young, abused orphan girl as she managed to escape the clutches of her overbearing aunt only to wind up in the cold, cruel world of a British orphanage. Her only true friend during her childhood died, and, so, she must tamp down her inquisitive spirit in order to survive. As an adult, she shows herself a fine teacher and takes the position of governess at Thornfield, the sprawling country estate of a mysterious man—Mr. Rochester. Little did Jane know that the angry gentleman she startled in the mist was to be her master. And little did Mr. Rochester know that Jane’s presence would change his lfie forever. Thornfield was haunted. Not by a ghost per se, but haunted by a presence nonetheless—a presence which clouded every step that Rochester took. Would Jane expose the secrets of the Hall as she grew reluctantly closer to her master? In true Gothic fashion, the answer, of course, was “yes.”
Several film adaptations of Jane Eyre have been produced. In my opinion, none are finer than the 1944 version starring Orson Welles as Mr. Rochester, the fascinating Joan Fontaine (sister and rival of Olivia de Havilland) as Jane, Margaret O’Brien (the great weeper) as Mr. Rochester’s ward, and featuring an uncredited early film appearance by a young Elizabeth Taylor as Jane’s ill-fated orphan friend. Of particular note is the performance of Agnes Moorehead (good ol’ Endora) as Jane’s wicked, yet strangely pathetic, aunt.
The script of the film was based on an adaptation written by Welles himself for his radio program, “Mercury Theater on the Air.” Welles—undoubtedly one of the most clever film directors of his day—was having some difficulty finding work as a director due to some of the issues surrounding a little film he directed called Citizen Kane. While Welles did not direct this picture (it was credited as being directed by Robert Stevenson), his hand is all over it. He is responsible for the impressive mists and the realistic recreation of the moors that are almost unrecognizable as a Hollywood soundstage. Stevenson recognized Welles’ contributions and offered him a producer credit which Welles declined, stating, “a person who is not considered the director, should not be credited as ‘just’ a producer.”
This film is exciting and beautiful. Even if you know the original novel line-by-line, you’ll find yourself swept up in the picture’s numerous suspenseful twists and turns. With a haunting score by Bernard Hermann, the film is at once tender and mysterious. Welles plays Rochester with great sympathy, and no one could have done a better job with Jane than Joan Fontaine who played a similar role in Hitchcock’s stunning Rebecca. You’re sure to be on the edge of your seat. Just watch out for “Grace Poole.”
(Pardon the captioning in this clip. For some reason, I couldn't find another one that wasn't dubbed into French or Spanish).
Did I dream? Did I really, really dream? --"Paula Anton"
Terrible things happened one night at 9 Thornton Square. The famed opera singer, Alice Alquist, was murdered in the sumptuous Belgravia townhouse—her body left lying on the floor in front of her portrait. Her young niece, Paula, was alone with her that night, and found her lifeless body.
Years later, Paula herself is studying to be a singer. The teacher’s accompanist is a dashing Frenchman named Gregory Anton. Paula finds herself in love with the dashing pianist, and, soon, they are married. Gregory has one wish for their life together. He’s always dreamed of living in one of “those English Squares.” “I know of such a square,” Paula says cautiously. And, so, she and Gregory go to England.
Married life is not so terribly blissful for Paula. Gregory is always telling her that she’s “ill.” She hears noises in the house—on the top floor, the floor that has been sealed off, the floor that contains her aunt’s belongings. Each night, while Gregory is out at his studio, the gaslights dim and the horrible noises begin. Why won’t anyone believe her? The kind, but deaf housekeeper, Elizabeth, is good-hearted, but dubious. Nancy, the new parlor maid is a tart who belittles her mistress. Soon, Paula begins misplacing things. Gregory tells her that she is mad, that she’s just like her mother, “who died in an asylum with only half a brain.” And what about that letter from someone named Sergius Bauer? Did it exist? Did any of it exist?
This is the story behind one of the most gripping films directed by George Cukor. The 1944 version of Gaslight starred the enchanting, sensational Ingrid Bergman as Paula, Charles Boyer as Gregory, Joseph Cotten as the Scotland Yard detective who comes to Paula’s aid, Dame May Whitty as their curious neighbor, and marked the film debut of Angela Lansbury as Nancy. This film is based, in part, on Patrick Hamilton's Broadway play, Angel Street of 1941. An earlier version—quite different from Cukor’s—had been filmed in Great Britain in 1940.
Cukor’s version, while different from its predecessors, had the budget to make the film a blockbuster. With a scintillating cast and superb performances, the film is engrossing and mesmerizing. Ingrid Bergman’s performance alone is worth seeing. She is superb and delivers what I consider her best performance. She earned an Academy Award nomination for best actress for the part.
Another element about this movie that I just adore is the sets. They are quintessentially Victorian and truly remarkable in every detail. I wouldn’t mind living in that house—without Charles Boyer, of course. If you want a tale of betrayal, deceit, madness, murder and jewel theft, this is the film for you. And, you’d be challenged to find a better one.
See for yourself in this clip of one of my favorite scenes. Isn't she utterly brilliant?
