By shifting the subgenre’s focus ever so discreetly, Director Peter Medak creates one of the most famous haunted house films, comparable in its atmosphere to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Robert Wise’s The Haunting. Stridently, George C. Scott carries the tale of political corruption and unrequited injustice to its emotionally-arresting conclusion as Medak perpetually evokes terror within his audience.

Composer John Russell (George C. Scott), loses his wife, Joanna, and young daughter, Kathy (Jean Marsh and Michelle Martin respectively), in a tragic car accident in upstate New York. In hopes of separating himself from his past, he accepts a teaching position in Seattle, where he takes a lease on a historical mansion that has remained vacant for over twelve years. Shortly after settling into the estate, an ominous presence presents itself. Seeking to reveal the anomaly, John discovers a veiled passage to the attic where several toys are found amid a child’s wheelchair. Incorrectly assuming the haunting is that of a small girl, John further delves into the house’s history to find that it is steeped in political greed which lead to the murder of a crippled boy named Joseph (Voldi Way) seventy years prior. In order to free the suffering soul from its torment, John must confront Joseph Carmichael (Melvyn Douglas), a powerful Senator, and present the latter with his morbid family history.

The film’s success lies in Medak’s ability to literally haunt his viewer, prompted by Scott’s depiction of John. Masterfully, the actor’s lazy eye of weathered apprehension instantaneously sets the mood. Some critics have cited that the professor’s steadfast rationalization of paranormal events downplays the terror. I concur that the effigy attempting to speak to him is never threatening which, at first, could be cited as a possible fault with the film. However, Medak does so intentionally in order to allow his audience to sympathize with John’s desire to seek retribution for the injustices which occurred over half a century before (John’s empathy is made all the more plausible given his recent loss). This said, the filmmaker’s new angle on the haunted house genre, one in which the evil presence is not deadly but despondent, permits his star to go a different direction than most who find themselves in such narratives and, in so doing, cunningly takes the viewer off guard when a starling scene does present itself. Thus, prior to being provided with an explanation of the incessant, early morning bass resonations, John’s balanced mindset is justifiable in that the house is old and the noise is feasible in this regard, that is to say, not abnormal as a disembodied voice would have been at this point in the film.

In lieu of Scott’s performance, the mansion itself is arguably the most intriguing character in the film. Not only is the house brooding–its endless corridors give way to expansive rooms in which one can freely absorb the odor of the polished mahogany door facings before vertigo sets in as we peer up into the infinitely ascending staircase–it is given an ambiguous legacy as its history extends back into the nineteenth century. Yes, this is only part of the clichéd aspect of such a film, atop Minnie Huxley (Ruth Springford), the historical society’s secretary, serving as the passé voice of foreboding; amble cobwebs which are never cleared away; self-closing doors; disembodied voices; and ominous noises in the night (actually, early morn). Yet, the director proves that however trite, such elements–if used in the proper proportions and at the correct intervals (there is nothing extraneous in this regard)–still retain the ability to evoke anxiety within their viewer.

My only gripe with the film is that the editing is choppy as best, though Lilla Pedersen does achieve something of an equilibrium midway through the film, her unbalanced work somewhat undercuts the otherwise solid feature.

Aside from being commended for stylistically crafting a film drenched in atmosphere, Peter Medak not only tweaks the normative haunted house antagonist by presenting a meek, sympathetic villain, but in place of positing his central conceit as representative of the current residents’ troubles (typically a family, epitomized by Stuart Rosenberg’s The Amityville Horror), he shifts his metaphorical import of the haunting to symbolize political corruption resulting in parricide. Many cite that the film, though stylistically taut, nonetheless offers little of consequence to the viewer outside of dependable entertainment yet with said theme, we witness how such corruption effects the lives of others, especially if the crime occurred within a realm as influential as national politics. Thus, Medak’s film not only succeeds in producing an effective haunted house tale, he adjusts the narrative’s focus ever so slightly, issuing a new, highly successful, take on a well-trodden genre.

-Egregious Gurnow