First screening for students this academic year — THE SPIRIT OF THE BEEHIVE. Seen it a few times, screened it a few times. Was mildly worried it might be too slow an opener for our fresh intake of students, but they lapped it up. Good discussion afterwards, in which I admitted I’m still finding new things in it.
(Shadowplay and I are now so old I had to check I hadn’t written about this one before. But all I found was this — and I have no memory either of writing it, or of the events described.)
The whole movie takes place because of the lacuna in James Whale’s 1931 FRANKENSTEIN created by the censor. For decades, the movie was screened without the depiction of the little girl’s death, making Boris the monster’s implied actions more inexplicable and terrible. With the restored footage, her drowning is clearly an accident, since the monster doesn’t realize that children don’t automatically float. But little Ana Torrent in SPIRIT sees the truncated print (also dubbed into Spanish, with the introduction “Well, we warned you!” revoiced as an apt but unheeded “Don’t take it too seriously,”) and, confused by the scene and by her slightly twisted older sister’s explanations (which seem to fuse Mary Shelley with a child’s version of Catholic mythology), drifts into an anxious world of fantasy.
Ana Torrent’s eyes are big black dots, like those of the mouse in DUMBO, and in their obsidian depths, what dreams may come? Monsters are brought forth.
Early on, the mother in the movie writes a letter, seemingly to a lover. When her daughter disappears, she burns another letter. On this viewing, I flashed on a possible interpretation, again informed by Catholicism, and in this case, Graham Greene and The End of the Affair. Is the mother bargaining with God? I destroy my lover’s reply, and will be a faithful wife now, if my daughter is returned safe.
None of the students (I just typed “other students” by mistake, but I could just as well let it stand) had reached this conclusion, but I think only one of them had seen the film before, and none had an alternative interp. The beauty of Erice’s poetic and allusive style is that, while some connections (between plot points, between strands of the film’s rich imagery) seem definite, others can be pondered endlessly, as if this movie, too, had a missing scene that would make all clear.