Housekeeping Horror

I used to get so damn irritated when I would be super-into a movie and my mom would suddenly regain consciousness and say, "Oh wow, I love that kitchen," or something else that totally took me out of the zeitgeist and narrative. "Look at that wicker swing. You can't find those anywhere." "Do you think those drapes would look good in the den?"

It was insufferable.

"What? Well, aya, you wanted me to watch the movie with you, Mary Kay."

Here's the thing I realized about that though: that's how she enjoyed movies. The set. She identified with the characters based on their choice in decor--but listen, that's not as weird as it seemed to me when I was a teenager. Here's the thing about having women protagonists in a historically-set film (and this one is Victorian, so shit is REAL historical): the house is IT, dude. The house was the realm in which the women existed--if your house was shitty, so was you.

Think about the last time you went to a friend's house. What's the first thing to do when you walk in? Find something to compliment. The more specific, the more authentic. And don't tell me y'all didn't know till right now that the language of the adult human female is compliments.

But for real, just as recently as, like, the 1960s, women didn't ever meet friends at the bar--hell, even today when I tell someone I went out by myself they're surprised. But until recently, you had your friends over for dinner. Or cocktail hour. Or you hosted a fundraiser or a birthday party or a baby or bridal shower, and you did this--I mean, women STILL do this, but it was, then, your only option--you did this so your friends could admire your house, how clean it was, how well it was decorated, et cetera. See: housewarming party.

Essentially, what people thought of your house is what they thought of you.

Keep that idea in your back pocket--I'm coming back to it REAL soon, I swear.

Our protagonist in Guillermo del Toro's gothic horror film Crimson Peak lives in this beast of a mansion in, I think, turn-of-the-century New York (based on her father going to "the club" and proximity to publishers, trains...):

She is a very fair, very frail, very artistic only child, young-adult heir to a single-dad construction-company owner (I thought of Rockefeller, and it seems like that was intentional) during the industrial era. Subtext, this bitch is loaded, or will be when her dad dies--her mother has died already.

Don't worry, I didn't spoil anything for you yet--

[SPOILERS START HERE]

Here's the gist of the movie's agenda--okay, here's the gist of the movie's maybe-unintended but DEFINITELY STILL THERE agenda: women are houses. Or at least, their identities are their houses. And as we all know, women can't BUY houses, they inherit them. So, by extension, women inherit their identities, and there are several ways to do that. No, sorry. There are exactly two ways to do that. You can inherit your identity from your parents, or you can trade your identity for your husband's. And if you don't have either of those bartering chips... well, it sucks to suck!

Tragically, her mother died in of "black cholera" when Edith was a child, and this is what she looked like:

At least that's the only way we see her: slouching all steamily down the hallway to terrify the shit out of her kid with a weird-ass prophecy after wrapping a tentacle hand over her tiny biceps. And, hold up, if y'all didn't know this about prophecies in literature, they ALWAYS come true. Especially if you try to avoid them. The only things we know about Edith's mom are that she died of cholera (a really ugly death, from what I understand), she was married to Edith's father, and because of those two things, Daddy Cushing (sounds like a record label producer, right?) decides his wife will have a closed casket.

By the way, the hall that she walks/drips up belongs to Daddy Cushing, which is why it looks like the inside of a velvet-lined and overgrown casket. See?



Boom. Subpoint delivered.

Now Edith, as I have mentioned, is of a sensitive and artistic temperament, which reflects in her outer appearance. She is very thin--and I just want to go on record and say that this is probably a historical inaccuracy* because thin WAS NOT IN VOGUE in the Victorian era--and she is made to look frail, Spartan and swallowed inside of all that fabric.

Okay, so also, and it makes me gag a little to say this, but Edith's ideal love life--and this comes from a challange from her BFF's bougey mom--is Mary Shelley's. WHAT. Of course we know she wrote Frankenstein, but she also, as Edith says, "Died a widow," which--bitch, what? Why would you want that? Percy Bysshe, I'm pretty sure, DROWNED to death when they were both, like, real young. I mean, Mary Shelley was a successful author, but her life was also full of tragedy! Get a new role model, you sick fuck!

So those lines are heavyhanded foreshadowing for the loose love story in the beginning, of course, because without a love story, there is no story when women are concerned (as Edith Cushing's prospective editor/publisher tells her, and as we have been told since the beginning of time). But all the threads are tenuous. Just REAL QUICK, here's what happens--the love story is by far the least interesting aspect of this film, so I'ma just get it out of the way: What's-his-name, Thomas, the baronet, he is WAY too zealous in pursuing Edith, even for Victorian time. Edith's dad smells something fishy that he can't put his finger on, so he pays off the baronet... SHARPE! That's his last name. Also, tf is a baronet, am I right? I googled it and it's somewhere between a knight and a lord, I think, but whatev. So her daddy is like, this dude is no good, and he pays off him and his sister. Daddy Cushing dies a violent, mysterious death, Edith marries Thomas in a panic, and she moves back to Allerdale Hall in England, which is, you guessed, also known as Crimson Peak. Then Edith and Lucille fight over the boy.

Oh, I haven't mentioned the sister yet? Let me slow this shit down, because Lucille Sharpe, Thomas' sister is the most interesting thing in this movie. She's a goth Jessica Chastain. Why would you ever change your hair if you were a redhead? (I wouldn't.) But the answer is, of course, because women are their houses. And check this shit out. She is doing that dark hair right.

Now look at that fucking house. It matches Lucille (Jessica Chastain) EXACTLY. Gorgeous, decadent, dark, cold, held together by sheer force of will... see how all the descriptors go both ways?

One of the first fishy things that Edith should have noticed is when Lucille refused to give her a copy of the house keys, but Edith just assumes it's for her own good--I mean, outside of writing her stories, which are apparently pretty good, she hasn't had to think for herself before. Why would she think it was suspicious that certain parts of the house were off-limits (like the lower floors), and that she had keys to none of the rooms, so could be locked in indefinitely?

But wait. What man is influencing Lucille? She's just living in her bachelor brother's house. Whose identity did she take? She's not married. She has no father. The only allusion to him was in this scene where Edith wakes up and wanders into the atrium while Lucille is playing the piano. She's naive enough to say, "I could see you and Thomas in here as children," which is innocuous enough, except for Lucille says, "We weren't allowed in here as children. We were kept in the nursery. In the attic." (First foreshadowing to your Madwoman in the Attic trope--also, why so fucking hostile, Lucille?)

In this scene, we learn that the Sharpe's mother was "horrible" and that Lucille took "so many beatings" on Thomas' behalf.

Look at this room, y'all. If I could blow big money on one dumb thing, it would be replicating this room exactly. Well, if I'm being honest, there would be some oversaturation in the color scheme, if I was doing my own thing, but still, check this out.

Compliments I'd give this hostess: beautiful setup. Love that sofa table. I love the way the skylight cuts through the dark color scheme. Where did you get that screen? Did you embroider this upholstery? How old is this piano--girl, this has to be an heirloom, look at that craftsmanship!

If you couldn't tell already, I am my mother's child.

But of course, the ever-hostile and jealous Lucille--look I am placing ZERO judgement on her feelings. I actually feel like each burst of quiet rage is totally justified. My point was that Lucille would receive none of these compliments well, just like she didn't take Edith's compliment. Instead she talks about her childhood, about how rough it was for both of them, but how it was much, much worse for her.

Their father was also abusive. According to Lucille, he broke their mother's leg. He BROKE HER FUCKING LEG, Y'ALL. By stepping on it! What the shit?! So, Lucille has the genetics of explosive rage and the trauma from that physical and emotional abuse to manage, in addition to falling on all the grenades for her brother, Baronet Sharpe, the sallow-cheeked Byronic hero who can't think or kill for himself, who looked "perfect" when they were children, who carved toys for her when they were children, for whom she took alllllll the punishments.

Also, she does some recon on Edith and Thomas' sexual relationship, showing her the fore-edge Orientalist orgy paintings and saying in a non-discreet way, "This can't shock you. Now that you and Thomas...."

Being the astute bitch I am who knows a threat when she hears one, my suspicions were confirmed immediately, because, hoe, why you tryina find out about your brother's sex life? That's nasty!

Of course, because Edith is naive and silly/smart and sensitive or whatever, she tells the truth like an idiot: "He was respectful of my mourning. Nothing happened." (taboo buzzer sounds) WRONG. You never admit that! That's when bitches be moving in, circling like vultures with tits, just waiting to find him in a moment of weakness when they can pussywhip him--not that I've done it I'm just saying it's really easy.

This is the polarizing moment: at this time you either align yourself with the noble and naive Edith, or you align yourself with the cynical realist, Lucille. Can you guess which one I am?

So of course your intuition about Lucille from scene 1, when she turns from the piano at the party with that bigass decadent ruby wedding ring on to see her brother arrive at the party with Edith, late, scandalous, is correct. They are fucking. You heard me right: Lucille and Thomas, brother and sister, are fucking. She even sets Edith straight on this in probably my favorite section of dialogue in the movie:

Edith: I knew it. You're not really his sister.
Lucille: That's delightful. I am.
(Lucille pushes Edith over staircase railing)

Let's recap our list of character traits.

Edith's mother died of cholera when she was young. Her single father loved her very much, so much so that it gets him killed (by Lucille). Edith married Lucille's lover and her brother, the only family Edith has left, or ever will have.

Lucille killed her mother to protect her brother and herself from her abuse. She was also abused by her father. She and her brother hid the body. They began an incestuous sexual relationship. To rebuild the family fortune, Lucille devises a long con to fund Thomas' hairbrained inventions because she believes him, because he (and thus his idea) is her only way out of squalor, and because she loves him. Then the plan runs off the motherfucking tracks because Baronet fucking Sharpe falls in love with one of these fucking patsies. After all Lucille has done for him.

Motherfucking HUH? Oh nu uh. I'd stab him in the face, too.

Here's a visual representative of house to girl:

Edith

Look how light, how orderly even though it was fashionable to have too many accessories, how fair and small her arms look in those billowing sleeves. She's serving her beloved father who sits at the head of the table, just before he gives her a sweet present, a golden pen. Check those windows--if you were at this table, you'd say, "I love how you have so much natural light."

Lucille

Lucille has worn the same dress for essentially the whole movie: dark blue velvet, and a little out of fashion. Her hair is down here, though, and she's not wearing that dress. She's wearing the nightdress which she was wearing when Edith caught her and her brother fucking. And she's braiding human hair as a keepsake--no, a trophy, like the serial murderer that she is. The compliment you give when you show up in this room is... okay, this one is a little harder... "Are these antiques?"

Obviously, Sharpe dies even though neither woman truly blames HIM for the infidelity. Typical of movies, am I right? Women aren't capable of logic when their emotions get in the way...

  

Before I talk about the standoff, which is DOPE, I want to talk about the big reveal scene, which, if you were paying attention at all during the movie, is not a big reveal. The ghost of one of Thomas' former wives, "the Italian," points Edith toward the room where Thomas and Lucille are playing on the windowseat.

And to me, this is kind of a genius move. They are not mid-intercourse. They're just getting started. I actually believe THIS sex scene way more than that trite one at the depot.* I think I liked this sitting-up and beside each other blocking because if it was actual intercourse, someone would be on top--and even though neither of the realizes it, both of the siblings have power over the other. They both feel victimized, and both of them are, but they are also both terrible-awful people.

For all y'all Ediths out there, you even get a slow reveal:

Look at the emotions on each of their faces: Thomas is ashamed and reserved because he "loves" Edith and he and Lucille "have been dead for years." OKAY, handjob. It doesn't look dead HERE. And Lucille's emotions are just luscious: she is proud, happy to be hurting Edith because Edith has (however unconsciously) hurt her, but this is, of course, because they manipulated Edith, and through her youthful bliss at that dandy's affections, she fell right into their plan.

While Lucille chases Edith down the hall--where are they going, by the way?--she says, "It's all out in the open now. This is who I am. This is who he is."

And then the girls begin the stand off. Of course the dudes delay this a little bit: Arthur shows up (he's her friend from New York who is painfully obvious about his interest in her, and is the wiser choice in a husband since he, you know, has a job and Daddy Cushing likes him and would and does travel all the way to Europe to rescue her in the nick of time. And ALSO he isn't fucking his sister. That we know of). He sets her leg and sedates her (which I'm guessing his how she fights Lucille in a second even though her leg is broken/dislocated at some joint, like Lucille's mother's was). Arthur and Thomas fight (kind of. Thomas asks him where he can stab him that it won't kill him. [eyeroll]).

While the guys are off doing whatever halfass fighting, Lucille gets her big reveal scene. I never understood why Bond villains revealed their whole plans to their victims.

But in this case, it's a pretty nice payoff:

Edith: All this horror? For what? For money? To keep the mansion? The Sharpe name? The mines?
Lucille: The marriages were for money, of course. But the horror... the horror was for love. The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all.

And then there's the interaction in which Thomas tells his sister (who has literally done everything for him) that he's in love with his wife, which is horrible, and he suggest that they move. She is outraged, obviously: the house is all they have, even though nothing lives in it but "shadows," which is another term for ghosts. And they need a little "bitterness," too, according to Thomas. Bitter is an understatement: at this betrayal, Lucille stabs him twice in the chest and then once in the face. With scissors, or maybe a letter opener.

Even though I think he kind of deserved that, (I'm a Lucille,) she immediately regrets it, openly weeps, and holds him to her. This complexity of emotion I can get behind. She takes her rage out on him, and then she turns it on Edith. Okay, let's go.

I know some of y'all Ediths are thinking, "But she's innocent! She didn't do anything but fall into the trap they set for her!" In a sense, you're right, but in another, more irrationally emotional sense, I'm gonna tell y'all like my highschool friend who got kicked off dance team for fighting told me when I said, "But HE's the one who cheated." She looked at me and said, "Mary Kay, it takes two people to cheat." It's the best rationalization I can give. It's not logical, but it makes emotional sense. Anyone who has been betrayed by a person they love can tell you that, regardless of gender. And I'm not saying I've burned an effigy of an Other Woman, but it's that easy.

So when the girls finally fight--and they really go in--with what do they fight? Their respective tools: pens and kitchenware. And the house itself. And I LOVE IT.

And you know what else? Del Toro, thank you SO MUCH for showing how women actually fight: we fight smart, we fight dirty, and we fight to the fucking death, because if we are fighting, if we can't hold that shit in, someone's gonna die tonight. Regular contemporary women have incredible resolve. Can you even imagine what kind of discipline a Victorian woman would have? That's why the fight looks like this. And it's AWESOME.

Instead of having the halfnaked wet run through the sprinkler system that we have all grown so accustomed to and bored of, in this movie, the women USE THE HOUSE to fight each other. Now that's neo-gothic! Check out this still. This is after Edith in some stroke of genius uses the elevator door to pin Lucille's hand. We get this closeup of Lucille's left hand (complete with that giant wedding ring that for her is not a wedding ring), and we see Edith's kitchen knife slice her fingers twice, trying to get Lucille to let go of the door, which, of course, she doesn't. See what I mean by incredible resolve? Edith, you don't know what this bitch can take.

Eventually they end up outside, fighting around Thomas' steampunk clay-retrieving drill or whatever that machine actually is, and that's where Lucille dies, looking at the ghost of her brother/lover who hates her. And everyone is relieved. The voiceover comes on, repeating what we heard in the opening flashback, "Ghosts are real..." and then Edith explains everything to us.

Like the FinalGirl she is.

Oh, tell me that opening/last shot isn't a Texas Chainsaw Massacre homage.

They survive because they are cute and young and small and blonde and naive... NONE OF WHICH ARE SURVIVAL TRAITS. Cute and young and small and blonde and naive are the human versions of those fainting goats whose legs lock up when they get spooked--how is that evolutionarily sound?!

Let me close with these series of questions for y'all, regarding Lucille's badness: Do you think Lucille's falling in love with her brother--the only child she knew, the only person who ever gave a shit about her at all--is wrong? (No. It's inconvenient and socially unacceptable, not inherently wrong. Plus everyone loves that shit now because of Game of Thrones.) Do you think that her trying to help him make his pipedream into a reality at whatever cost was bad? (In my experience of men, they generally get frustrated if their SO does NOT do that.) Do you blame her for reacting strongly when the man to whom she dedicated her entire life from childhood on, kept up appearances for, and bore his "born wrong" child, says, "We can all start over?" (No, motherfucker. YOU can start over. I don't get that luxury!) After Edith murders Lucille (out of self defense, sure, but still), Edith is the one who inherits that house?

That's bullshit.

Maybe she shouldn't have gone SO extreme. I'll give you that. But exactly no one should have felt any sort of clear emotion--let alone disgust or hate--when all this was happening at her. If anything, get mad at the movie for rationalizing criminality the old-fashioned way: oh, she had a bad childhood. Because that isn't fair, and it oversimplifies her character.

As you can see, my main criticism of Crimson Peak, as it is of many, many films with female villains, is that we have the wrong protagonist. Like Daddy Cushing said, "We bank on effort, not privilege." Which of these women was the hard worker? Who really kept that house?

*This doesn't have much of a correlation to my argument, but I just DO NOT believe in that sex scene in the depot. First of all: no one acts like that when they lose their virginity, and second, girl-on-top would have been fuuuucking scandalous then. We're talking about a time when tables had SKIRTS because the table's legs were too sexy. We're talking about rebranding parts of chicken from "breast" and "thigh" to "white" and "dark" meat because we need euphemisms for the parts of our food. The CHICKEN is too sexy. I just don't believe fragile Edith would wrestle on top, Day 1, okay? I just don't buy it. Now LUCILLE? Lucille dgaf. She'd do it wherever, however, because according to Lucille, fuck propriety.