Robert Wise
Gli Invasati

Based on The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, The Haunting is a classic ghost story that couldn't be more classic, and an epigone of the haunted house subgenre.

In a New England mansion known for the violent deaths of its inhabitants, Professor Markway (Richard Johnson), an anthropologist and parapsychology researcher, gathers three people to verify the paranormal effects of the place: Luke (Russ Tamblyn), the heir to the property, Theodora (Claire Bloom), a lesbian with medium powers, and the mythomaniac Eleanor (Julie Harris), convinced she is responsible for her mother's death. The situation, tense from the start due to the villa's diabolical atmosphere and Eleanor's mental disturbances, will spiral with the arrival of Mrs. Grace (Lois Maxwell), the professor's wife, leading to the tragic finale.

Known to be one of Hollywood's most eclectic professionals (among others, he directed the film adaptation of Star Trek and the musicals West Side Story and The Sound of Music), Robert Wise was also an excellent horror director, and this 1963 gem undoubtedly bears the marks of Wise's apprenticeship with producer Val Lewton, renowned for his suggestive, evocative style, relying more on doubt and uncertainty than on the overt revelation of horror. Thus, throughout the film, we never witness actual supernatural events (except for the scene of the door bulging), but only the terrified reactions of the characters. The story - as the rules of 19th-century fantastic tales dictate - remains until the end balanced between rationality and imagination, objectivity and subjectivity, and we are never told if what is happening is truly due to the ghosts invading Hill House or merely the protagonist's disturbed imagination.

As in certain Polanski films (and the fragile and fearful Julie Harris can't help but remind us of Mia Farrow), the real focus of the director's attention is the often ambiguous dynamics of crossed attractions and jealousies that form among the group of characters. Certainly memorable is the psychological exploration carried out on a complex and multifaceted character like Eleanor, whose progressive mental breakdown is depicted with great finesse, thanks in part to the sensitive performance of the actress.

This does not, however, detract from the tension, which remains enormously high throughout the film, despite some lengthy parts and unnecessary dialogue. Wise, a former editor, manages to scare by making careful use of framing, creating still terrifying moments simply by capturing a moving shadow, the face of a statue, an inscription on the wall. Nor should we forget the fundamental contributions of the soundtrack (a true catalogue of scares: sudden noises, creaks, spectral voices, dissonances) and the beautiful black-and-white photography.

A film so memorable, of course, could not avoid being ruined by a remake, which duly arrived in 1999 by Jan De Bont, a special effects-driven and noisy digital grand-guignol that only makes one long for the original's anguishing and refined construction.