FORSAKEN
by Chris Dashiell

Ghost stories are a more subtle form of horror than the monster or murder films that we’ve been overloaded with in recent years. When done right, they evoke a shiver rather than a scream, a lingering disquiet, or, as in the case of The Orphanage, a new film from Spain, deep feelings of sadness and grief.

Laura (Belén Rueda), grew up in a spacious country orphanage. Now she and her husband have bought the old house and moved in with their young son Simon. They plan to turn it into an orphanage again, this time as a more modern and loving environment. One day an elderly woman arrives claiming to be a social worker checking up on Simon. Laura turns the stranger out of the house—her husband’s a doctor, so they have no need for help, and they haven’t yet told Simon that he’s adopted, or that he’s HIV-positive. But the boy is starting to act strangely. He plays games with imaginary friends, and somehow discovers the truth about himself that his parents have been hiding. At the grand opening of the new orphanage, in a party atmosphere where people are wearing costumes, mother and son quarrel, then she is injured in an encounter with a child wearing a grotesque mask made of burlap. After this eerie encounter, Simon disappears. The rest of the film tells of Laura’s desperate quest to find her child, which involves unearthing the house’s awful secrets.

The Orphanage was written by Sergio Sánchez and directed by newcomer J.A. Bayona. Its baroque style shows the influence of the producer, Guillermo del Toro, who gave us last year’s Pan’s Labyrinth. The house in the movie is a perfect setting for spooks, seeming realistic enough to be just an old house, but with a trace of fear and menace. Bayona excels at creating queasy feelings of dread, especially in the brief home movie flashbacks to life in the orphanage, where the rough style of that form makes everything look strange. An episode involving Geraldine Chaplin as a psychic investigator—a plot element ripe for parody—actually manages to build the tension. Best of all is the lead actress Rueda, a popular TV star in Spain who shows admirable range here. She carries the film with an excellent, nuanced portrait of a mother shattered with grief and determined to find the truth.

Ghost stories require a certain suspension of disbelief. This one has its share of plot holes that might not withstand much scrutiny. But Bayona smoothes the way for us without breaking the spell. In the second half of the film we discover that the picture has another purpose besides just scaring us. The theme of abandonment and neglect, embodied in the image of the orphan, leads to an exploration of mourning and loss that I found very affecting. The Orphanage gives us not just a haunted house, but the desire of a parent’s haunted heart.

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In the fantasy world of Hollywood movies, abortion doesn’t seem to be an option for women. I don’t want to be too harsh on films like Juno or Knocked Up, which are after all only comedies. On the other hand, I think there’s a basic sense of denial in the culture about what women face and what their choices really are. So it's important to acknowledge the achievement of Cristian Mungiu's 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days, which presents a serious and totally committed depiction of what making abortion illegal looks like, while exploring a whole range of themes beyond that.

The time is 1987, during the last days of the brutal Ceausescu regime in Romania. In an unnamed town, two young women students, Gabita (Laura Vasiliu) and Otilia (Anamaria Marinca), prepare to leave their dormitory for the weekend. As viewers we are thrust into their world without being told beforehand what they're up to, which makes the film’s gradual revelations more troubling. Gabita, as it turns out, has made arrangements for an illegal abortion. Her more outgoing friend Otilia is in charge of booking a hotel room and meeting the abortionist. She is frustrated at every turn, and when the two friends are finally together with the abortionist, a shady character who calls himself Mr. Bebe, in the hotel room, things get worse. This long central sequence, in which this abusive man ups the ante to horrific levels, resonates both with the abject position of women in that society, and the incredible courage of the pregnant woman’s friend Otilia, who turns out to be the film’s main character.

The picture is a remarkably disciplined piece of work, using chunks of real time, a visual style that mirrors the darkness of a corrupt society, and, significantly, no musical score. We see the poisonous results of a system in which gender and class determine the degree of power or powerlessness. Abortion was illegal in Romania at that time, and the restless camera following the characters emphasizes the feeling of being constantly watched in a totalitarian society. Marinca is devastating in the lead role. We see her character’s spirit wilting before our eyes, yet she continues indomitably, to help her friend. One brilliant scene has her attending a birthday dinner for her boyfriend’s mother during a break in the ordeal—the stationary camera shows her sitting at the table, surrounded by guests of a more privileged class, whose heedless and insensitive chatter plays against the grief of what she’s already been through, and her worries about what will come.

The title refers to the length of Gabita’s pregnancy. The actual story takes place in one terrible day. I found myself going over the film’s details later in my mind, making significant connections between the words and events. The film works on many levels—political, social, and personal—with a single-minded intensity. The truth sometimes hurt a lot, but there’s a special power in that as well.


©2008 Chris Dashiell
CineScene