#111: The Spiral Staircase
A proto-slasher tribute to silent film and Expressionism
This review was originally posted to Twitter on June 10, 2019.
Initial release: February 6, 1946
Director: Robert Siodmak
It makes a lot of sense that film noir and horror would have a lot of overlap. Both rely heavily on moody lighting, long shadows, a tense atmosphere, even moments of raw terror. Robert Siodmak’s seminal proto-slasher The Spiral Staircase is a perfect example: a serial killer is on the loose in small-town Vermont around the turn of the century (exactly when is unclear, but the mid-1910s seems likely.) As the film opens, he’s already killed two disabled women, and soon claims a third. This isn’t good news for Helen, our heroine — who’s mute.
She heads home from seeing a movie (1914’s The Kiss, incidentally) just as a storm breaks out; along the way it becomes clear the whole town is in an uproar over the latest murder, and everyone is concerned for Helen’s safety, most of all her boss’s bedridden, elderly stepmother, Mrs. Warren. That Mrs. Warren should be played by none other than silent film legend Ethel Barrymore lends credence to the idea that Helen’s muteness is, at least in part, an homage to the silent era of film.
But there’s also a question of agency. Helen, as a maid for the wealthy Professor Warren, is naturally on the job 24/7, with all that entails, but there’s also the constant push and pull as various characters impose on her what they think is best for her. Her doctor boyfriend Parry resorts to outright cruelty in getting her to overcome the childhood shock that made her mute in the first place, and has been pushing hard for her to see specialists in Boston. Mrs. Warren is convinced that Helen’s in immediate danger and must leave tonight. Everyone seems to want something from Helen, who has no real voice for herself, and in one dark scene, she envisions getting married to Dr. Parry yet being unable to say “I do.” Her lack of voice betrays her lack of agency, and everyone’s pledges to protect her seem patronizing.
This is a brilliant, gorgeously-realized film. It’s the perfect mix of film noir with horror elements, with a slasher flick vibe long before the likes of Halloween or Friday the 13th — though the body count is relatively low of course. This IS the Hays Code era, after all. There’s also an element of the gothic to it — a young blonde being menaced by a sinister foe as she’s trapped in a gorgeous, isolated manor house. Really, this film has it all. Siodmak’s cinematography is nothing short of a work of art; this is by far one of the best looking films of the 1940s. His use of light and shadow would make Fritz Lang proud, and indeed Siodmak’s German roots seem to show through in his noir-expressionist style.
A good, brisk script keeps the film moving along smoothly, with a superb cast to play it, led most of all by the rapport between Ethyl Barrymore and Dorothy McGuire’s Helen. A silent film star next to a lead actress whose character is mute — this has to have been intentional. McGuire is as expressionate as you’d expect, or even more than that, capable of getting across her emotions without ever saying a word.
At only 83 minutes this is a short, sharp flick that I would absolutely recommend to fans of film noir or horror, especially classic film of the 30s and 40s.
