
And behind door #3 is … your mama!
Crimson Peak (2015) is a Gothic horror tale, and I’ll just come right out and say that I don’t understand the point of Gothic horror tales, but I’ll chat about it anyways.
Sir Thomas Sharpe has come to America in order to sell his invention, a mass mud extraction mechanism, with sister Lucille in tow. He comes across Carter Cushing, a very wealthy businessman and widower, and his nubile daughter Edith. Edith is an aspiring author – why this matters is never really clarified – who, as a child, was warned by her mother’s ghost, or perhaps some random trouble-maker ghost, about “Crimson Peak”.
Sir Sharpe fails to sell his invention to Mr. Cushing, and when he proposes to Edith, Cushing cuts him off at the knees, bribing the Sharpes to leave America immediately. But then Cushing is found dead in a communal shower, and Sharpe’s marital suit for Edith’s hand takes a turn for the better, and soon enough she accepts. Sharpe, having, he believes, secured funding, returns to his home.
Which is on a mountain where the mud runs red.
Well, Edith, despite being married, can hardly get laid unless she dangles her imminent inheritance in front of Thomas. She finds herself in a competition for Sir Thomas’ affections with Lucille … sister of Sir Thomas. The storytellers then, in what seems an interminable series of weird discoveries, hauntings, closeups on knives, and my Arts Editor commenting on their costumes, try to build suspense. I laughed a lot, and in retrospect I don’t think I liked Edith, or anyone else, enough to care.
Finally, in the midst of a snowstorm, the wine is clarified, along with the very sketchy backstory of Sir Thomas and Lucille, and Edith’s savior, who is so obscure we couldn’t recall if he was a surgeon or a lawyer[1], comes running in … and takes a knife to the belly. Competency at saving distressed maidens is generally appreciated in Gothic tales, but whatever. I do preach thinking outside of the box.
Well, in the context of frequent hauntings in this tale, it’s not entirely disingenuous to proclaim the characters live on, despite the general gouting of their blood, so regardless of your attachment to the good guys or the bad guys, The End is not really The End.
Perhaps the lesson of this tale is the consequences of being stubborn. Or maybe not. Since I didn’t really care for anyone at the end, I find the analysis to be a dubious enterprise. But if you like horror, with a heavy ladling atmosphere, you may like this modern take on the old Gothic horror tale.