Haunting is the only word adequate to describe this film, haunting in the sense of a haunting melody or poetic verse, something that takes possession and lingers in the memory. This movie is a haunting melody. It lingers. It sticks in the memory. I can only compare it to Charles Laughton's "Night of the Hunter." I'm not sure which is the better, the more haunting film.
Sometimes, I read, "Curse of the Cat People" is faulted for being not a sequel. It doesn't continue its story. That is true. It transcends its story. The first story has ended. There is no continuation. There is a result. There is a consequence, the deserved result of what has happened. As you sow so shall you reap. Oliver and Alice in the first chapter have sown heartbreak. They have taken Irena, a fragile, lost woman and broken her, left her to be devoured by her fantasies. Divine justice sends them a fragile, lost child. Their callousness continues. It devours a delicate being. Oliver cannot, in his egotism, understand or empathize with his dream-filled daughter any more than he could his first wife. That wife died a victim of his disregard and betrayal, and Alice's connivance. Here divine mercy intervenes to save a second victim from that fate. Once again there is an element of the supernatural. Again, that element is tenuous. Was there ever truly a were-cat in "Cat People?" Or was it merely in Irena's disturbed mind? Does Irena really return "from great darkness and deep peace" to comfort and rescue a little girl? We never know surely. (Amy has found photos of the late Irena; she may have heard her name mentioned in whispered conversations.) I prefer to think that both specters, the vengeful black cat and the ghostly intercessor, are not entities but fantasies. They live in the minds of tormented people. Oliver and Alice? In the end, Oliver asks Amy, "Do you still see Irena?" "Yes." "I see her too." He doesn't. But he does see his error. He understands his cruelty. "Curse of the Cat People" is a fairytale, a fairytale of the gentlest type. Even the wicked repent and are redeemed.
Screenwriter DeWitt Bodeen had even the genius to add another plot, another redemption. Mrs. Farren (Julia Dean) and her daughter Barbara (Elizabeth Russell) are trapped, condemned to keep terrible, tortured company. Mrs. Farren is consumed by unreality. Her daughter searches for a spark of affection. Lewis Allen's ghost story "The Uninvited" came out in the same year, 1944 (also with Elizabeth Russell, who posed for the portrait of the benevolent ghost). There a ghostly guardian protects an innocent girl. Here Irena's spirit, not a ghost, protects Amy when she wanders into that malign menage. The old lady dies. Her spurned daughter glares: "You have robbed me even of my mother's last moments." Amy, on the stairs, looks down at the anguished figure. She sees her become her imaginary friend. She runs to embrace her. In that moment, in that embrace, Barbara too is redeemed.
Ann Carter deserved a juvenile Oscar, or at least some of the recognition accorded Peggy Ann Garner for "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" and Claude Jarman for "The Yearling." Simone Simon is, if possible, even more radiant than in the first film. Elizabeth Russell, for me, almost steals the movie. Her quiet movement, her downcast look half-despairing half-malevolent, her desperate voice, "but I AM your daughter," are heart-wrenchingly done. Val Lewton and DeWitt Bodeen turned a "horror movie" follow-up into something ethereal. The studio was dismayed. They did it anyway. Publicity posters picture a snarling black panther preparing audiences for a dose of terror. Audiences must have left bewildered. The Christmas Eve scene alone is unforgettable. Inside the house carolers sing. Only Amy hears Irena's thin, brittle voice outside: "Il est ne (accent aigu), le divin enfant." ("He is born, the holy child.") Irena and Amy stand together in the snow. The garden is transformed into a shimmering paradise. It is, in my mind, the greatest Christmas movie ever made. Irena's carol invokes the coming of the savior. Amy runs through darkness into danger. She is saved. Barbara is saved. Even the unfeeling Oliver sees the light. And perhaps the lost Irena finds repose.
Sometimes, I read, "Curse of the Cat People" is faulted for being not a sequel. It doesn't continue its story. That is true. It transcends its story. The first story has ended. There is no continuation. There is a result. There is a consequence, the deserved result of what has happened. As you sow so shall you reap. Oliver and Alice in the first chapter have sown heartbreak. They have taken Irena, a fragile, lost woman and broken her, left her to be devoured by her fantasies. Divine justice sends them a fragile, lost child. Their callousness continues. It devours a delicate being. Oliver cannot, in his egotism, understand or empathize with his dream-filled daughter any more than he could his first wife. That wife died a victim of his disregard and betrayal, and Alice's connivance. Here divine mercy intervenes to save a second victim from that fate. Once again there is an element of the supernatural. Again, that element is tenuous. Was there ever truly a were-cat in "Cat People?" Or was it merely in Irena's disturbed mind? Does Irena really return "from great darkness and deep peace" to comfort and rescue a little girl? We never know surely. (Amy has found photos of the late Irena; she may have heard her name mentioned in whispered conversations.) I prefer to think that both specters, the vengeful black cat and the ghostly intercessor, are not entities but fantasies. They live in the minds of tormented people. Oliver and Alice? In the end, Oliver asks Amy, "Do you still see Irena?" "Yes." "I see her too." He doesn't. But he does see his error. He understands his cruelty. "Curse of the Cat People" is a fairytale, a fairytale of the gentlest type. Even the wicked repent and are redeemed.
Screenwriter DeWitt Bodeen had even the genius to add another plot, another redemption. Mrs. Farren (Julia Dean) and her daughter Barbara (Elizabeth Russell) are trapped, condemned to keep terrible, tortured company. Mrs. Farren is consumed by unreality. Her daughter searches for a spark of affection. Lewis Allen's ghost story "The Uninvited" came out in the same year, 1944 (also with Elizabeth Russell, who posed for the portrait of the benevolent ghost). There a ghostly guardian protects an innocent girl. Here Irena's spirit, not a ghost, protects Amy when she wanders into that malign menage. The old lady dies. Her spurned daughter glares: "You have robbed me even of my mother's last moments." Amy, on the stairs, looks down at the anguished figure. She sees her become her imaginary friend. She runs to embrace her. In that moment, in that embrace, Barbara too is redeemed.
Ann Carter deserved a juvenile Oscar, or at least some of the recognition accorded Peggy Ann Garner for "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" and Claude Jarman for "The Yearling." Simone Simon is, if possible, even more radiant than in the first film. Elizabeth Russell, for me, almost steals the movie. Her quiet movement, her downcast look half-despairing half-malevolent, her desperate voice, "but I AM your daughter," are heart-wrenchingly done. Val Lewton and DeWitt Bodeen turned a "horror movie" follow-up into something ethereal. The studio was dismayed. They did it anyway. Publicity posters picture a snarling black panther preparing audiences for a dose of terror. Audiences must have left bewildered. The Christmas Eve scene alone is unforgettable. Inside the house carolers sing. Only Amy hears Irena's thin, brittle voice outside: "Il est ne (accent aigu), le divin enfant." ("He is born, the holy child.") Irena and Amy stand together in the snow. The garden is transformed into a shimmering paradise. It is, in my mind, the greatest Christmas movie ever made. Irena's carol invokes the coming of the savior. Amy runs through darkness into danger. She is saved. Barbara is saved. Even the unfeeling Oliver sees the light. And perhaps the lost Irena finds repose.