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• 1 2015-12-10T17:50:53-08:00 Intertexuality: Jane Eyre 13 plain 2015-12-11T15:15:25-08:00            If "Blue Beard" stops being the template for Crimson Peak after McMichael's attempted rescue, then we may think of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre as the text that reflects the film's resolution, and most centrally, the romance element.  Ironically, it and Crimson Peak were both released on October 16th, although over a hundred years apart. The two are similar in setting,  character, and narrative.
  
            Jane Eyre, like Crimson Peak, and the other aforementioned texts takes place at a mansion, in this case, Thornfield, and like the other sets, is characterized by elements of the supernatural, especially in the episodes with Bertha Mason, the first wife of Rochester, who he had been hidden in the attic:

   '...one would almost say that, if there were a ghost at Thornfield Hall, this would be its haunt.'
  
  'So I think: you have no ghost, then?'...Nor any traditions of one? no legends or ghost stories?'
  
  ' I believe not. And yet it is said the Rochesters have been rather a violent than a quiet race in their time: perhaps, though, that is the reason they rest tranquilly in their graves now.'" (Brontë 134; ch. 11)

  
  Then as Jane is further lead through the house by Mrs. Fairfax she notes upon the attic, where Bertha is without her knowledge kept and the text foreshadows her presence through an allusion to "Blue Beard".

  ... the attic seemed black as a vault...I lingered in the long passage to which this led, separating the front and back rooms of the third story: narrow, low, and dim, with only one little window at the far end, and looking, with its two rows of small black doors all shut, like a corridor in some Bluebeard's castle.
              While I paced softly on the last sound I expected to hear in so still a region, a laugh, struck my ear. (Brontë 135; ch 11)

  
  Ghosts and folk tales are what Jane thinks of when she unknowingly encounters or is near the secret wife of Mr. Rochester. Though yet discovered her existence is connected to the supernatural. Supernatural language is yet again used when Jane sees Bertha in her room one night.

  Ghosts are usually pale, Jane.'

  'This, sir, was purple: the lips were swelled and dark; the brow furrowed; the black eyebrows widely raised over the bloodshot eyes. Shall I tell you of what it reminded me?'
  
  'You may.'
  
  'Of the foul German spectre—the Vampyre.' (Brontë 57-58; ch. 25)

  
  Although the supernatural allusions remain just that, they still invoke an eerie atmosphere, one that masks the true threat of the house. Similarly in Crimson Peak the supernatural elements, the ghosts, are not the true antagonistic force our hero must face; it is ultimately the living, "other woman", Lucille and Bertha, who poses a physical danger to our main character. That the supernatural acts to mask or seems so connected to dangerous women suggests that powerful women, or threatening women, are unearthly or unnatural. In some ways I am reminded of witch hunts; there is a other-worldliness that becomes associated with these mysterious women.
  
              Yet the threat of these women to their respective heroines is not truly about the supernatural auras around them. Rather, it is these other women's relationship to the hero's male love interest that is threatening. After all, both Crimson Peak and Jane Eyre are romances, and what is more endangering the to a character in romantic plot than another woman? It is not ghosts these women, Jane and Edith, really have to fear, but other women whom their male love interest is entangled with. Romantic concerns then trump supernatural ones and thus in Jane Eyre and Crimson Peak the romantic plot usurps the supernatural as the central importance. That our female heroes' threats are revealed to be other women hails back to stereotypes that women are centrally concerned with romances and men.
  
              Besides, both these "other women", Bertha Mason and Lucille Sharpe being entangled with the supernatural aspects of their respective mansions, both are 'certifiably' mad. Of Bertha, Rochester says that he, "could not rid myself of it by any legal proceedings: for the doctors now discovered that my wife was mad" (Brontë 88; ch. 27). She was eventually shut up in the Thornfield Hall attic for ten years, which to be fair, would probably make anyone go insane (Brontë 92; ch. 27).  Bertha's madness is characterized by violent outbursts against men. She stabs her brother, sets Mr. Rochester's bed on fire, (Brontë 92; ch. 27) and attacks him when he takes Jane to see her: "the lunatic sprang and grappled his throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: they struggled....more than once she almost throttled him" (Brontë 70; ch. 26). Lucille it is implied, was sent to an asylum after the murder of her mother.
  
  
  As well, she warns Thomas that if their secret(s) were discovered she'd be "locked up"; this suggests that she may have already been "locked up" as she knows better than Thomas how they'll be viewed by society. 
  
  
  Like Bertha, Lucille is also characterized by violence. She is responsible for most of the physical conflict within the film, including the off screen murder of her mother.
  
  
  Lucille's madness comes much later in the film, after we've already learned that she's been sleeping with her brother and orchestrating the marriages and murders of his wives—why this supposed insanity is added to her character is a I can only estimate as for gaudy effect. There is, in media, a tendency to reduce sufferers of mental illness as bizarre and frightening phenomenon to be littered into horror stories for cheap shock value. It also cheap writing, as it is often used to explain away motives for a character's peculiar behaviour. What is it that makes Lucille 'insane'? If it is the incest and the violence, then this has many dangerous implications about what characterizes mental illness, and reinforces negative stereotypes about people with mental illness, and even further wrongly clears criminals of moral wrongdoing under the pretense that they were in an altered state of mind. Although violent tendencies do exist in some conditions (and some are characterized by such tendencies) they are almost never explored accurately and Crimson Peak is no exception.  If the idea is that, Lucille's behaviour in general was found quaint, and she was unjustly sent her to an asylum, then the movie did a poor job of making that clear.
  
              Why are both these other women, in these Victorian-esque romances mad? Is it simply another toxic stereotype about women, that they tend to go crazy? An important distinction to be made in this case is that Jane Eyre was a product of the times. The time period of the text was the same as Charlotte Brontë's. Crimson Peak however, released 2015, is very much playing with genre. What was known about madness is Brontë's time is far less than what we know now, and as such, the more current text has a responsibility to be more accurate and careful in representing serious illnesses.
  
              Perhaps one of the more narrative similarities of these texts is the redemption arc of the male leads and romantic interests. Much has been written on the redemption of Edward Rochester. The Thornfield fire that leads to loss of his sight, one eye, and his hand have been referred to as a "castration" by Adrienne Rich in her essay included in the  2001 Norton Critical Edition of Jane Eyre (481). The physical ailments are usually seen as morally just punishments for his un-Christian lifestyle and his attempts to take on a second wife while the first was living, not so much in-text, but in accordance with the Victorian morals of the time. However, by the end of the novel the sentiment, by his injuries and Jane's subsequent inherited wealth, is that the two lovers are no longer of unequal positions of power. Now, with his first wife truly dead, and him, punished for sins, Rochester is worthy of Jane's love.  
  
              Thomas too, undergoes a redemption arc in Crimson Peak.  Our typical, brooding and eccentric Byronic hero, Thomas Sharpe is narratively punished for his involvement in the  repeated murders of his wives (and others) by death. As far as we know, Thomas has never actually killed anyone directly, but he helps to poison Edith, and knows full well that she supposed to die after their marriage, which he initiates her into anyways. After we first found out of Thomas' previous marriages and death of those wives he is implicitly dangerous, and guilty to the audience. But as the movie proceeds from Edith's discovery, we learn that it was Lucille who killed her father, not Thomas, and Lucille who killed the Lady Sharpe. Lucille is Thomas senior by four years, and she cared for him since he was young which indicates it was largely her who began the incestuous relationship and manipulated Thomas into each following venture. As these events unravel Thomas becomes somewhat elevated of guilt.  He's also been exhibiting reservations and feelings for Edith: he encourages her not to drink the poisoned tea, destroys the documents to transfer her estate, and assists her in fighting Lucille. It is by that last act, and his own death, that he is redeemed. As much horror he has caused and facilitated in Edith's life, their last meeting is tender and bittersweet, as indicated by the music, Edith's caress, and her tears.
  
  However, as I have explained, part of the reason Thomas can be redeemed at all is because the audience knows his sister bears more blame for the murders. Just Bertha must die to "free up" Rochester, Lucille must bear the blame to make Thomas worthy of Edith's love. Obviously, the redemptions of a male character, specifically a female character's love interest, by the blaming of his female family is not particularly feminist, as it merely falls back to a tendency to blame women for men's behaviour. That part of Thomas' redemption, helping Edith, is assisting the murder of his sister is also alarming: it may remain justified by the narrative, but it is still a narrative that where a male character profits (in this case, he is "morally" saved) by the murder of his female relative.