Child’s Play: creepy goings-on haunt the Birmingham Rep in Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw.
The Turn of The Screw based on Henry James novel. Written by Morgan Lloyd Malcolm. Directed by Nicky Allpress. At The Birmingham Rep until 31st October 2026.
By Amanda Burden
There is a long tradition in horror of being highly suspicious of children who are a bit too well-behaved. From satanic spawn Damien in The Omen to the white-blonde, Hitler Youth-esque troop of mini supermen and women in Children of the Damned, we seem to harbour a deep distrust of the immaculately groomed, unnervingly compliant child who never answers back, breaks a rule or rolls their eyes with such ferocity that it is a miracle the balls don't detach from their sockets and hurtle across the carpet like an Ian Botham thunderbolt at the Oval.
Why this should be, I don’t know. Having raised two feral offspring, I would certainly give demonic possession serious consideration in exchange for peaceful acquiescence to the occasional reasonable entreaty to bring the laundry downstairs or empty the dishwasher, rather than the despairing operatic sighs and withering glances capable of refreezing the polar ice caps that usually greet such requests.
Or maybe not. After all, such a volte-face in character must naturally raise the hackles. What are these children hiding? What do they know that we don’t? And why are they looking at us like that?
In Nicky Allpress’s The Turn of the Screw, currently at the Birmingham Rep for Halloween, the answer is - of course - that something is very wrong indeed.
The story begins with a dubious job interview, in which the privileged and flirtatious Master (Jim Fish) recruits the tightly buttoned-up Governess (Amy Tara) for her first job as a live-in childminder, entertainer and, as it later transpires, ghostbuster. The interview, which includes a request for a drink and a demand for an in-person visit, raises more red flags than a Soviet military parade. But this being the mid-nineteenth century, the Governess seems blissfully oblivious to the giant flashing neon warning signs and accepts the post. Off she goes to an isolated country house, with strict instructions never, ever, under any circumstances, to contact the Master. No cause for concern here, then.
The Governess is greeted by charming younger daughter Flora (Kathleen McAuley Irvine) and polite but slightly creepy older brother Miles (Toby Beynon), who has been expelled from school for reasons shrouded in secrecy. And then the full-blown Gothic spookfest begins. A mysterious malevolent man haunts the bell tower. The children talk to unseen figures and speak in unfamiliar accents. Flora is rescued from a near-drowning, only to emerge at the lakeside dry and apparently unscathed.
The staging of this scene is nothing short of spectacular. Wayne Fox’s special effects and Oliver McNally’s lighting bathe the stage in cold blue light as the Governess struggles in slow-motion, balletic movement. The effect is broken only by her sporadic, frantic emergence above the water to catch her breath before she is submerged again.
The Governess tries desperately to make sense of events, insisting on telling what she believes is the truth - even when it seems to defy common sense. And this is potentially the real horror: her steadfast conviction that she must speak up leaves her isolated with her credibility under attack. Tara’s portrayal of the Governess’s growing incredulity as the house's trap tightens around her is compelling. Katy Slater, as sphinx-faced housekeeper Mrs Grose, is a chillingly effective foil for Tara, keeping the Governess at an icy arm’s length while refusing to shed any light on the event. Straight from the Daphne du Maurier playbook, Slater delivers a superb performance in true Mrs Danvers style, brooking neither affection nor speculation about the secrets the house holds.
It is possible to draw a line across the centuries from the Governess to the #MeToo and incel era in which we now find ourselves. The situations may have changed but the questions remain the same: when events are ambiguous, who is believed? Whose account carries legitimacy? What is validated, and what is dismissed?
Henry James, author of the original novella, repeatedly placed women under the scrutiny of social convention and male judgement in his books. His intentions remain a matter of debate - was he exposing the inequalities that constrained women, or was it a warning to women to know their places? Either way, one of the story’s most unsettling questions is how little has changed when the powerful control the narrative, and how vulnerable women and other marginalised people can be when they dare to give their own account of events. This, rather than the ghouls and ghosts, should be the subject that keeps us up at night.
Comments