VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED (1960)

Synopsis: At eleven o’clock one morning, every living creature in the village of Midwich suddenly falls into unconsciousness. Cut off in the middle of a telephone conversation with his brother-in-law, Professor Gordon Zellaby (George Sanders), Major Alan Bernard (Michael Gwynn) finds that he is unable to reach anyone in Midwich by phone. Worried, he leaves town early on his planned visit to his sister, Anthea (Barbara Shelley). Outside the village, Alan meets the local constable (Peter Vaughan), who has been sent to look for an overdue bus. The bus, which is full of unconscious passengers, is found to have run off the road. As the policeman bikes towards it, he collapses. Alan turns his car around and goes for military assistance. It is established that the "influence" has clearly defined boundaries. A soldier wearing a respirator crosses the invisible line, and immediately loses consciousness. He is pulled to safety and quickly recovers, complaining that he is icy cold. A fly-over determines that nothing and no-one in Midwich is moving. Going lower, the pilot passes out; his plane crashes. Then, without warning, everyone wakes up. They are unharmed. Alan hurries up to the Manor, and informs the bewildered Zellabys that everyone in the village was affected, not just themselves. A full investigation is ordered into the phenomenon, but nothing is found to explain the mystery…. Several weeks later, a beaming Anthea tells Gordon that they are going to have a baby. He is overjoyed. But in the village, there are other, less welcome pregnancies: a woman whose husband has been away; a seventeen-year-old virgin…. When the situation is made clear to him, the vicar (Bernard Archard) reluctantly admits to Dr Willers (Laurence Naismith) and Gordon that four girls have confessed their pregnancies to him, all insisting that they cannot account for them. The three men realise that all of the pregnancies - including Anthea's - date from Midwich’s collapse…. The pregnant women undergo medical examination. Dr Willers tells Gordon that Anthea’s baby is perfectly normal, but advanced: a seven-month foetus after only five months. Anthea’s only response to the news is a frightened demand to know whose baby she is carrying…? All of the Midwich babies are born within a few hours of each other. They are perfectly formed, all over ten pounds, with blonde hair and strange, arresting eyes. Four months later, the babies are physically like children of eighteen months of age. Examining his son, Gordon points out to Dr Willers that his hair is unusual – the strands are flat on one side – and his fingernails narrower than normal. Suddenly, there is a scream from the nursery. To his horror, Gordon finds Anthea holding her hand in boiling water. He drags her away. She sobs that the bottle that she gave the baby was too hot, and that suddenly, she felt compelled to injure herself…. A year later, Gordon shows Alan a startling thing: he hides a chocolate in a Chinese puzzle box and gives it to his son, who swiftly solves the puzzle. Still more amazing, when Gordon gives the box to two other of the strange children, they are also able to open it. Gordon insists that the children are not only intellectually advanced, but share a communal mind: when one learns something, they all know it, instantly. At that moment, an older sibling of one of the children grabs the puzzle box. As the adults look on in horror, the eyes of the two blonde children begin to glow with an eerie light. Against his will, the boy is compelled to hand back the box….

Comments: This intriguing adaptation of John Wyndham’s novel, "The Midwich Cuckoos", is a beautifully restrained and creepy little film, although not one without flaws. Much of its power comes via two pieces of serendipity. Firstly, when the project was in the planning stages, the Catholic Legion Of Decency objected to Village Of The Damned’s central themes of mysterious impregnation and virgin birth. Consequently, the film could not be produced in the U.S., and was instead made on location in England, in Hertfordshire. The resulting location shooting both adds to the overall atmosphere of the film, and lends an uncomfortable air of authenticity to the events of the story. Secondly, this was a low budget production, and accordingly shot in black and white. This, too, gives the film a distinct sense of reality; and it also helps to overcome what could have been its biggest flaw – and which instead, perversely enough, is probably the one thing it is best known for. Village Of The Damned is a film that has managed, at least on one level, to enter the collective unconscious. The blonde-haired children and their glowing eyes comprise one of science fiction’s most recognisable images. Nevertheless, those eyes were the production’s single biggest mistake. The children themselves – their appearance, their lack of emotion, the choreography of their movements, their determined unchild-likeness – are quite disturbing, quite alien enough. The glowing eyes were unnecessary; and worse, they look exactly like what they are: a tacky special effect. (The eye business was apparently forced upon Wolf Rilla by the film’s producers, as a sop to the perceived requirements of the film’s American audience.) However, the black and white cinematography helps somewhat to disguise the crudity of the effect, while at the same time, highlighting the similarities of the children’s appearance in a way that colour photography could not have done (and, many years later, did not do). The performances of the child actors, as far as they go, are all very good; we can believe in the unity of the interlopers’ minds. One of the film’s most unnerving moments comes when a man who had planned to harm the children does not get out of mental "range" quickly enough. As one, the children freeze; their heads swivel; they move closer together…. Of course, the fact that the children communicate primarily by telepathy means that the demands made upon the acting abilities of the young cast were limited – in all but one case. Village Of The Damned’s master-stroke was the casting of Martin Stephens as the leader of the brood, David Zellaby. It is through David that we come to understand the working of the alien mind that is dominating Midwich. Both Gordon and Anthea, in their own way, attempt to reach the boy on an emotional level, and both fail utterly. The scenes of David interacting with his mother are, in particular, quite chilling. As Anthea fusses over him, caressing him, and trying vainly to win some response from him, David simply stands there, radiating indifference, and perhaps a little contempt. (These scenes are almost guaranteed to get under the skin of any parent with a problem child.) Martin Stephens’ performance as David is the high point of the film; his air of cool, detached superiority, as much as anything else, makes us comprehend the extent of the threat posed to humanity. Stephens was eleven when the film was shot and, like many good child actors, both looked younger than he was, and seemed older. In addition, he never gave the impression that he was simply "reciting", but rather that he understood every word of his dialogue, and all of its implications. (It is a sad comment upon society today, perhaps, that Stephens’ intelligence and articulateness are enough to make him seem like an alien!) While Stephens is good here, the following year he would go on to give his best performance, one still more disturbingly ambiguous, in Jack Clayton’s The Innocents.

Apart from the benefit gained from the setting, the filming of Village Of The Damned in England had some other welcome side-effects, one of them being the presence of some marvellous British character actors in the minor roles, particularly Laurence Naismith as Dr Willers, Bernard Archard as the tormented village minister, and Richard Vernon as the Home Secretary. All three of the central adult performances are effective, although to varying degrees. Barbara Shelley, unfortunately, aside from a few telling scenes with Martin Stephens, is not given all that much to do; Anthea seems to spend most of the film being sent out of the room. In contrast, Michael Gwynn makes the most of his far more substantial role as Alan Bernard, a man with a foot in both camps: brother and brother-in-law to one set of involuntary parents, and uncle to their unnatural child; yet simultaneously attached to the government, and partially responsible for deciding what action will be taken regarding the children. It is Alan who first perceives the extent of the threat, and who perceives also that Gordon Zellaby is too close to the problem, and too captivated by the mystery of the children, for his judgement to be unclouded. And indeed, Gordon is your typical science fiction protagonist, ominously fascinated by "the unknown". That said, Gordon is anything but a typical role for George Sanders, whom we see here as loving husband, proud expectant father, trusted government official, affectionate friend and, yes, hero – if a somewhat equivocal one. Village Of The Damned offered Sanders one of his best late career roles, and he is first-rate in it, being simultaneously sympathetic and worrying as he responds to the conflicting demands of the heart and the mind.

The opening sequence of Village Of The Damned is well-nigh perfect. In a series of low-key, dialogue-less scenes, we see the immediate effects of the mysterious "event": a tractor trundling around in ever-diminishing circles; overflowing sinks; an iron burning through a dress. The first outside observer on the spot, Alan Bernard, very sensibly turns tail and goes for help. The military investigation that follows is still more disquieting. A canary passed over an invisible barrier collapses, then recovers upon being drawn back. A soldier crosses the line to discover that his respirator is no protection at all; he comes to complaining that he is icy cold. A pilot who flies under five thousand feet over the village also loses consciousness, and dies in a fiery crash. Then, as abruptly as it began, the "event" ends. The investigation continues, with no evidence of any of the usual suspects – radiation, of course, or nerve gas – to be found. And eventually, life in Midwich returns to normal….for a time. What follows is the most powerful section of the film. After the brief respite of Anthea’s joyful announcement of her pregnancy (although they trot out the irritating cliché of pickle cravings, there is a nice moment when Anthea remarks that the first person to know of her condition was the woman at the grocer’s), the scene moves to the village, where other pregnancies are being greeted with anger and fear. A wife looks pleadingly, despairingly at her husband, who has been away from home for a year; he storms from the house in inexpressible fury. A young girl breaks down in anguish in the doctor’s office, insisting that it is impossible, impossible…. Finally realising that there are simply too many pregnancies, the doctor confronts the local minister, who is induced to break confidence: four girls have disclosed their secret to him. The timing of the mass conception is evident. Extra medical personnel are sent for, and a temporary clinic established. (Of course, it is taken for granted that all the pregnancies will go to term, regardless of their origin. When the village doctor tells an unmarried prospective mother that he will "do anything I can to help you", he definitely does not mean the first thing that probably comes to a modern viewer’s mind. A product of its time, Village Of The Damned dares not even hint at abortion.) In perhaps the film’s most indelible moment, we see the affected villagers – one man accompanied by his wife and his daughter – filing silently in and out of the clinic, not one person making eye contact with any other….

It is here that Village Of The Damned shifts perspective, and leads into what, in my opinion, is the film’s single biggest flaw. After all, on one level at least, this is a story about rape, and the consequences of rape; and yet other than in a few scenes with Anthea, the film is never about its women! On the contrary, its focus is divided between the village men, smouldering with impotent fury, lashing out at a "rival", a despoiler, that they cannot see or touch, and the male authority figures trying to deal with the situation: first Gordon and the doctor, then the military, then the government. As for the women, they don’t seem to have an opinion on the subject (or if they do, they’re never invited to express it); they’re simply there to bear and raise their offspring. Other than Anthea, we never see any of them being mothers. How do they feel about their unnatural offspring? Do they love them? Can they love them? We never know. All action, all reaction to the children is exclusively male – including all retaliatory acts of violence. Towards the end of the film, the village men, drunk and hostile (the one person seen benefiting from the situation is the village publican; the men spend most of their spare time in his establishment), form themselves into the traditional torch-bearing mob. Significantly, there are women – non-mothers, we assume – present when the mob forms, but they do not join it. Like their maternal sisters, they do nothing more than peer at events from behind the curtains of their homes. Village Of The Damned only runs about seventy-five minutes; it would have been a stronger film had it been about ten minutes longer, and dealt with this issue. Similarly, what about the children in the context of their families? There is an intriguing moment during the puzzle box scene, when one of the children’s "normal" siblings snatches the object for himself, his jealousy and resentment obvious. Yet this is never followed up in any way. The only affected family we see is the Zellabys; and David is an only child. This highlights another disturbing aspect of the film. The mysterious "event" may have crossed the class barriers of Midwich, but the screenplay never does. Perhaps it was a hangover from the novel, or perhaps it was an unconscious piece of snobbery, but throughout the film there is the unmistakable inference that what is happening up at "the Manor" is more important than what’s happening in the village; that Anthea’s situation, for instance, is somehow "worse" than that of the village women. This notion comes to a head when Gordon demonstrates to Alan the children’s communal mind. Intent on his theory, he simply barges his way into one of the village houses (the one where both mother and daughter have given birth) and starts mucking around with the children, without so much as a by-your-leave (and completely ignoring one of the mothers’ objection that she never gives her child chocolate). The women, of course, simply put up with his behaviour. And later, as the children grow older, it comes as no surprise to anyone that it is the boy from "the Manor" who is their leader. Who else would it be?

Village Of The Damned never spells out the origin of the children. When Gordon interrogates them on the subject, their only response is lowered eyes and a calm "It would be better if you didn’t ask these questions" from David. Naturally, however, alien impregnation is the favoured theory. Still – it is the suggested alternative that I find intriguing: that the children are the result of some kind of mutation, and in fact represent the next stage in human evolution. It is interesting to compare Village Of The Damned with some of its more obvious descendants, the It’s Alive movies of Larry Cohen. Dealing with similar themes, all of these films suggest that Homo sapiens may well find its evolutionary successor both repulsive and terrifying. Similarly, it is fascinating to contrast the horrified reaction of Frank Davis, biological father to a monstrous infant in It’s Alive, to the cool detachment of Gordon Zellaby. Alan Bernard, angered by Gordon’s refusal to see the danger so apparent to himself, accuses him of wanting to live through David. ("The next Einstein!" he sneers. "Perhaps greater!" retorts Gordon.) But when Alan makes a scornful reference to "Your son", Gordon denies the connection. "Anthea’s son; I have no evidence that he is mine." There is regret in Gordon’s manner – regret that he may never be a father, still more that he is not the father of such a remarkable child; yet the fact that he is clearly not David’s real father lets Gordon off the emotional hook; he is able, at least for a time, to indulge his fascination with the children without feeling responsible.

In many ways, Village Of The Damned sits comfortably within the accepted boundaries of fifties science fiction. As in numerous other films, the Earth is (probably) invaded by an alien race, whose supreme intelligence is joined to a lack of emotion; and a human scientist becomes obsessed with trying to understand and communicate with the aliens, with dangerous consequences. Many science fiction films of this era, particularly American ones, are marked by an intense streak of anti-intellectualism. Intelligence per se seemed often to be considered suspect, as something "naturally" divorced from emotion, and morals. Time and again, alien invaders (whatever their origin) who were mankind’s (or America’s) intellectual superiors were ultimately – inevitably - defeated by emotional human beings. (This theme is essentially bookended by, on one hand, Robert Cornthwaite’s insistence in The Thing that the alien’s lack of emotion makes it "our superior in every way", and by Peter Graves’ "He learned almost too late that man is a feeling creature…." speech from It Conquered The World on the other.) Scientists, those dangerous lunatics, were most at threat from such invaders, of course, being by nature peculiarly susceptible to the hollow lure of the intellect.

Thus, in Village Of The Damned it is decidedly a matter of course that it should be Gordon Zellaby who becomes fascinated by the children, and who misguidedly assumes that they will allow him to "teach" them. (Gordon is very much a movie scientist, inasmuch as we never find out what he is a professor of. His position as government adviser, and the lessons we see him giving the children, suggests that he is a physicist; but it is he who oversees the collection of the biological specimens after the "event", and who subsequently conducts certain botanical experiments.) Village Of The Damned does, however, find a refreshing twist to this standard science fiction situation. Far from conceding that "intellect" and "emotion" are naturally incompatible, Gordon’s belief in the children stems from his inability to accept that such intelligence could possibly exist in the absence of emotions and a moral sense. Having convinced the government to allow him to take responsibility for the children, and to spend time attempting to teach them not just facts, but a sense of right and wrong, Gordon must finally face the bitter knowledge that he has failed: all mind and no heart, the children are indeed monstrous. But as it happens, Gordon has reached them. "In a strange sort of way, they trust me," he observes sadly, and so they do. The film’s final irony is that the invaders would have been better off had they kept their intellectual barriers firmly in place: their acceptance of Gordon makes them vulnerable when he finally comes to the reluctant realisation that he, and he alone, stands any chance of defeating them.

As the children grow, so too do their powers; and Village Of The Damned becomes a film of escalating mayhem, from the enforced scalding of Anthea when David is a baby, through to the threatened annihilation of any troops sent against them. Nevertheless, there are some intriguing inconsistencies in the children’s actions. Early on, sensing that the grocer is frightened of them, they show unexpected consideration in promising to stay away from her shop in the future. When a boy deliberately hits one of the invaders, Nancy, with a ball, David stops her from retaliating; yet at the same time, we hear of an increase in the number of "accidental deaths" amongst the village children. When a man almost strikes one of the children with his car, they instantly band together and force him to kill himself by driving into a wall, despite the fact that there was no intent to harm any of them on the man’s part. (Of course, we, unlike the children, are not privy to his thoughts. Perhaps an unspoken wish that he had hit them was allowed to cross his mind….) Conversely, after more acts of violence, an enraged Alan Bernard forces his way into the children’s presence and threatens them, but they do not kill him, instead punishing him with a dose of temporary shock and paralysis. Why? Out of fear of the consequences? Or perhaps out of some distant kind of feeling for Gordon – or even Anthea? The only thing that is clear from all of this is that the children, like all children, do not have full command of themselves, however "unemotional" they may be. The horror that underlies the film is the question of what will happen when their powers develop to full capacity, and they are in control of them. It is this that the government must finally attempt to deal with. We learn, in time, that "events" such as that which occurred in Midwich also took place elsewhere in the world, simultaneously. One was in northern Australia, where something went wrong, and all the babies died. Two more occurred in an Eskimo community, and in a remote area of China. These societies, though not labelled as such outright, are clearly coded "primitive": the men killed the babies and, in one case, the mothers as well. Apart from England, the other "civilised" country to be afflicted was Russia. The Russian children, we hear, developed at a faster rate than those in Midwich, until they were on the verge of "taking control"; at which point, the government took action: the children – and, since they could not be warned without the children knowing telepathically what was to happen, everyone else in the vicinity – were nuked off the face of the planet…. (This plot point was lent an unwelcome degree of plausibility by the fact that the week in which I re-watched this film in order to review it was also the week that the Russian hostage crisis was "resolved".) Only the Midwich children remain to be dealt with.

Time has bestowed upon Village Of The Damned some extra layers of resonance. At the time of its production, it seemed like a late-stage entry in the wave of fifties paranoia films – "They’re here to take over, and they look just like us!" – with a second dose of social unease – "And they want our women!" - thrown in for good measure. Nowadays, however, it is the children as children that are likely to unsettle the viewer: these little sociopaths, with their indifference to the ties of family and their disregard for the law, may be just a bit too familiar for comfort. That the film’s monsters are only children highlights another contemporary social question. While not an issue, perhaps, when the film was made, in more recent times it has become a common practice for just about any restrictive government action – censorship, increased police powers – to be justified on the grounds of "protecting the children". But what does a government do when the threat to society is posed by individuals who are themselves children? Who in every word and action, violate the cherished tenet of childhood "innocence"? There are, of course, a number of countries in the world that like to think of themselves as "the Good Guys"; and this brings with it some heavy responsibilities – there are certain things that "the Good Guys" simply don’t do. (Or at least, so it is in theory; in practice, I’m not so sure.) How, then, does such a country go about dealing with a problem like the Midwich children? – a problem that seems only soluble by doing things that just "aren’t done". Inhuman or not, is it right to shoot the children – poison them – bomb them? Could it ever be right to kill a child? (A film that would make up a disturbing double feature with Village Of The Damned is another of its spawn, Narcisco Ibanez Serrador’s Quien Puedo Matar A Un Nino?/Who Can Kill A Child?, which deals with such matters in an even more direct and terrifying way.) If Village Of The Damned was one of the last "paranoia" films, it was also the predecessor of the wave of "demonic children" films that became so prevalent during the social upheaval of the sixties and seventies; and it has a power that many of its followers lack, perhaps because unlike them it is not merely a family drama, but deals with broader issues such as government action in times of crisis, how people’s perceptions of themselves can affect their actions, and where the moral line should be drawn. If the film’s resolution is, in a sense, a soft option, the hard questions asked by Village Of The Damned nevertheless remain.

Footnote: Out of respect to this film, I have kept my inevitable Simpsons reference out of the body of the review. It’s merely this: if there’s anyone out there who hasn’t seen the episode entitled Wild Barts Can’t Be Broken, you need to track it down. Its highlight is an excerpt from a horror movie called The Bloodening, which just happens to feature blonde-haired kids with glowing eyes and "creepy English accents". You will never think of shepherd’s pie in the same way again….