What burst of rebellious inspiration led producer Lewton and writer Bodeen to follow Cat People with this delicate rumination on the fantasy life of a child. I can't imagine the studio was pleased. War-time audiences sought escape, not introspection. Yet, I've seen nothing like it before or since.
Only-child Amy Read (Ann Carter) is lonely and imaginative, trusting in others probably to a fault. Daddy tells her there's a magic mail-drop in a tree and she believes him, with unfortunate consequences. Other kids shun her because while they play, she chases butterflies. Daddy is sympathetic but uncomprehending. What Amy wants more than anything is a friend, and in desperation she makes up an imaginary one-- enter Irina (Simone Simon) from the Cat People in a rather revealing princess gown. But is Irina simply imaginary-- after all, she does cast a visible shadow. This theme of a lonely child, along with that of Irina and the spooky old house are ultimately woven into a somewhat awkward, yet memorable, balance.
Notice how magically Amy's back yard transforms into a fairy-tale wonderland when Irina appears. I expect this is a common wish for many lonely little girls who find a better world in their imagination than the one they live in. Here that fantasy world comes alive in a glittering fashion where Amy can at last be happy. Contrast that magical world with the hum-drum one of the family's and the truly spooky one of the old lady's and her neglected daughter. Of course, no one can survive in an unreal world, but an unreal world can help little ones survive, as it does for Amy.
Little Ann Carter is not much of a child actress, rather wooden and expressionless, suggesting an underlying element of stage fright. Yet it's just these qualities that suggest the deeper unhappiness her character Amy must feel in her loneliness. A more expressive little actress might have had the unfortunate effect of drowning the part in tearful emotion. I may be mistaken, but I don't believe Amy smiles more than once or twice during the entire production.
With her scary feline features, I expect Elizabeth Russell's "Barbara" was added to connect with the Cat People. Whatever the reason, it's one of the oddest parts in the entire Lewton series. Disowned by her mother, Barbara has little more to do than skulk around the Gothic mansion like a wild woman nourishing hatred against batty old Mom. I bet a collective shudder passed through war-time audiences whenever Russell put in a sudden appearance. Anyway, scary or not, the climax in the old house is one of the most touching and unexpected of any horror film, even though the very last scene remains predictably conventional and much too pat as was required of movies of the day.
Nonetheless, this is a one-of-a-kind and only qualifies as a horror story in the most extended sense. And ironically, when you think about it, Amy is saved only because her imagination projects past Russell's scary adult appearance to the injured child and wounded adult beneath. Without that profoundly child-like ability both she and Russell would have been lost. And what a good thing film-maker Lewton tried to follow his own drummer as best he could, even in a studio industry where imagination was valued only so long as it followed orders.
