Shadows of the Mind: Repulsion and Saint Maud’s Duelling Visions of Madness

In the suffocating grip of isolation, two women teeter on the brink of sanity—one fleeing carnal desires, the other embracing divine fury.

 

Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1965) and Rose Glass’s Saint Maud (2019) stand as towering achievements in psychological horror, each dissecting the fragile architecture of the female psyche with unflinching precision. Separated by over half a century, these films converge on the terror of inner demons, where reality fractures under the weight of repressed urges and fervent beliefs. By juxtaposing Carol’s sexual aversion in Polanski’s claustrophobic London flat with Maud’s messianic zeal in a decaying seaside town, we uncover shared techniques of dread alongside stark evolutions in horror’s exploration of faith, flesh, and fracture.

 

  • Both films centre on isolated female protagonists whose hallucinations propel narratives of psychological collapse, blending visceral body horror with cerebral unease.
  • Repulsion confronts sexual repression through surreal decay, while Saint Maud weaponises religious ecstasy, revealing how personal traumas manifest as cosmic battles.
  • From Polanski’s raw, documentary-style intensity to Glass’s polished digital reveries, these works trace psychological horror’s shift from analogue grit to contemporary lyricism.

 

Fractured Solitude: The Protagonists’ Plunges

Carol Ledoux, portrayed by Catherine Deneuve in Repulsion, begins as a Belgian manicurist adrift in swinging London, her days marked by dissociation and nights by auditory hauntings. As her sister Hélène departs for a holiday, Carol barricades herself in their apartment, where the walls seem to breathe and hands emerge from shadows to violate her. Rabbits rot on the kitchen counter, potatoes sprout grotesque tendrils, and mirrors multiply her fractured reflection. The film unfolds over three relentless days, chronicling her murder of a suitor and landlord in paroxysms of revulsion, culminating in police discovery amid a flat pulsing with her madness. Polanski, drawing from his own wartime traumas, crafts a narrative where external normalcy—neighbours’ banal chatter, Hélène’s lover’s advances—amplifies Carol’s internal cataclysm.

In Saint Maud, Morfydd Clark embodies Kathleen, rechristened Maud after a near-death epiphany as a nurse. Assigned to care for Amanda Köhl, a terminally ill dancer played by Jennifer Ehle, Maud interprets her patient’s pain as a divine test. Her piety escalates from prayer vigils to self-flagellation and visions of stigmata, blurring salvation with sadomasochism. Amanda’s atheism and hedonism—Maud spies on her intimate encounters—ignite Maud’s fanaticism, leading to a climactic inferno of delusion where she believes herself Christ’s vessel. Glass structures the story through Maud’s subjective lens, intercutting mundane caregiving with ecstatic raptures, until a final twist reveals the horror’s true architect.

These synopses reveal parallel descents: both women inhabit confined spaces—the apartment and the coastal hospice—as microcosms of their minds. Carol’s inertia contrasts Maud’s zealous action, yet each spirals through hallucination. Polanski’s script, co-written with Gérard Brach, roots Carol’s breakdown in implied childhood abuse, while Glass infuses Maud’s with a backstory of accidental death and conversion, underscoring how trauma festers in solitude.

Repression’s Twin Faces: Flesh and Faith

Repulsion excavates sexual terror with primal force, positioning Carol as a virgin repelled by male touch. Her hallucinations—phallic intrusions, groping shadows—symbolise patriarchal invasion, a theme resonant in 1960s feminism’s stirrings. Polanski’s camera lingers on Deneuve’s porcelain face, cracks forming like psychic fissures, transforming beauty into a mask of horror. This aversion peaks in brutal kills, where revulsion transmutes to violence, echoing Freudian theories of the uncanny that Polanski studied avidly.

Saint Maud counters with religious repression, where Maud’s faith becomes erotic fixation. Her penances—nails in feet, hot pokers—mirror Carol’s violations but invert the gaze: divine love demands bodily surrender. Glass draws from Catholic iconography, Maud’s visions evoking Bernini’s Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, where spiritual union borders on orgasm. Amanda’s body, once Maud’s temptation, becomes a soul to conquer, highlighting queer undercurrents in Maud’s devotion.

Yet convergence abounds: both films indict isolation as madness’s incubator. Carol’s celibacy and Maud’s chastity reject societal norms—promiscuity in 1960s London, secularism in modern Britain—yielding parallel psychoses. Scholars note how each protagonist projects inner turmoil outward, decaying environments reflecting moral rot.

Cinematography’s Assault: Distorting Reality

Polanski’s black-and-white cinematography, lensed by Gilbert Taylor, employs fish-eye lenses and slow zooms to warp Carol’s flat into a labyrinth of paranoia. Hallway elongations mimic agoraphobia, while handheld shots capture her stupor with quasi-documentary urgency. Shadows pool like ink, foreshadowing violence, as Taylor’s high-contrast lighting etches Deneuve’s features into iconography of dread.

Glass, with James Bloom’s digital palette, bathes Saint Maud in sickly greens and crimson flares, evoking bodily fluids and hellfire. Subjective shots—low angles during prayers, fragmented mirrors—immerse viewers in Maud’s rapture. Slow-motion dances and time-lapses accelerate her zeal, contrasting Polanski’s temporal drag. Both manipulate space: Carol’s apartment expands surreally, Maud’s town contracts to a stage of martyrdom.

This visual lexicon binds the films, prioritising implication over gore. Polanski’s restraint influenced Glass, who cited Repulsion as inspiration, merging analogue unease with VFX-enhanced visions like Maud’s glowing spine.

Soundscapes of the Unseen

Chico Hamilton’s jazz score in Repulsion underscores disconnection, dissonant bells tolling Carol’s unraveling. Silence dominates, broken by Hélène’s radio tunes and imagined assaults—ticking clocks amplify heartbeat dread. Polanski layers diegetic noise: dripping taps swell to symphonies of insanity, immersing audiences in auditory hallucination.

Saint Maud‘s sound design, by Paul Davies, pulses with Gregorian chants and Maud’s whispers, building to orchestral swells in ecstasies. Pop songs jar against piety—Amanda’s Shakira—mirroring cultural clashes. Both films wield absence: Carol’s mute withdrawal, Maud’s prayerful monologues, forging intimacy through sonic voids.

Class politics subtly emerge—Carol’s working-class toil versus bourgeois Hélène, Maud’s nurse drudgery against Amanda’s privilege—soundtracking resentment’s boil.

Performances that Pierce the Soul

Deneuve’s Carol mesmerises through minimalism: wide eyes register horror wordlessly, her somnambulism conveying depths of trauma. At 22, she channels vulnerability into ferocity, murders dispatched with balletic precision. Polanski pushed her isolation, fostering authentic fragility.

Clark’s Maud vibrates with fervour, oscillating from prim caregiver to wild prophet. Her physical commitment—convulsing in trances—earns BAFTA acclaim, embodying zeal’s terror. Ehle’s sardonic Amanda provides foil, their chemistry crackling with unspoken desire.

These turns elevate scripts, Deneuve’s restraint complementing Clark’s excess, yet both incarnate madness convincingly.

Production Shadows and Cultural Echoes

Repulsion, Polanski’s first English-language film, shot on 35mm in a real Pimlico flat for £88,000, faced censorship for its rape fantasy. Premiering at Venice, it grossed millions, launching Polanski’s horror phase amid his Holocaust survival.

Saint Maud, Glass’s debut backed by A24, filmed in Scarborough for £2.5 million, blending practical effects with CGI stigmata. Its 2019 Toronto bow heralded female-led psych horror renaissance.

Contextually, Repulsion reflects post-war alienation, Saint Maud post-Brexit spiritual voids, both critiquing gender confines.

Legacy’s Lingering Chill

Polanski’s film birthed the ‘apartment horror’ subgenre, influencing Rosemary’s Baby and Hereditary. Its Criterion restoration sustains cult status.

Glass’s work nods to Polanski while innovating, spawning discourse on faith horror amid The VVitch. Both endure for unflinching psyches.

Illusions of the Flesh: Effects in Focus

Practical effects define both: Repulsion‘s rotting rabbit by SFX artist Wally Veevers, wall hands via prosthetics. No CGI, pure analogue revulsion.

Saint Maud mixes practical blood with digital auras, Maud’s foot wounds real, visions VFX-subtle. Effects amplify intimacy, body as horror canvas.

 

Director in the Spotlight

Roman Polanski, born Raymond Liebling in 1933 Paris to Polish-Jewish parents, endured Nazi occupation in Kraków, hiding via Catholic fosterage—a trauma imprinting his oeuvre. Post-war, he studied at Łódź Film School, debuting with Knife in the Water (1962), a tense marital thriller. Exiled after Repulsion, he helmed Rosemary’s Baby (1968), paranoia pinnacle; Chinatown (1974), neo-noir masterpiece; Tess (1979), César-winning adaptation; The Pianist (2002), Oscar for Holocaust survival tale; The Ghost Writer (2010), political intrigue. Controversies—1969 Sharon Tate murders, 1977 flight from US charges—overshadow, yet films like Venus in Fur (2013) persist. Influences: Hitchcock, Buñuel. Now 90, his legacy divides: auteur of dread or fugitive.

Filmography highlights: Short films like Two Men and a Wardrobe (1958), surreal debut; Cul-de-sac (1966), isolated mania; Macbeth (1971), bloody Shakespeare; Frantic (1988), thriller; Bitter Moon (1992), erotic venom; The Ninth Gate (1999), occult pursuit; Based on a True Story (2017), meta-thriller.

Actor in the Spotlight

Catherine Deneuve, born 1943 in Paris to actors, rose via The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), earning global fame. Repulsion showcased her dramatic range, followed by Belleville Baby (1966). Jacques Demy muse, she navigated arthouse and mainstream: Tristana (1970, Buñuel); The Last Metro (1980, César); Indochine (1992, Oscar nom). Chanel face since 1970s, she champions feminism, LGBTQ rights. Recent: The Truth (2019). At 80, icon of elegance and enigma.

Filmography: Les Collégiennes (1957), debut; Les Demoiselles de Rochefort (1967), musical; Manon 70 (1968); Mississippi Mermaid (1969, Truffaut); Donkey Skin (1970); Hustle (1975); The Hunger (1983), vampire; Damage (1992); 8 Women (2002); Dancer in the Dark (2000, von Trier); Potemkin jury presidencies.

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