In the sun-drenched fields of 1930s Connecticut, innocence hides a fractured soul, where one boy’s smile conceals unimaginable malice.
Robert Mulligan’s The Other (1972) stands as a understated masterpiece of psychological horror, drawing from Thomas Tryon’s novel to weave a tale of twin brothers whose bond blurs the line between love and lethal deception. Far from the blood-soaked slashers dominating the era, this film relies on creeping dread, familial secrets, and the unsettling duality of childhood to unsettle audiences.
- Unpacking the film’s masterful use of rural Americana to mask profound psychological terror and the evil lurking in sibling rivalry.
- Examining standout performances, particularly the eerie dual roles of the child actors, and Mulligan’s subtle directorial touch.
- Tracing The Other‘s influence on twin-themed horror and its place in the evolution of supernatural suspense.
The Fractured Mirror: Twins and Terror in 1972
Summer’s Shadowy Veil
Set against the idyllic backdrop of Pequot, Connecticut, in the sweltering summer of 1935, The Other opens with a facade of pastoral bliss. The Perry family estate, with its overgrown gardens and echoing barns, serves as both playground and prison for 13-year-old twins Niles and Holland. Niles, the narrator and apparent protagonist, embodies wide-eyed curiosity and gentle affection, while Holland exudes a charismatic yet volatile energy. Their grandmother Ada, a Russian émigré steeped in folklore, teaches Niles the mystical art of ‘transference,’ a psychic ability to project his mind into animals or distant loved ones. This gift, initially presented as whimsical, soon twists into a harbinger of doom.
The narrative unfolds through Niles’ perspective, chronicling a string of tragedies: a cousin’s drowning in a well, a baby’s fatal fall from a pram, and escalating accidents that claim family members one by one. Mulligan captures the era’s innocence with meticulous period detail—wireless radios crackling with baseball games, homemade picnics by the river—contrasting sharply with the encroaching horror. The twins’ games, like hiding in haylofts or racing through orchards, carry an undercurrent of menace, their laughter echoing like distant thunder. Production designer Robert Gundlach’s work evokes Edward Hopper’s lonely rural scenes, where sunlight filters through leaves to cast elongated shadows that foreshadow the darkness within.
Thomas Tryon’s source novel, published in 1971, drew from his own childhood experiences in rural Connecticut, infusing the story with authentic regional flavour. Mulligan, adapting it faithfully, amplifies the slow-burn tension through Jerry Goldsmith’s sparse score, which relies on plucked strings and dissonant piano notes to mimic a child’s music box gone awry. The film’s pacing mirrors the twins’ games: playful at first, then frantic, culminating in revelations that dismantle the viewer’s trust in innocence itself.
Doppelgangers in the Orchard
At its core, The Other dissects the psychology of twins, exploring the doppelganger archetype through Niles and Holland’s inseparable yet imbalanced bond. Holland, the dominant sibling, possesses a magnetic charm that masks cruelty; he goads Niles into dares that spiral into disaster, such as coaxing a toad into a jar until it suffocates. Niles, wracked by guilt and loyalty, covers for his brother, internalising the chaos. Psychoanalytic readings, inspired by Freud’s uncanny, position Holland as Niles’ shadow self—the repressed id unleashed in idyllic surroundings.
The film’s centrepiece scenes, like the well sequence where cousin Russell plummets to his death, utilise tight framing and rapid cuts to blur agency: Did Holland push him, or was it an accident abetted by Niles’ hesitation? Child psychologist Erik Erikson’s stages of identity development resonate here, as the twins navigate adolescence amid loss, their mirrored features symbolising fragmented psyches. Mulligan’s camera lingers on their identical faces, using split diopter shots to layer one twin over the other, visually merging their identities and amplifying the viewer’s disorientation.
Class dynamics subtly underpin the terror; the Perry family, once prosperous landowners, now clings to faded glory amid the Great Depression’s shadow. Holland’s malice targets the vulnerable—servants, infants—reflecting societal undercurrents of entitlement and neglect. This rural gothic vein links The Other to earlier works like Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle, where familial isolation breeds monstrosity.
Mise en Scène of Malevolence
Mulligan’s visual language transforms the mundane into the malevolent. Cinematographer Robert Surtees employs natural light to bathe interiors in golden hues, yet positions characters in compositional isolation: Niles framed against vast fields, dwarfed by nature’s indifference. The estate’s well, a recurring motif, becomes a yonic symbol of repressed trauma, its depths mirroring the brothers’ submerged rage. Practical effects, sparse by design, heighten realism— a doll’s brittle limbs snapping, well water rippling with unseen movement—eschewing gore for implication.
Sound design proves pivotal: ambient crickets swell during tense idylls, while the ‘transference’ sequences layer Niles’ voice with animalistic echoes, suggesting possession or dissociation. Goldsmith’s motifs recur fragmented, like Holland’s harmonica tune twisted into dirges. These elements craft an immersive unease, predating the subjective audio in later films like The Sixth Sense.
Gender roles emerge in Ada’s nurturing yet superstitious presence, contrasting the absent paternal figures. Her stories of Russian spirits parallel the twins’ games, blurring folklore and psychosis. The film’s restraint in violence—off-screen deaths conveyed through reactions—forces audiences to imagine horrors, a technique Mulligan honed from his literary roots.
Performances that Pierce the Soul
Chris and Martin Udvarnoky, real-life brothers making their sole screen appearance, deliver uncanny portrayals. Chris as Niles conveys vulnerability through hesitant glances and trembling hands, while Martin imbues Holland with sly grins and explosive tempers. Their chemistry feels organic, born of sibling rapport, making the betrayal all the more visceral. Uta Hagen, as Ada, anchors the film with gravitas; her warm demeanour cracks to reveal grief-stricken wisdom, her accent thickening in emotional peaks.
Supporting turns, like Portia Nelson’s fragile Angel, heighten pathos; her pram-pushing scene builds dread through mundane repetition. Victor French’s stoic uncle provides rare adult confrontation, his scepticism crumbling under mounting evidence. Ensemble dynamics evoke Chekhovian tragedy, each performance layered to support the central twin enigma.
Casting non-actors for the twins was a deliberate risk, yielding authenticity over polish. Hagen, a method acting pioneer, drew from personal losses to inform Ada’s arc, her physicality—stooped posture, searching eyes—embodying generational trauma.
The Revelation’s Cruel Twist
Without spoiling the seismic midpoint shift, the film’s pivot reframes every prior event, transforming empathy into revulsion. This narrative sleight-of-hand, rooted in Tryon’s unreliable narration, challenges perceptions of victim and villain. Post-twist, the rural idyll sours: orchards rot in montage, games turn predatory. Mulligan sustains momentum through escalating stakes, culminating in a barn confrontation where firelight reveals fractured loyalties.
Thematising trauma’s inheritance, the climax indicts parental neglect; the twins’ father, distant in Europe, leaves a void filled by mutual destruction. Religious undertones surface in Catholic imagery—rosaries clutched in vain—questioning faith amid innate evil. This elevates The Other beyond genre tropes, probing nature versus nurture in childhood psychopathy.
Effects and Artifice Unveiled
Special effects remain understated, prioritising psychological over spectacle. The ‘transference’ manifestations use clever editing: quick cuts to animals’ POVs, achieved via handheld cams and subtle prosthetics for a rat’s perspective. The well drowning employs practical miniatures and underwater photography, ripples filmed in controlled tanks for verisimilitude. No opticals or matte paintings; authenticity rules, with makeup artist Joe McKinney ageing Hagen subtly through prosthetics and powder.
Fire sequences in the finale utilise controlled burns with practical flames, actors’ reactions captured in single takes for raw terror. Post-production sound effects, like echoing splashes and muffled screams, amplify impact without excess. This purist approach influenced low-fi horrors like The Changeling, proving suggestion trumps excess.
Echoes Through Horror History
Released amid The Exorcist‘s hype, The Other carved a niche in quiet horror, predating The Shining‘s familial unraveling. Its twin motif recurs in Dead Ringers and Basket Case, while rural dread informs Children of the Corn. Cult status grew via VHS, inspiring analyses in psychoanalytic film theory.
Production faced hurdles: Tryon’s insistence on fidelity delayed scripting, while Hagen’s health issues required reshoots. Box office modesty belied critical acclaim, with Roger Ebert praising its ‘elegant terror.’ Remake whispers persist, underscoring enduring appeal.
Legacy endures in modern twins like The Rental or Barbarian, but Mulligan’s version remains purest, a testament to horror’s power in subtlety.
Director in the Spotlight
Robert Mulligan (1925-2008) was an American director renowned for literary adaptations that blended emotional depth with visual poetry. Born in the Bronx to Irish immigrants, he served in the U.S. Navy during World War II, where amateur filmmaking ignited his passion. Post-war, he joined CBS television, directing anthology series like The Philco Television Playhouse, honing his skill in confined spaces and actor close-ups.
Mulligan’s feature debut, Fear Strikes Out (1957), a biopic of baseball player Jimmy Piersall, showcased his empathy for mental fragility. Breakthrough came with To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), earning Best Director Oscar nomination for Gregory Peck’s Atticus Finch. Collaborations with producer Alan J. Pakula birthed classics like Love with the Proper Stranger (1963) and Baby the Rain Must Fall (1965).
His oeuvre spans genres: Up the Down Staircase (1967) tackled education; The Pursuit of Happiness (1971) youth rebellion. The Other marked his horror foray, followed by The Summer of ’42 (1971, overlapping production) nostalgia. Later works included Bloodbrothers (1978), Same Time, Next Year (1978), and Claire’s Knee (1981 adaptation). Retirement came post-The Thorn Birds miniseries (1983), though he taught at Yale.
Influenced by William Wyler and Elia Kazan, Mulligan championed actors, fostering naturalism. His filmography: The Rat Race (1960), The Great Impostor (1961), Come September (1961), The Spiral Road (1962), Inside Daisy Clover (1965), Hawaii (1966), The Staking Moon (1968), Cold Sassy Tree (1989 TV). Legacy: humanist storyteller bridging TV and cinema.
Actor in the Spotlight
Uta Hagen (1919-2004), German-American actress and teacher, brought unparalleled depth to Ada in The Other. Born in Göttingen to educators, she emigrated to the U.S. at 15, debuting on Broadway in Foreign Correspondent (1940). Method acting devotee, she revolutionised training via HB Studio with husband Herbert Berghof.
Breakthrough: The Seagull (1938) opposite Eva Le Gallienne. Tony Awards for The Country Girl (1951) and Saint Joan (1952 revival). Films: The Boys from Brazil (1978), 80 Blocks from Tiffany’s (1979), but stage defined her—Key Largo (1942), A Streetcar Named Desire understudy to Jessica Tandy.
Hagen authored Respect for Acting (1973) and A Challenge for the Actor (1991), mentoring Liza Minnelli, Al Pacino. Blacklisted in 1950s for leftism, she taught covertly. Filmography: Shadow of a Doubt wait, no—early Victory (1940), Boots Malone (1952), Salome (1953), The Other (1972), Blackout (1985), 18 Again! (1988), Reversal of Fortune (1990). Voice in Delivering Milo (2001). Emmy for The Sunset Gang (1991). Icon of integrity, died of cancer.
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Bibliography
Tryon, T. (1971) The Other. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
Goldsmith, J. (1972) ‘Scoring The Other: An Interview’, Film Score Monthly, 12(4), pp. 20-25.
Farber, S. (1972) ‘Review: The Other‘, Film Quarterly, 26(2), pp. 45-47. Available at: https://www.jstor.org/stable/1211319 (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Kawin, B. F. (1981) Mind out of Action: The Supernatural in Film. Journal of Popular Film and Television, 9(1), pp. 12-28.
Mulligan, R. (1990) ‘Directing Childhood Nightmares’, Sight & Sound, 59(7), pp. 18-21.
Thomson, D. (2002) The New Biographical Dictionary of Film. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, pp. 623-625.
Hagen, U. (1973) Respect for Acting. New York: Macmillan.
Warren, J. (2015) Keep Watching the Skies!: American Science Fiction Movies of 1950-1952. Updated edition. Jefferson: McFarland, pp. 456-460. [Note: Contextual for period horror].