Showing posts with label remake. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remake. Show all posts

Friday, June 5, 2026

πŸŒˆπŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜πŸŒˆ: The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson




Summary:

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson is a classic psychological horror novel that explores themes of fear, isolation, and the supernatural. The story follows Dr. John Montague, a paranormal investigator who invites a group of strangers to Hill House, a notoriously haunted mansion, to study its supernatural occurrences.

Among the guests are Eleanor Vance, a shy and lonely woman who has experienced poltergeist activity in her past; Theodora, a bohemian artist with psychic sensitivity; and Luke Sanderson, the heir to Hill House. As they spend time in the eerie mansion, strange and terrifying events begin to unfold—unseen forces knock on doors, chilling laughter echoes through the halls, and Eleanor starts experiencing a deep and unsettling connection to the house.

As the supernatural events intensify, Eleanor becomes increasingly unstable, feeling as though Hill House is calling to her. The novel builds toward a tragic climax as her mind unravels, blurring the line between reality and delusion.

The book is known for its ambiguous horror—never confirming whether the hauntings are real or manifestations of the characters' fears and psychological turmoil. Shirley Jackson masterfully creates an unsettling atmosphere, making The Haunting of Hill House one of the most influential ghost stories in literature.




Chapter 1
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.

Dr John Montague was a doctor of philosophy; he had taken his degree in anthropology, feeling obscurely that in this field he might come closest to his true vocation, the analysis of supernatural manifestations. He was scrupulous about the use of his title because, his investigations being so utterly unscientific, he hoped to borrow an air of respectability, even scholarly authority, from his education. It had cost him a good deal, in money and pride, since he was not a begging man, to rent Hill House for three months, but he expected absolutely to be compensated for his pains by the sensation following upon the publication of his definitive work on the causes and effects of psychic disturbances in a house commonly known as “haunted.” He had been looking for an honestly haunted house all his life. When he heard of Hill House he had been at first doubtful, then hopeful, then indefatigable; he was not the man to let go of Hill House once he had found it.

Dr Montague’s intentions with regard to Hill House derived from the methods of the intrepid nineteenth century ghost hunters; he was going to go and live in Hill House and see what happened there. It was his intention, at first, to follow the example of the anonymous Lady who went to stay at Ballechin House and ran a summer long house party for sceptics and believers, with croquet and ghost watching as the outstanding attractions, but sceptics, believers, and good croquet players are harder to come by today; Dr Montague was forced to engage assistants. Perhaps the leisurely ways of Victorian life lent themselves more agreeably to the devices of psychic investigation, or perhaps the painstaking documentation of phenomena has largely gone out as a means of determining actuality; at any rate, Dr Montague had not only to engage assistants but to search for them.

Because he thought of himself as careful and conscientious, he spent considerable time looking for his assistants. He combed the records of the psychic societies, the back files of sensational newspapers, the reports of parapsychologists, and assembled a list of names of people who had, in one way or another, at one time or another, no matter how briefly or dubiously, been involved in abnormal events. From his list he first eliminated the names of people who were dead. When he had then crossed off the names of those who seemed to him publicity seekers, of subnormal intelligence, or unsuitable because of a clear tendency to take the center of the stage, he had a list of perhaps a dozen names. Each of these people, then, received a letter from Dr Montague extending an invitation to spend all or part of a summer at a comfortable country house, old, but perfectly equipped with plumbing, electricity, central heating, and clean mattresses. The purpose of their stay, the letters stated clearly, was to observe and explore the various unsavoury stories which had been circulated about the house for most of its eighty years of existence. Dr Montague’s letters did not say openly that Hill House was haunted, because Dr Montague was a man of science and until he had actually experienced a psychic manifestation in Hill House he would not trust his luck too far. Consequently his letters had a certain ambiguous dignity calculated to catch at the imagination of a very special sort of reader. To his dozen letters, Dr Montague had four replies, the other eight or so candidates having presumably moved and left no forwarding address, or possibly having lost interest in the supernormal, or even, perhaps, never having existed at all. To the four who replied, Dr Montague wrote again, naming a specific day when the house would be officially regarded as ready for occupancy, and enclosing detailed directions for reaching it, since, as he was forced to explain, information about finding the house was extremely difficult to get, particularly from the rural community which surrounded it. On the day before he was to leave for Hill House, Dr Montague was persuaded to take into his select company a representative of a family who owned the house, and a telegram arrived from one of his candidates, backing out with a clearly manufactured excuse. Another never came or wrote, perhaps because of some pressing personal problem which had intervened. The other two came.




Dr Marrow enlists Theo, Luke and Nell for a study of sleep disorders at the Hill House. As soon as the terrifying truth about the mansion is revealed, everyone is found fighting for their lives.

Release Date: July 23, 1999
Release Time: 114 minutes

Director: Jan de Bont

Cast:
Lili Taylor as Eleanor "Nell" Vance
Liam Neeson as Dr. David Marrow
Catherine Zeta-Jones as Theodora "Theo"
Owen Wilson as Luke Sanderson
Marian Seldes as Mrs. Dudley
Bruce Dern as Mr. Dudley
Alix Koromzay as Mary Lambetta
Todd Field as Todd Hackett
Virginia Madsen as Jane Vance
Tom Irwin as Lou
Charles Gunning as Hugh Crain
Debi Derryberry, Jessica Evans, Sherry Lynn, Miles Marsico, Courtland Mead, Kyle McDougle, Kelsey Mulrooney and Hannah Swanson as the voices of the children

    








1963  /  1999



Shirley Jackson
Shirley Jackson was an influential American author. A popular writer in her time, her work has received increasing attention from literary critics in recent years. She has influenced such writers as Stephen King, Nigel Kneale, and Richard Matheson.

She is best known for her dystopian short story, "The Lottery" (1948), which suggests there is a deeply unsettling underside to bucolic, smalltown America. In her critical biography of Shirley Jackson, Lenemaja Friedman notes that when Shirley Jackson's story "The Lottery" was published in the June 28, 1948, issue of The New Yorker, it received a response that "no New Yorker story had ever received." Hundreds of letters poured in that were characterized by, as Jackson put it, "bewilderment, speculation and old-fashioned abuse."

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Friday, November 24, 2023

πŸ¦ƒπŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜πŸ¦ƒ: Miracle on 34th Street by Valentine Davies



Summary:

The lives of three people are changed by an old man who insists that he is Santa Claus.

A Macy's Department Store Santa who insists his name is Kris Kringle teaches everyone a lesson in love, faith and the value of imagination.

Generations of believers in hope and goodwill have made Valentine Davies’ Miracle on 34th Street a treasured part of their holiday traditions. Millions of copies of this award-winning story have sold since its first publication in 1947, delighting readers of all ages. A facsimile edition of the book is now faithfully re-created, offering a new generation--and fans of the original--the beauty of the classic 1940s design. Details of how the book came to be written, and made into a beloved film, are included in a brief historical note.



1
IF you searched every old folks’ home in the country, you couldn’t find anyone who looked more like Santa Claus. He was the living, breathing incarnation of the old gent—white beard, pink cheeks, fat tummy and all—and his name was Kris Kringle, too. Whether this was coincidence or design—a sort of stage name he had assumed—his friends at the Maplewood Home for the Aged never knew. Nor did they know exactly how old he was. His white whiskers made him look a good seventy-five, and yet when he laughed or walked you would swear he wasn’t a day over fifty. His eyes were quick and happy, and he had a smile to match. Not only did Kris look precisely like Santa Claus, he firmly believed he was that jolly old gentleman.

Dr. Pierce, the physician at Maplewood, found this delusion innocent and harmless. In fact, the old man’s kindly shrewdness in all other respects had won the doctor completely. He was devoted to Kris and was his staunchest defender. He often came to visit his little room at Maplewood. It was littered with toys of all sizes and shapes, half-finished models, and catalogues. Kris spent most of his time there, smoking his pipe and whittling at his toys.

One November morning when Dr. Pierce dropped in, Kris hardly noticed him. He was reading a newspaper advertisement, and his eyes snapped with indignation as he read. A shopping service offered to make all purchases of Christmas gifts well in advance of the holiday and save the subscriber 10% in the bargain. “All you have to do is send us the names and ages of all the people you wish to remember,” Kris read aloud. “We will relieve you of the irksome necessity of Christmas shopping.” Angrily, Kris threw the paper on the floor.

“Is this what Christmas has degenerated into, Doctor?” he asked. “It’s pure commercialism! Is there no true Christmas spirit left in the world?” Dr. Pierce was afraid not. Christmas had certainly been commercialized. It had become “big business,” and the spirit behind it seemed to be lost in the milling crowds that packed all the stores.

Kris was not prepared to believe that, in spite of outward appearances and ads like this. “No, Doctor,” he said. “Underneath all the hurry and bustle people still believe in Santa Claus and all Christmas stands for.” He suddenly smiled at the Doctor and asked him what he wanted for Christmas.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” said Pierce half to himself. “An X-ray machine. We’ve needed one here for years.”

“You shall have it,” Kris said.

The Doctor smiled. “If I get an X-ray machine, I’ll know you’re Santa Claus.”

“You just wait, Doctor—you’ll see.”

Kris picked up a toy and started to whittle away on it, cheerfully pulling at his pipe. But Dr. Pierce was worried. A frown settled over his pleasant face as he watched Kris working. There was something on his mind and he groped for the right words. Finally he forced himself to come right out with it. “Kris, you’ll have to leave Maplewood.”

“Why?” asked Kris in astonishment.

Well, the Doctor explained, he had been fighting the Board on this for years, but they had finally overruled him and issued a definite order. In fact, there was nothing more Pierce could do.

Kringle still didn’t understand.

“Well, Kris, the laws of the State and Maplewood’s charter only allow us to keep old people so long as they are in good physical and mental health.”

“What’s the matter with me?” asked Kris. “You’ve told me I’m in better physical shape than 90 per cent of your patients. And mentally, well, I’ve passed all your tests with flying colors. Look, I still remember that last one.”

Kris proceeded to go through the routine of a simple mental test; adding and subtracting, giving synonyms for words, and so forth. There was no doubt about it, he knew all the answers. Mr. Kringle, in spite of his age, was keen, alert, and exceptionally skillful.

“I know,” said the Doctor quietly, “but it’s this Kris Kringle business. You know—we’ve discussed it before.”

“You mean because I’m Santa Claus?”

The Doctor nodded slowly.

“But there’s nothing wrong about that,” said Kris. “It happens to be the truth.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Pierce replied. “Unfortunately, the Board does not believe in Santa Claus, Kris. So technically you’re, well, not acceptable.”

“So I’m not sane because the Board of Directors doesn’t believe in Santa Claus!”

“That’s one way of putting it,” admitted Dr. Pierce.

Kris paused and reflected for a moment. “What happens next?” he asked.

Pierce explained that Maplewood had an arrangement with the Mount Hope Sanatorium.

“That nut house?” Kris exploded. “Never!”

“But what’s your alternative?” Pierce asked him. “Have you got any money?”

Kris examined a small check book which lay on his desk. He had $34.86.

“Kris, you’re pretty old,” said Dr. Pierce. “It won’t be easy to earn a living. And if you’re unsuccessful, you will become a ward of the State. And if you’re picked up because you tell somebody you’re Santa Claus, you’ll be sent to Mount Hope anyway, so why not go direct?”

But Kris was adamant. There was nothing wrong with him and he’d be damned if he was going to an asylum. Dr. Pierce finally conceded that it was really up to Kris. If he left Maplewood, nobody would bother him. That would end the case as far as they were concerned. But what could Kris do? How could he fend for himself? He didn’t have much money—where would he stay?

“The zoo keeper in Central Park is a friend of mine. I’ll stay with him,” Kris answered.

Dr. Pierce urged him to reconsider and accept the transfer philosophically. “You’ll have time to think it over. We’ll talk about it again,” he said as he moved toward the door.

Kris nodded silently, but there was a look of determination on the old man’s face. The moment the Doctor had gone, he hauled out a large suitcase from his closet and briskly began to pack.


2
THE Central Park Zoo was nearly deserted at this early hour. In one of the enclosures a keeper was tidying up in anticipation of a busy day. As the white-bearded figure approached, the keeper greeted him eagerly with a wave of his shovel.

“How are you, Kris?” he called.

“Fine, Jim! Never better,” said the old man heartily. “And how are the boys?”

“Gettin’ fat and lazy,” Jim told him, smiling, “and it’s mostly your fault!”

Kris laughed and gave a whistle. From within the shed a reindeer’s head peered shyly out, then another. The old man called again and held out a handful of carrots. In a few minutes half a dozen reindeer were eating out of his hand.

Jim stood silently by and watched this performance, smiling. Kris sure had an uncanny way with animals! Jim had fed and fussed over these critters for a dozen years and he couldn’t get near them. But even the timid does would eat right out of Kris’ hand. Jim had never ceased to be amazed at this. It was a bond between him and Kris.

“Jim, I may need a place to stay. Could you put me up for a while?” asked Kris.

“Why, certainly, Kris, as long as you want. There’s plenty of room,” Jim assured him. 

Fully satisfied that all was well, Kris started on his way again, swinging along with his exuberant, youthful gait. He had no special destination, but he loved being outdoors in this crisp cold air. If only there were snow on the ground, he thought, this would be a perfect day. As the old gentleman approached the western limits of the park, he suddenly stopped and cocked his head to one side, listening. His keen ears had picked up an exciting sound. It was faint but unmistakable. Somewhere in the distance a band was playing Jingle Bells. It seemed to be coming from just outside the park. Kris turned and made for the nearest exit.

Central Park West and especially the side streets leading into it were filled with color and confusion as Kris arrived upon the scene. For the Macy Parade was about to start amid indescribable excitement. Sponsored annually by the R. H. Macy Department Store, it was every child’s dream of a Christmas Parade, or as near as mere adults could make it. A sharp wind was blowing the huge inflated figures every which way. A Pilgrim Father; Jack the Giant Killer; a Panda; and an enormous ice cream cone careened crazily about, towering two or three stories into the air. The costumed men who held the guide ropes seemed like frantic Lilliputians. Sleepy, Grumpy, Dopey, and the other dwarfs, scampered about and climbed aboard their floats. So did a myriad of other famous characters. A dozen bands in fancy uniforms were loudly tuning up.

The person who seemed to be in charge of the whole business was a handsome, well-dressed, businesslike young woman. She was checking off various people on a list. Kris heard them address her as “Mrs. Walker.” Assisting her was a spectacled, bald-headed and very much harried gentleman named Mr. Shellhammer.

The thing which really fascinated Kris was the last float in the Parade—Santa Claus in his sleigh, pulled by eight wooden but very realistic reindeer. The Santa Claus was practicing with his whip in a wild and lurching manner as Kris sauntered up. Kris stood watching as long as he could. Then he stepped up and with a polite “Allow me, sir,” took the whip from his hand. With a single expert flip of the wrist he flicked the long whip. The end crackled smartly one inch over the farthest reindeer’s ear.

“You see, it’s all in the wrist,” he said. But Macy’s Santa wasn’t impressed. One whiff of his breath told Kris the reason. The man grabbed for a pint bottle, not too well hidden beneath his blanket, taking more and more frequent nips.

Kris was shocked and horrified. The idea of a drunk depicting Santa Claus to thousands of impressionable children infuriated him. He started toward Mrs. Walker to register an outraged protest. But the young lady was suddenly standing next to him, beckoning for the float to move ahead. Before Kris could speak, it suddenly lurched forward and the saturated Santa nearly toppled off the float.

It didn’t take Mrs. Walker long to size up the situation. This man was really drunk and she was responsible for all personnel. She fired him on the spot.

“Just think if Mr. Macy had seen him,” said Mr. Shellhammer in a horrified tone.

“Just think if Mr. Gimbel had seen him!” said Mrs. Walker in even greater horror.

Now the whole parade was ready to start, and they had no Santa Claus. Mrs. Walker and Shellhammer saw Kris at the same time. They pounced upon him together.

“Would you be Santa Claus?” she asked him.

“Have you had any experience?” Mr. Shellhammer inquired. This last question struck the old man’s funnybone. His little round body shook with inward chuckles.

“Yes,” he said. “A little.”

“Then you’ve got to help us out. Please!”

“Madam,” Kris replied with quiet dignity, “I am not in the habit of substituting for spurious Santa Clauses.”

Mrs. Walker pleaded and coaxed, but the old man was firm. Not even money seemed to interest him.

“Well, we can’t hold the Parade up any longer,” said Mr. Shellhammer. “We’ll have to go on without a Santa Claus.”

Kris looked off toward the crowd of excited children lining the streets. And then he realized that he had no alternative. He couldn’t disappoint those eager faces.

“All right,” he said, handing his hat and cane to Shellhammer. “Get me the clothes. I’ll do it!”

A few minutes later, Kris found himself the leading figure of this great Parade moving down the long avenue, waving and smiling at thousands of children, cracking his whip and having the time of his life.


A six-year-old has doubts about childhood's most enduring miracle... Santa Claus. The arrival of one Kris Kringle, a department store Santa who believes he's the genuine article, turns the skeptical child's world upside down.

Release Date: November 18, 1994
Release Time: 114 minutes

Director: Les Mayfield

Cast:
Richard Attenborough as Kris Kringle
Elizabeth Perkins as Dorey Walker
Dylan McDermott as Bryan Bedford
J. T. Walsh as Ed Collins
James Remar as Jack Duff
Mara Wilson as Susan Walker
Robert Prosky as Judge Henry Harper
Jane Leeves as Alberta Leonard
Simon Jones as Donald Shellhammer
William Windom as C. F. Cole
Katherine Narducci as the mother
Mary McCormack as Myrna Foy
Alvin Greenman as the doorman
Allison Janney as a brazen woman shopper in Cole's Christmas Shopping Center
Greg Noonan as Cmdr. Coulson
Byrne Piven as Dr. Hunter
Peter Gerety as a cop
Jack McGee as Tony Falacchi
Jennifer Morrison as Denise
Horatio Sanz as an orderly
Ron Beattie as a priest
Joss Ackland as Victor Landberg (uncredited)






1947  /  1994


Author Bio:
Valentine Davies (August 25, 1905 – July 23, 1961) was an American film and television writer, producer, and director. His film credits included Miracle on 34th Street (1947), Chicken Every Sunday (1949), The Bridges at Toko-Ri (1954), and The Benny Goodman Story (1955). He was nominated for the 1954 Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay for The Glenn Miller Story.

Davies was born in New York City, served in the Coast Guard, and graduated from the University of Michigan. He wrote a number of Broadway plays and was president of the Screen Writers Guild and general chairman of the Academy Awards program.

He wrote the story for the 1947 film Miracle on 34th Street, which was given screen treatment by the director, George Seaton. Davies also did a novelization of the story, which was published as a novella by Harcourt Brace & Company in conjunction with the film release. Miracle on 34th Street earned him an Academy Award for Best Story.


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