Crimson Peak

Del Toro's interview with Sight & Sound suggested that Crimson Peak was his follow-up to Pan's Labyrinth. He wrote the script years ago, but sat on it until he could get the budget to physically build the house the story is set in. Having now seen it, I'm getting worried that Pan's Labyrinth may have been a fluke. I've been known to describe his 2008 film as nothing less than a masterpiece – not only for its finely balanced parallel narrative, but the way it uses it to deconstruct the religious impulse, and to outline a new, anti-authoritarian, (lapsed) Catholic theology.

Such outpourings tend to garner raised eyebrows, and now I'll probably be a little less confident in my effusions. Because Crimson Peak is lightweight by comparison, and for Del Toro to say it's his crowning achievement feels like a terrible misjudgment of his own work. The film is built around a heavily telegraphed contrast between the past and the future, England and America, the Romantic and the Enlightened. Although Del Toro is at pains to provide some explanation for the gross behaviour of his villains, they are still (perhaps unfairly) associated with one side of that divide.

There may be an element of autobiography going on here – Del Toro escaping from dilapidated, corrupt and superstitious Mexico to make films in sunny Los Angeles. England in the film is dark and dirty, while New York is polished and purposefully bathed in bright golden hues. But the larger theme is surely about how family shapes the fate of children. Both of Mia Wasikowska's parents love and protect her (even after death), while Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain have been raised, and horrifically warped, by abusive devils. And this is wrapped up in the idea that ghosts are echoes and manifestations of trauma which need to be walked away from. The Americans just about manage to do so at the end of the film.

Despite its literary pretensions (Del Toro goes on about the influence of Jane Eyre and Great Expectations), Crimson Peak feels to me like a gnarly and scary version of Tim Burton's Dark Shadows – which is very arch, but similarly indulgent. I found the latter rather enjoyable, not least because it doesn't take itself very seriously. The comparison is a reminder that although Del Toro is lauded as an intelligent writer as well as a fine craftsman, he may end up in the same cul-de-sac Burton is languishing in, if he's not careful.