I’ve read several novels by Patrick McGrath at this point, and you can see some themes carry over across his work. He is very interested in the idea that neurosis can tip over into psychosis, that there is no hard line between madness and sanity. That is a frightening idea, certainly. It frightens me. This film frightens me.
Stella does not seem quite mad at the beginning of the film, but she also doesn’t seem quite right. Her marriage clearly makes her miserable, and not in a dramatic way where she might feel justified leaving it. Her husband is a good enough man, but boring. She’s bored by life on the grounds of a mental hospital. She loves her son, clearly, but she doesn’t like that he’s the only bright spot in her life. She wants more, clearly. She sees an inmate there as a kindred spirit, and becomes obsessed with him, despite knowing almost nothing about him except that he’s kind to her and their son, and he is terribly handsome in a way her husband is not. They’re both stuck there, you see.
This film wouldn’t work at all without Natasha Richardson’s performance, which is astonishing. You meet her and know immediately that whatever else is true, she should not be living the life she has; she was meant for other things. She should be having animated conversations with intelligent people in smoky rooms, listening to good music, travelling, eating well and often. Her affair opens up a whole world to her, and it’s believable that once she tastes it she can’t give it up. The film also wouldn’t work without the chemistry between Richardson and Marton Csokas; even as their relationship is obviously an increasingly bad idea you believe it’s the kind of bad idea that people, even sane ones, have every day. People have blown up their lives for a lot less.
Despite those elements, the movie still doesn’t quite work. It’s odd, but the film seems to take the perspective of Stella’s long suffering husband, who loves her and tries to understand her but ultimately gives up in frustration, though he grieves her sincerely once she’s gone. He’s the nice guy, the one who does everything right, who tries and tries and tries at his marriage, while Stella is messy and selfish and so, so stupid as she pursues a violent and unstable man despite what he does to her. Her frustration and obsession are apparent and sympathetic because Richardson insists on the full humanity of her character; the film itself seems to work at cross-purposes with her.
She lets her kid die, is the thing. It’s hard to sympathize with a mother who does that, even when it’s clear she’s at the end of her rope, even as it’s clear her sanity is frayed at that point beyond repair. Asylum doesn’t make this act as horrifying as it should be; it seems as remote to us as it does to Stella, and though her affection for the kid is obvious he isn’t much of a character himself. The Babadook, a very different film, handles similar subject matter much better, allowing the audience to identify with and feel fear on behalf of everyone involved. Asylum is not so deft, and it doesn’t seem to really like any of its characters.
Natasha Richardson was a great actress, one who seemed to get better the older she got, and it’s unfortunate that her career was cut short. One wishes this film was better, for her sake.