Crimson Peak: Guillermo del Toro’s Most Beautifully Built Film

It might have been enough that Crimson Peak is beautiful. Guillermo del Toro‘s Gothic romance, which turns 10 this year, definitely brought visual splendor and incredible design to its entire production, from the costumes to the sets to the ghosts, and watching it again now (the film is currently available from Universal Pictures Home Entertainment), it remains a feast for the eyes. 

But for all his visual flair and a fanboy’s love for the details of genre cinema, del Toro is never content to make a film that simply fills the frame with pretty things and delightfully macabre designs. Those are always there, but del Toro is also deeply, passionately invested in the details of character, story, and emotion that suffuse his favorite films with life, and Crimson Peak is perhaps the clearest example in his entire filmography of bringing it all together in a way that feels both classic and modern.

Watching it now, a decade after its arrival, it’s clear that in terms of sheer, reverent sumptuousness, it’s the most beautifully designed of del Toro’s many beautiful films. Like the house at its center, it’s a Gothic wonder, and while it might not be Del Toro’s absolute best movie, it is a masterclass in how to build an all-around cinematic story.

Why Crimson Peak works so well

As he mentioned throughout interviews to promote the film, del Toro envisioned Crimson Peak from the beginning as not a horror film, or even a haunted house film, but a Gothic romance, a piece of a proud genre tradition that would use Gothic tropes in a classical, almost throwback way, while still taking a more modern approach. The Gothic markers are there from the beginning: Edith (Mia Wasikowska) is a young woman with big dreams, who’s swept off her feet by a charming, sometimes frightening nobleman named Thomas (Tom Hiddleston). After a short courtship, he whisks her away to his decaying English manor, where his mysterious and jealous sister Lucille (Jessica Chastain) seems to be hiding something. 

Right away, in building out the story with his co-writer Matthew Robbins, del Toro lays out certain key ingredients which will serve Crimson Peak well. You’ve got the classic Gothic romance element of a mystery man sweeping a young woman away to an old manor house, but the film also makes Edith into a writer of ghost stories, someone not just acutely aware of the allure of the supernatural, but also willing to dive headlong into it if it means mining some kind of truth. Edith, you see, is not really waiting for a man to whisk her away. She’s got her own dreams and desires, and these will be more and more important as the film asks her to make increasingly vital choices for her own survival. And because she’s a writer, Edith allows del Toro to say a lot of the things he wishes to say about the nature of the genre in which he’s playing.

Then there’s the house itself, situated atop a mountain renowned for the scarlet-red clay deposits that once earned Thomas and Lucille’s family untold wealth. That wealth is gone now, and though the house still sands, it’s slowly sinking into the clay, its walls occasionally bleeding red, its basement full of dangerous clay pits, it’s ceiling pockmarked with holes. Most importantly, it earns the “Crimson Peak” moniker of the title, because as snow comes in during winter, the mountain turns “blood red,” transforming the landscape into an open wound that’s constantly seeping. It’s not subtle, but it’s perhaps the most satisfyingly Gothic idea in recent horror cinema. 

These elements, and many others — from Lucille’s presence in the house to the way the ghosts act as often shockingly human reminders of a dark past — all converge in del Toro’s film, and they fit together so well that at first it’s almost seamless. Crimson Peak is entertaining, sumptuous, and beautifully dark from the beginning, but the more you watch it, the more you understand how each little piece matters as part of a larger whole. Edith’s own attempts to write ghost stories are vital to the story, as is each individual ghost who makes an appearance. Sets matter, costumes matter, props matter, not just because they contribute to part of a larger whole, but because they are the larger whole. For Guillermo del Toro, it’s all a piece of the bigger genre puzzle, and Crimson Peak fits together with such grace that it’s impossible to look away. It’s a film built on very deliberate, sometimes over-the-top design choices, and because of that, it’s a chance for audiences to study why each of those choices is important, what each contributes to the narrative, and how del Toro’s mind works. For that reason, and for many others, it’s an essential piece of 21st century horror.

Crimson Peak is now available from Universal Pictures Home Entertainment.