[Film Review] The Yellow Wallpaper (2021)

Charlotte Perkins-Gilman’s infamous short story The Yellow Wallpaper still resonates 130 years later. The influence of the Gothic feminist tale can be seen in everything from Sylvia Plath’s semi-autobiographical tale of suffocation The Bell Jar and even more recently in Odessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation.

Its longevity is a testament to the power of the story, and also to the infuriating fact that although the word ‘hysteria’ might not be used in civilized circles anymore, the notion remains. Men’s madness is passion, creatively tortuous, misunderstood and unfairly manipulated by  society’s ills. But for women, the same grace is rarely extended to our breakdowns: instead, words like unreasonable, illogical and of course, the dismissive favourite of angry men; crazy - all words that imply that we have not moved as far from the ‘womb madness’ idea as we might have hoped. 

In K. Pontuti’s feature length adaptation, protagonist Jane (Alexandra Loreth), suffering from postpartum depression is unable to healthily cope with her new infant, her mind lapsing into gasp-inducing fantasies that desperately need medical attention, care and understanding. Unfortunately, her husband John (Joe Mullins) has other ideas for her recovery, condemning her to a lengthy sentence of bed rest in a room plastered with the jaundiced reminder of her isolation.

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The sheer suffocation that Pontuti has managed to bring to screen is nothing short of remarkable. The Yellow Wallpaper is a hard film to watch, as atmospherically repugnant as it is visually beautiful. Long stretches of time spent in the room take their toll on both Jane’s mental health and the audience’s too. It is, at times, almost too much to bear, and arguably there are moments of sluggishness that lead to The Yellow Wallpaper feeling like a longer experience than it actually is. The dragging sense is exacerbated by the fact that we never actually see the ‘woman’ that plagues Jane, a fair choice that undoubtedly serves to solidify her status as an unreliable narrator.  Some may argue that actually showing the Woman in the Walls would strip the story of its ambiguity, but for an audience embroiled in the slow burn of Jane’s descent, an eerie actualization of The Woman in the Walls could have been a welcome shake up of expectations.

The unraveling of Jane’s mental state is embodied with excellence thanks to a spectacularly stark soundtrack from Robert J. Coburn, and a suitably drained performance from Loreth who also served as writer for the film. To watch Jane’s descent from prim, corseted 19th century lady into a beast more bedraggled and frail will hit the hearts of anyone who has suffered from depression, and especially those who have had their trauma greeted with the scoffing dismissal of ‘just drink more water and take up yoga!’.

As Jane’s story culminates in a disturbing – and original – ending, there’s a sour heaviness that reeks through the screen and seeps into the skin, staining the very essence of your being. Like a stench that predicates an ominous rot, The Yellow Wallpaper will permeate your senses and leave you clawing at the walls.

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