Film Break: WWI's Presence in "The Awakening," PART TWO

This is part two of my discussion of WWI in the British film "The Awakening." You can find part one here, wherein I examine Tom, Maud, Headmaster Purslow, Victor Parry, McNair, Judd, and the general thematic presence of WWI as a ghost in the background and foreground of the film. There is historical speculation on why McNair has a cough, an examination of a passage from Tennyson's "Morte D'Arthur," and a pertinent quote from Wilfred Owen's "Dulce et Decorum Est." If any of that sounds interesting to you, I'd recommend reading it. There are also pretty screencaps, which I made myself, but which of course I have no actual ownership over.

Because I ran out of room in the last post, I am going to finish my analysis of "The Awakening" by focusing on the characters Robert and Florence. I'm saving our heroine for last, you see. 

THE REST OF THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS, CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK!

ROBERT MALLORY

Florence Cathcart is our heroine, and so Robert Mallory is probably our hero. He is Florence's eventual love interest, although their relationship begins rockily, since Robert is disdainful of Florence's disbelief in ghosts, and Florence is disdainful of his belief in them. He is the one who fetches Florence, at Maud's behest, to help rid the boarding school of the ghost or ghost impersonator, so that the boys can get safely back to their lessons. Right away, you notice that he walks with a limp, and stutters over words that begin with the letter 'B,' though the causes are at first unknown. 

Like McNair, Robert was a soldier in WWI, and may have even fought alongside McNair, or bonded with him afterward because of it. If you will recall, McNair tells Robert despairingly, "These boys must be strong... Stronger than us." The "us" implies some kind of bond that, to me, seems to go beyond simply being fellow veterans. The way he says this makes me think that he and Robert sat down one night and admitted to each other the horrors they had experienced – horrors perhaps they could admit to no one else. That's just speculation, though. What isn't speculation is the psychological effect WWI has had on Robert. 

Florence: Preaching to me while you rip your leg to shreds, as if that’ll make you feel better for having survived!

Robert, pausing in shock: You don’t know what you’re talking about.

I apologize for including a picture of the dreaded scab. Even though this is technically a horror movie, the only part for which I ever have to close my eyes is this one. It's absolutely horrible, and rightly so. But I'll not get ahead of myself.

The first picture is from very early on in the film, after Robert and Florence are discussing Judd's cowardice, and the fact that he faked impediments in order to escape serving in the war. After being interrupted by Maud, Robert hurriedly excuses himself, and shuts himself in his room, where he sits down on his bed and has a small seizure fit. He undoes his collar and steadies himself; obviously, this has happened many times before, and he knows how to prepare himself for it. Talk of the war has triggered a seizure, which fits, as non-epileptic seizures can often be linked with PTSD.

And now for the dreaded scab. Spying through a peephole, Florence discovers that Robert has this horrible, self-inflicted scab on his right leg, which he picks at with a knife, and then disinfects with alcohol. It is so painful that he must stuff a towel into his mouth to keep anyone from hearing him scream. These actions aren't directly linked to the war until Robert confronts Florence, and then Florence, in turn, confronts Robert in the exchange above. The scar becomes a manifestation of Robert's pain and guilt over surviving the war. The only thing that seems to keep him going is this wound, although it may be the cause of his limp, since it's on his right leg, and he favors that leg when he walks. It would be even more interesting if Robert cut that leg because he did receive a wound in battle which caused him to limp, and he uses that leg as a reminder for everything he experienced and lost. 

Whatever the case, he experiences a survivor's guilt similar to Judd's, no matter how much contempt Robert does have for him. And like McNair, he feels physical manifestations of the war affecting his body. The stutter, the limp, the seizures, these are what differentiate Robert from other characters, and they all find their roots in the war.

Florence: I can, uh – I can leave an amber light on, but are you –

Robert: I’ll be fine.... The dark used to bother me. Later, of course, it came to mean safety. No sniper fire, or... shells, but – As a lad, I’d huddle into my bed, wanting to see what was there, but too frightened to open my eyes.... It’s never darker than when we close our eyes, and yet we keep them shut. Why is that?

//

Florence: Why are these [ghosts] here? What do they want with me?

Robert: Maybe they aren’t here for you.

In the first picture, Robert helps Florence develop the pictures she took of, in simplified terms, a ghost. She makes sure to check that Robert will be all right in the dark, however, knowing that darkness might trigger something related to the war. He reassures her that he'll be fine, and that he actually finds himself less afraid of the dark now than he was as a boy, but for rather twisted reasons. He finds the dark comforting now, because he associates it with the safety of invisibility on a battlefield. Although, wonderfully, when Robert and Florence almost immediately afterward start making love, they accidentally pull down the curtain, and let sunlight flood into the room. This scene is portrayed as a much-needed healing moment/step forward for both characters, transforming the light into something that Robert doesn't need to fear. 

And then we circle back to the guilt in the second picture, which takes place a short time after the first. "Maybe the ghosts aren't here for you," Robert says, and implicitly adds, "because maybe they're here for me." The ghosts Florence see appear to want to cause her harm, which she has indicated to Robert, and so by taking away the ghosts from Florence, he also takes upon himself the vengeful ghosts. Because Robert does see ghosts, it turns out. 

 

Robert: You needn’t worry. No one will find Judd’s body. I’ve buried better men than him.

Florence: You see your own ghosts too?

Robert: [nods almost imperceptibly]

Florence: Are they... with us now?

Robert: [nods again]

Florence: Your friends.

Robert: They look like my friends.

Florence: They don’t have the right. No amount of guilt deserves the pain you inflict on yourself.

Robert: They died. I lived.

Florence: No, you didn’t. A life haunted... isn’t a life at all. We may as well... be ghosts ourselves.

Florence's wonderful character growth aside, here is Robert finally admitting to Florence that he sees the ghosts of his WWI comrades. She's always known he believes in them, since he told her from the very beginning, but he's never talked about any experiences with them. Of course, these ghosts he sees, they very well could be metaphorical, or they could be a mix of the literal and the metaphorical, but they weigh him down. They are almost tangible proof of his guilt at surviving when they did not. Here are Robert's vengeful spirits – they only "look like" his friends, but what real friends would be consistently producing such negativity?  And even if they are his friends, Robert must be at least projecting some of his own guilt onto them, convincing himself that the feeling comes at him from them, thus making it more poignant.

But as Florence says, a life like that "isn't a life at all." Before he learns to lessen his guilt, Robert is just another casualty of World War I, moving through life like a ghost. It is as if he has buried himself along with his fallen friends.

FLORENCE CATHCART

 

Florence's adopted mother: We’ve always known why you throw yourself into this, and we don’t blame you for thinking that it will... help. But every time now, all we can see is the pain it causes you. 

Ah, lovely Florence! Florence Cathcart is our heroine and protagonist. In the beginning of the film, she knows that her parents are dead, but believes them to have been killed by lions in Africa, when in fact, her father killed her mother, and then himself. Florence is clever, curious, and skeptical. She makes her living by debunking the paranormal, whether it's by writing books, going undercover – with police backup – at seances, or putting her practical detective skills to work. She is a pants-wearing atheist who appears to believe absolutely in science, but who crumples each time she disproves the existence of ghosts.

We get a small hint of why in the beginning; Florence carries around an engraved cigarette case which, as Robert points out, is not her own, since the initials don't match. In the first picture above, beside the cigarette case, there's also a picture of a WWI soldier who, early on, we know has some sort of connection to Florence. It's assumed to be romantic. Since she brings his picture as an undercover agent at a seance, we know that he is dead. How interesting, though, for a woman of science to bring a real photograph of a real dead lover, as if just in case. As her adopted mother implies above, her scientific triumphs do not bring her the expected joy, but rather, terrible pain.

Robert notices this, too:

 

Robert: There was a chap in a trench not far from ours. He used to sing this hymn most sunsets. It’s odd separating the past from the present. The boys are transformed. You should be pleased... Semper veritas [always the truth, the school motto].

Florence: Mmm.

Robert: Truth comes at a price.

Florence: Ruined a damaged man.

Robert: Oh, I’m not thinking about Malcolm. Nor are you. I saw you. As soon as you proved the ghost was a fraud, something happened to you. You were suddenly –

Florence: Please, Robert. I’ve done what was asked of me. Proved there’s nothing to fear. Nothing.

As Robert says so succinctly, "Truth comes at a price."  For Florence, the trouble with proving the veracity of science is that it means the unscientific, the ghosts, are consequently proven false.

But here, we start to get a hint of something more behind Florence's fascination with ghosts versus science. She says that she has "proved there's nothing to fear. Nothing." She seems to mean that she's proven to the boys at the school that there's nothing to fear, so that they can resume their lessons without being frightened all the time, but she also seems to be referring to herself. She's proved that there's nothing for her to fear, not the boys. Notice how, in the next quote, "There's nothing" has become rather her refrain line. Yet what is there for her to fear? Certainly, among other things, there is something to fear within herself.

Florence: There’s nothing. There’s nothing.

Florence hears a gunshot while standing on the dock, instantly calling to my mind the war. She drops her dead lover’s cigarette case. The cigarettes spill out. As she collects them, she hears the case fall between the boards of the dock and into the water. When she reaches a hand in the water, another hand briefly reaches out at her, startling her. She repeats to herself that there's nothing – nothing to fear, nothing there? – and then she promptly rolls off the dock and into the water. Robert rescues her, and she tries to convince everyone that she didn't mean to almost drown.

Shockingly, Florence has a death wish, which is explicitly connected to the cigarette case, and therefore, the dead lover. By nearly committing suicide, she proves that she would rather be with that lover than be alive. She proves that, right then, she would be completely at peace with this decision. Perhaps she even believed the hand in the water was that of her soldier, reaching out to take her home to him at last. WWI claiming another victim, as it claims Robert everyday.

Florence: Maud, it was an accident. I lost my cigarette case.

Maud: How could someone like you want to do such a thing?

Florence: I don’t want to talk about it.

Maud: Don’t go. Miss, something has happened to you. You can’t leave this house now.

Florence tries to convince Maud that her falling into the water was an accident, but no one, especially Maud, believes her for a second. And as Maud wonders, how could someone like Florence want to kill herself? She doesn't seem like some sort of pathetic Juliet-type who can't survive without her passions, and can only use what little agency she has to kill herself to reunite with her beloved. Florence is rational. Florence has a lot of agency, much of which she's had to dig up for herself, because of course no one else would give it to her as a woman.

When Maud says that "something has happened to [Florence]," she is referring specifically to the supposedly traumatic event of almost drowning, but her statement also has other resonances: something has happened to Florence. Something she hasn't revealed to anyone else. Something that serves as one of her primary ghost for much of the film.

Robert: [looks at Florence accusingly]

Florence: I fell. [more convincingly] I fell.

Like Maud, Robert is not convinced of Florence's innocence in the lake incident, and he's so frustrated with her. Surely, to him, suicide seems like madness, when he's known so many people, so many soldiers, who deserved to live, and yet were killed. It must seem senseless to him, since he likes Florence, and obviously perceives her as someone who deserves to live. (And at the same time, while Florence would perceive him as someone who deserves to live, he tells himself every day that he does not.)

Florence's tone barely even bothers to disguise the suicide attempt. She doesn't really look at Robert when she speaks, and has to adjust her tone to make it sound even remotely convincing.

And then, eventually, we learn, because almost everything in this film comes back to WWI:

Tom: You had a real friend once, and you don’t anymore. Did you love him or something?

Florence: Yes, I loved him. He was a very kind man, a very good man. I was – I did something very silly and very cruel. I think I was frightened of losing him. I loved him so much. He was in the war.

Tom: What did you do?

Florence: I wrote to him and told him I couldn’t marry him, that I didn’t love him anymore.

Tom: What did he say?

Florence: He died... not long after he got the letter.

Tom: But you did love him. That’s why you want him back.

The dead lover, the soldier, was not just a dead lover, but a dead fiance. Young Florence was so much in love that she couldn't handle it, and wrote to him, assumedly on the front, to tell him that she was breaking things off. And then here we are, arriving at the guilt at last: "He died," Florence says, "not long after he got the letter." She pauses. It's as if she's saying, 'he died... because he got the letter.' Florence blames herself for her fiance's death, as if he got himself killed because he believed Florence no longer loved him. As if, perhaps, he committed suicide himself by being careless on the battlefield, since he thought he no longer had anything left to live for.

Florence's own suicide attempt begins to make more sense. Tom says that Florence wants her fiance back because she loved him so much, as if this is why she wants to die, but I think it goes past that. Florence wants to die because she feels guilty, because she feels she needs to rejoin her fiance somehow, for things to be even a parody of the way they were supposed to before the war happened.

She has spent all of this time unmasking paranormal frauds, while secretly hoping to prove the existence of ghosts, and this seems to be in part so that she can appease her guilt. After all, she keeps repeating to herself, "There's nothing to fear." Does she, like Robert, fear the ghost of a vengeful soldier? Perhaps she thinks she deserves death, to a certain degree, as Robert does, because she survived. Barely.

But then comes Robert's notion about why she really tries to disprove the paranormal:

Robert: You’re torturing yourself. Is that what you’re doing here – proving again and again that he’s really gone? Twisting the blade in deeper?

Florence: You tell me.

Robert: Why? Is it guilt?

Florence: Preaching to me while you rip your leg to shreds, as if that’ll make you feel better for having survived!

Robert, pausing in shock: You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Florence: Robert. I’m frightened. And I can’t live with that. And, yes, you’re right. What I do comes at a price. I hate myself more and more, but I can’t live with fear. I’d sooner be dead myself.

 Like Robert, Florence may very well be merely torturing herself, giving herself a taste of what she thinks she deserves over and over, because her fiance's death is, she believes, her fault.

And notice, in this scene, how Florence says she can't live with fear, and that she'd "sooner be dead [herself]." The last puzzle piece to her attempted suicide clicks into place: she can't live with the fear. She can't convince herself that there's nothing to fear, that what happened during the war doesn't lurk behind her shoulder like a constant, weighing cloud, so she decides, for that moment, that she would rather be dead. She can't keep living while being haunted by her own personal experiences with World War I.

 Concluding Thoughts

Florence: Not seeing them... It’s not the same as forgetting. It isn’t.

So I realize this film isn't supposed to be explicitly about World War I. It's supposed to be about Florence. I mean, the title refers mainly to her own awakening, as she finally learns to stop becoming a ghost and live her life. I could write buckets on how amazing and wonderful her character arc is. I could write even more about the literal ghosts in the film, namely Tom, and the echoes of Florence's memories, which she also awakens, thus ultimately awakening her identity.

But I am going to insist, and I hope these two massive posts prove my point, that WWI is not only important to this film, but absolutely necessary. It almost defines everybody; practically none of the characters would be who they are presently if not for the war, and they would certainly be the better for it. People are living with guilt, and grief, and desperate, desperate loss. They are all walking ghosts.

This last quote of Florence's, though – one of the last lines of the film. I think it ties back into the war so well. The war is a part of everybody, but everybody needs to learn how to move forward, and put the war behind them. You don't have to see your ghosts every second to know that they will always be a part of you. You can learn to accept them, and accept yourself. See how confident Florence is about this idea now, her "it isn't" not even a question seeking affirmation, but almost akin to a scientific fact?

Ultimately, I think this is a film about healing – something that is certainly needed after the ravaging of war.