One Paragraph Movie Review: Gaslight

One hundred and seventieth film: Gaslight from 1944 with Ingrid Bergman. What an absolute ripper of a film. A proper old-timey black and white thriller, the fact that part of its plot is literally about gas-powered lighting means loads of opportunities for dramatic shadows and ceiling-down camera angles which makes it just bloody marvellous to look at, once you can drag your eyes away from Bergman’s cheekbones. I didn’t realise that the term ‘gaslighting’ — making someone doubt their mental health for your own benefit and power — was as old as it is, nor that it came from this movie (which itself came from an earlier movie, which came from a play). It’s creepy, and infuriating, and exciting, and stops just short enough of melodrama to make you reach for your pearls but not clutch them. Also a young Angela Lansbury is in it playing, frankly, a bit of a bitch hussy. Murder she wrote, when she wasn’t busy with the local policeman and his nightstick, if you know what I mean. Very top stuff. Four and a half disappearing cameo brooches out of five.