At his purest, Guillermo Del Toro tells ghost stories. They’re creepy, but inviting; escapist, but honestly so. He presses on a deep sadness, scuttling through colorful fantasies with a melancholy sense of wonder. His ghosts are often mournful representatives of the past, a metaphor explicitly acknowledged (and repeated) in the director’s latest film, Crimson Peak.
Crimson Peak, more than anything, is a reminder of what recent Del Toro films have been missing. Visually, it might be the most remarkable work he’s produced to date – in his classically-designed Gothic mansion, blood gorgeously oozes out of walls and sensuously drips on beds of white snow – but that’s the extent to which the film succeeds. (Well, that and Jessica Chastain’s wild supporting turn.) The first third is an elongated bore of a prequel; the final act devolves into a yucky and bloated stab-fest. Only in the middle, as ghosts come to overpower the mood of Crimson Peak, does Del Toro manage an effective ghost story. If only he’d committed to that more fully.
Grade: C