But She Doesn't Look Like a Fiend . . .

Throughout, "facts" work effectively in the film to create an illusion of a "true" account. The filmmakers also use genre-based devices to this end. They attempt to present a cause and effect explanation of the murders through the use of flashbacks. This episodic structure provides economy and psychological factors which would appeal to viewers. I have already alluded to Lizzie's fight with her parents about money, which introduces greed as a motive. In addition, there is a scene just before the murders, where Lizzie and Emma overhear Abby urging Andrew to make another will, so that she would be taken care of. Since the girls hate her, she cannot rely on them after he is gone. Lizzie vows that he must never make a new will. Emma then announces she is going off to Fairhaven, seeming to allow Lizzie to act. But there is more than this rather cliched cause for murder. This is a violent family. At one point, Andrew grabs an axe and kills Lizzie's pet pigeons, despite her remonstrations. He pushes her aside with bloody hands, leaving stains on her blouse. Other flashbacks show trauma in childhood as well. When Andrew was working as a mortician, little Lizzie saw him preparing a corpse. With gross insensitivity, he forced her to touch it, and the terrified child accidentally pulled a tube out of the body, splashing blood around, and on herself. Her screams resonate into her adulthood. The pattern of flashbacks-- to the childhood scene, to family quarrels, to the murders, implies a connection, albeit simplistic. This is a victim acting out her rage, which was nurtured in the bosom of her family. Like the zombies in Night of the Living Dead, she does not "stand for a threat from without." She is "directly animated and possessed" by the forces that produce the social order (Shaviro 86).

If this is not convincing enough, there is the business of Lizzie's eyes. There are meaningful glances between Andrew and Lizzie. More importantly, the camera often closes in on her eyes, and always before the flashbacks. This is not a talky movie. Instead, we are treated to these frequent close-ups of a silent and sinister Lizzie, much like the one in Lincoln's book. The emphasis on eyes carries implications about truth, with the familiar idea of the eyes as mirrors of the soul. At the same time, this is a common device in horror films, and thus draws the "factual" story into the realm of horror. Carol Clover observes that in horror cinema, eyes are present everywhere, in titles, posters, and on screen. It is about seeing too much, or not enough, or our role as spectators, or how we see ourselves (166).

The extent of horrifying images we get to see is determined in part by network broadcasting standards. Although the horror is muted visually, it is strong. The elements of realism in the film serve to enhance the bursts of terror. We do not get a close look at the corpses, but the reactions of the characters who see them are highly emotional. And the image of the sheet-covered bodies, bloody where the fabric rests over the heads, is chilling.

Of course, the most exciting and scary scenes depict the murders, strategically placed near the end of the film, as the tension builds. In a courtroom scene, just before the jury announces its verdict, there is a flashback to August 4. We see Lizzie undress completely before each murder. Each time, she gets the attention of her victim, and then strikes. It is a sadistic touch. The nudity is "tasteful," though that seems an odd word in this violent context, and viewers are spared (or denied) the bloody butchery. Still, the effect is powerful. We see Lizzie rinsing off the blood, the red water filling her basin. Also chilling is the moment when Bridget opens the front door to let Andrew in, while Lizzie stands at the top of the stairs. From there she can see Abby's corpse, and she laughs. This maniacal touch and the nude murder scenes introduce an element of fantasy. On the one hand, it seems practical to undress in order to avoid bloodstains on one's clothing, but this is not an exercise in practicality. There is a dreamlike quality here. A Victorian lady getting naked to kill her parents, even on a hot day, and making sure they see her before they die, does not seem "real," but it is terrifying and provocative. Why not keep your clothes on and feed them arsenic? And what else was going on in this family? All the earlier attempts to rationally explain the murders fade, and give way to the impact of these fearful images. I have read novels describing Lizzie doing the murders, and even seen a stage Lizzie bashing her father's head with the fabled axe, and these do not come close to producing the effect that is created by the camera here. This is the type of horror which Carol Clover and Linda Williams term body genre. Here violence and terror are expressed through sensational bodily excess (Williams 4). There are no supernatural or high-tech elements; bodies--the female murderer and her victims--are the center of attention.

The film also shows an interesting deviation from the classic pattern of the female as victim of male violence. As such, it is an example of an individual work in a genre creating something new. According to Bakhtin, "genre provides the `given,'" but each work "uses the resources of the genre in a specific way in response to a specific individual situation" (Morson 89). Here a woman is the powerful monster, unleashing her fury on an old man and woman. One could read this as a perversion of feminist claims to equality of the sexes. From that perspective, the film becomes a reaction to a perception of the growing power of women in our society, which is seen as a threat. Also, in our culture, female nudity and sexuality are linked, especially in media images. This film implies that female sexuality is dangerous. It is not only the act, but Lizzie's gender which disturbs. The orderly structure of the film, organized into sections and captioned, e.g. The Crime, The Accusation, The Ordeal, and so on, is overwhelmed by the vulnerable yet deadly body of Lizzie. The "facts," or official order, give way to heteroglossia, the fantastic scenes and thrills. It seems ironic perhaps that the official order exonerates Lizzie, while the unofficial supports traditional social prejudices against women, but pop culture is not obliged to be progressive or politically correct. In a courtroom scene, Mr. Robinson, Lizzie's lawyer, pleads with the jury, saying, "To find her guilty, you must believe her to be a fiend." He continues, "Does she look it?" Of course she does not. But the audience has seen what the jury has not, and knows that ordinary women can be dangerous.

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