'Possession' - Film Analysis

 Possession: noun -  1) the state of having, owning, or controlling something.                               2) the state of being controlled by a demon or spirit.

    There are few things within the human experience as potentially painful, traumatic, or devastating as

divorce. The severing of a union made in happier times, no matter how mutually beneficial, is an affair

that leaves its mark upon both partners. Tempers flare and accusations fly  as resentment and suspicion

reign supreme. It is perhaps then no mistake that one of horror’s most overlooked films, the psychological

/supernatural thriller Possession (1981), deals almost exclusively with this theme. While other horror films

such as Night of the Living Dead or The Purge may speak to allegories of political and societal

dysfunction, Possession’s boundaries lay firmly within that of the familial unit -- through the eyes of our

protagonists, we witness those whom we once loved transforming into something hideous. Betrayal and

deception all for the whims of a newer, better partner.

Prior to Possession, director Andrzej Zulawski had fermented an infamous reputation for films of the

bizarre and fantastical -- in 1972, his gory and shocking opus Diabel was banned in his native Poland for

its disturbing content, while its amorphic narrative drew many harsh criticisms.  In spite of this, however,

the director’s notoriety soon procured him a devoted cult following. Nearly a decade later, Zulawski’s own

messy divorce proved the inspiration behind his next horror film. While the film’s plot focuses upon the

separation of its two main characters, this analogy runs far deeper than something so superficial. Indeed,

this explicit meaning permeates everything from story to setting.

Set in Berlin during the Cold War -- the film’s opening images show a city that, once, had been

beautiful and whole. However, through tragedy and conflict, the “one” has become “two” as a wall has

been thrust through the center, cleaving them in twain, irreconcilably. Travelling from the drab and grey

concrete of the East, to the graffitied and cynical West, Mark (played by Sam Neill) has returned home

from a business trip. In keeping with the themes of suspicion and voyeurism, Mark is revealed to be

working as a spy -- an intelligence agent sent into East Germany to make contact with sympathetic assets

trapped behind the Iron Curtain. This lengthy foray, however, has caused a rift within his home life --

Mark’s wife, Anna (Isabel Adjani), exhausted from the endless days of loneliness and, what we can

assume to be an unending concern for safety, has filed for divorce. In a scene that mirrors Mark’s

occupation as well as the distance which has grown between them, Mark requests for them to meet at a

restaurant, to discuss the custody of their son, Bob. The two do not share eye-contact, nor do they even

sit together at the same table. Like two spies who do not wish to be seen together, the two speak

cryptically to one another while facing the opposite direction -- it is only when that sense of anonymity is

broken, when familiarity and intimacy return, do passions begin to rise -- and what begins as a terse, yet

civil conversation turns into a violent attack.

Rage stemming from both jealousy and inadequacy exudes from Mark as he chases Anna through

the restaurant, whose cries and screams for help muffle the scathing and spiteful words she throws at her

estranged husband, who writhes on the ground tackled by bystanders. In Possession Anna is, at once,

victim and victimizer. While loneliness and solitude are legitimate reasons for divorce, it is Anna’s

exuberant willingness to compare Mark with that of her other lover that drives away all sympathy with the

audience. 

Mark is presented as a character whose need for control, to possess that which he loves, speaks to

a domineering male ego that cannot be content to “lose” to another man. Upon discovery of a postcard

sent to Anna, and a gift given to his son, Mark confronts Anna’s lover, Heinrich -- whose eccentric

behavior and worldly eroticism unnerve Mark. It is a man in stark contrast to the reserved and banal Mark,

whom Anna had married -- leaving him to wonder just how she could find herself attracted to someone so

different than he -- and pondering if she ever really cared for him to begin with. When Anna’s schedule

becomes increasingly erratic and her presence at home far more scarce, Mark hires a private detective

to follow her. He is a character who is defined by his need for control.

Conversely, in Anna, Zulawski paints a picture of female sexuality as something deceptive and

predatory -- a manipulation tactic used to gain what they want: money, power, or in this case, human lives. With a performance that’s as impressive as it is horrifying, Adjani presents Anna as a woman whose impropriety has broken through to her very sanity. All nurturing, mothering instincts are completely overtaken by a hedonistic desire for liberation. In a microcosmic scene, Anna teaches a ballet class filled with young girls; when one of the dancers has difficulty maintaining a certain pose, Anna aggressively and unethically forces her into the pose -- screaming at the child through her tears before patronizingly and cruelly lavishing praise upon the children next to her. This unnurturing act serves as a means to distance herself from what is expected of her. Even her expectations of beauty and poise are rebuked against when, during an argument with Mark, she mutilates herself with an electric carving knife.

In truth, the reasons for Anna’s flippant disappearances relate to the flat, which she secretly owns, across town. Or rather, what resides in the flat. The mysterious “other man” alluded to throughout the film, whom we infer, originally, to be Heinrich, turns out to be something far removed from humanity. Monstrous and otherworldly, Anna lures unsuspecting men into her flat and kills them, only to be “fed” to the wriggling, tentacled mass which lays in a slimy, bloody bedspread. In a particularly Lovecraftian convention, the creature’s true nature, origin and even overt appearance remain a mystery.  As more and more men are killed, the creature’s form begins to become slightly more human before finally becoming a doppelgänger of Mark, himself. Identical, save for two piercing green eyes.  Inexplicably, this trait is also shared in Mark’s perception of Helen, Bob’s teacher whose appearance is identical to Anna’s...again, except for distinctive green eyes. It is through this that we see Mark’s projections of anxiety and expectation. Mark sees himself within the creature -- a green-eyed monster formed of jealousy and secrecy -- whose uncanniness threatens to replace him in his wife’s life. Accordingly, Mark projects the image of Anna onto Helen -- whose mothering and nurturing behavior remind him of his estranged wife, in happier and more loving times.

Possession is a difficult film to categorize. Though the supernatural elements and suspenseful moments lend credence to its placement in the horror genre, its subdued and cerebral nature defy both convention and cliché. A film whose story would not be served by any other medium save for that of cinema, Possession challenges its viewers to make sense of a story about emotional agony. Its title, both an evocative callback to the demonic relationship between Anna and the creature, also harkens to the toxicity of unhealthy love -- not the love shared between two partners, but the love of owner and object. Its true horror is derived not from the alien and the unknown -- but from the all-too-familiar hurt of heartbreak, betrayal and abandonment.