The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane

I was on a quest to see this movie. For years. My awareness of it began around the time I was 13, when I read the review in Leonard Maltin's annual film almanac:

Complex, unique mystery with (Jodie) Foster as young girl whose father never seems to be home-and she gets very nervous when anyone goes near the basement. Think you've figured it out? Forget it, Charlie; you haven't even scratched the surface. Engrossing, one-of-a-kind film written by Laird Koenig.

Intriguing, right? I thought so. Even if the plot sounded more than a bit as if someone watched PSYCHO one too many times. Or any later Hitchcock, for that matter. THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVES DOWN THE LANE was not screening on cable back in the day and I could not locate a videocassette of it. The legend (in my mind) grew. I would occasionally read reviews in some of the more obscure (usually European) film magazines I perused at a local newspaper shop. Most were favorable, but the plotline....the possibilities were ripe. The synopsis should fire one's imagination. That alone drove my interest, even if the film would eventually, perhaps unavoidably, be a disappointment. Last year, I finally saw this 1976 cult film on DVD. I was not disappointed. Truth be told, I became further intrigued, and remain so. 

The movie answers the central enigma, but also tantalizes viewers with many more questions. More sociological ones. We do indeed learn why Rynn Jacobs, a 13 year old recluse, is nervous when townspeople dare to go near that trap door and the basement below in her large home. We learn what's down there, and how it got there. Yes, you can, at this point, try to guess all of that, but you'll probably be incorrect, as Maltin stated. But director Nicolas Gessner and writer Koenig invite us to wonder what lead to these circumstances. Psychologically. A dimestore detective may be able to piece the procedural, deductive puzzle together, but he still may not know what lurks in the perp's head. That's where this film's true complexity lies. Foster plays it with the right amount of cunning and sass, as well as fear, keeping at bay the busbody of a landlady (Alexis Smith) and her creepy, pedophile son (Martin Sheen). There are (tasteful) sexual elements interwoven. There are moments of introspection not always seen in a horror film. There is an enormity of subtext that whispers in between scenes, and it hangs over the proceedings like the sword of Damocles. It is what elevates this picture from forgettable 'B' to worthy remembrance, something to chat about with fellow buffs. Though not over tea that has an almond aftertaste, but I digress... 

LITTLE GIRL WHO... was filmed in an age where ambiguity and delicious mystery were still prized in a screenplay for a somewhat mainstream film. Not long after, American cinema became increasingly literal minded. All of the questions of Kubrick's 2001 were answered in the entertaining but distressingly matter-of-fact sequel 2010, as an example. Many audience members want everything spelled out, every event to have a logical explanation. 2 + 2 cannot equal 5, dammit! That said, this film does give us "all" the answers. We learn what became of Rynn's father, and her mother. We learn why Rynn is always alone, observe the fates of some of this film's other characters. All the while, I still felt as I was being toyed with, even in the seeming certainty of the deliberate finale, a slow, perhaps agonizing closing sequence as we stare into Rynn's tell-nothing expression. We stare into it for quite awhile. Does the face reveal anything? Is there a sadness, a cocksureness, anything to betray what's really there? That is what we are left with, and still remains with me now. That's something.