In the late 19th century, two French psychiatrists coined the term “folie à deux,” literally translated as madness for two, to describe what is now widely referred to as shared psychotic disorder, or when two — or more — people transmit delusional beliefs and occasional hallucinations to one another. The condition is most common in people closely related, who live in intimate proximity, and has been lengthily dissected by academics. There is no defined cause for the condition, but factors such as stress and social isolation are believed to be the most common triggers.
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In Agnieszka Smoczynska’s English language debut, “The Silent Twins,” sisters June (Letitia Wright) and Jenniffer Gibbons (Tamara Lawrance) appear to suffer not so much from folie à deux but one of its most common variants, folie imposée, where one dominant person initially imposes their delusional beliefs upon another, ultimately leading to the inception of the shared deception. The dominant twin here is Jennifer, who angrily whispers commands to her all-abiding sister. If June even briefly flirts with the idea of contradiction, Jennifer prances upon her, the two growling at one another in a grueling display of physicality that embodies the frustration of their limited communication.
Based on the true story of the Gibbons sisters, known as The Silent Twins due to their staunch resoluteness in only communicating with one another, Smoczynska’s retelling of the infamous tale begins as an examination of their intimacy. The amusingly unconventional credits have the two girls read the cast and crew names out loud, exchanging charming little quips as they go. The first scene is an extension of this bit, June and Jennifer closely framed as their shoulders touch, soft pink light engulfing both as a blanket. They read niftily written news and announce upcoming songs, both mirroring each other’s whispery lisp.
The comforting pink light turns into washed-up shades of beige as their mother knocks on the door, abruptly removing the girls from the safety of their nest. With the sign of unwelcome company, the twins lower their heads, chins touching chests in discomfort. In this symmetry, the actresses who play the younger Gibbons are an asserted feat of casting, their teeth grinding in anxiety, fingernails slowly and painfully piercing the skin, blood shyly making its way out. As a way of freeing thoughts rarely shared, the sisters take to paper, scribbling stories with focused obstinacy. Their words are visually brought to screen through inspired use of animation, Smoczynska blending narrative tools to convey what could be easily lost to silence.
Alas, once the girls grow into teenagers, “The Silent Twins” dwindles. The cryptic mannerisms perfectly epitomized by the younger Gibbons are never quite as effective through the performances of Wright and Lawrance, who thread far too close to the pastiche in their attempt to capture how the rushing hormones of adolescence further strain their already tenuous condition. As the years go by, June and Jennifer not only share their echoed angst but take turns with the same boy, in the same house, the same car. They share the same body as they explore their own, the pleasure — and the pain — felt by one, sought desperately by the other. In this dance, what could be construed as the need for a physical translation of the psychological culminates in an effort drowned in emptiness.
Feeding off each other’s paranoia, the girls embark on a brief crime spree, from petty theft to a small arson incident. In court, the two sit side by side, aided by the silence that connects them to each other but amputates them from the world. Their refusal to speak, coupled with a psychiatric evaluation that deems their case all but hopeless, the twins are sentenced to an undetermined stint at Broadmoor Hospital, England’s oldest high-security psychiatrist hospital, in Berkshire.
The walls of the infamous Broadmoor, which have sheltered the likes of Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe and ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ Robert Maudsley, entrap the twins for eleven long years. It is at Broadmoor that June first holds a copy of her book, the ecstasy of the accomplishment drained by the sorrow of her predicament. It is also at Broadmoor, with the twisted aid of enforced separation, that the twins are left to process the notion of individuality — a fruitful concept, in theory, not so much so in execution, Smoczynska much more concerned with form over content, playing with light and composition as she prioritizes spaces over characters.
As a visual offering, “The Silent Twins” has moments of sheer, raw imaginativeness. As a worthy study of the two central characters, sadly, it lacks the same level of vision. [C+]
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