In ‘The Shining,’ Shelley Duvall Was a Perfect Gothic Heroine

If Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining” was a twist on the centuries-old Gothic horror genre, there was no one better suited to play a modern Gothic heroine than Shelley Duvall. Duvall, who died Thursday at 75, was in her late 20s when she shot the role of Wendy Torrance, put-upon wife of blocked writer Jack (Jack Nicholson). The pair have holed up with their young son in the Overlook Hotel, working as winter caretakers.

But something evil is afoot. The Overlook is less hotel than haunted house, saddled with the weight of inexplicable and violent history. Wendy is virtually trapped there, a small woman often alone in a rambling, dangerous building full of secrets. It might be more accurate to call the Overlook a monster, one that pushes its monstrousness onto its inhabitants. And it is Wendy, not Jack, who successfully resists in the end.

The Gothic heroine, the woman trapped in the menacing haunted home, must exhibit courage in the face of danger, remaining resolute while also being susceptible to the evil that lurks around every corner. Without that tension, we wouldn’t be kept in suspense. In the film, Duvall is waifish, eyes wide, hair flat and scraggly, and it’s hard not to believe she’s going to die. Her only objective is to save her son, Danny, from his father, who — we learn early on — previously broke Danny’s arm in an alcoholic rage. This evil she is fighting is malevolent and abusive and real, a threat she has seen in action before, only now it carries an ax.

The Wendy of Kubrick’s 1980 movie is a different kind of woman than the Wendy of Stephen King’s earlier novel — she’s more vulnerable, more frightened. King complained that the movie’s version was “basically just there to scream and be stupid and that’s not the woman that I wrote about.” Duvall was cited as a weak point in many of the film’s mixed reviews and nominated for a Razzie for worst actress.

Yet her work in “The Shining” has grown in critical esteem in recent years; today it can feel as if detractors simply weren’t expecting how unsettling it would be to witness her performance of abject terror. There’s a strangeness to it: Her eyes are both huge and heavy-lidded, her mouth equally able to draw into a rosebud or spread wide for a shriek. Throughout the film, her affect is almost that of a china doll, terrified of being shattered. She appears afraid to breathe, barely able to speak.