Flowers in the Attic...Reflections...
Little did I know how much my life was going to change. It was on the night of my father's
last birthday. My mother, my older brother Christopher, the twins Cory and Carrie, and I
had planned a surprise birthday party for him. We waited for him to come home. And waited.
And waited. I knew something was wrong, and when the police showed up, I knew he was dead.
Then the money ran out, and Mom decided that we
should all move to the Grandmother's house.
It was a decision that confused me. We had
never met the Grandparents before. In fact, we had never even heard Mom and Dad mention
them.
On the bus ride over, Mom told us her plan. The
Grandfather was ill and probably would not live much longer. For some reason, Mom had been
disinherited, and she was planning to win her father's love back and become heir to his
fortune.
I will never forget the night we arrived. The
Grandparent's estate was enormous ... foreboding. The cold masonry, the tall gray stone
walls, and the vicious Guard dogs that barked ferociously at us transformed my nervousness
into fear. Something was just not right.
Meeting the Grandmother only confirmed my
suspicions. She confined us to a small room with two beds, while Mother was given her old
room. The Grandmother told us the rules, making us feel like we were in a prison rather
than a home. We were not allowed to see the Grandfather, or even make him aware of our
presence. The Grandmother locked the door to ensure we wouldn't wander where we did not
belong.
For a while, Mother visited regularly bringing
food and comfort. But soon her visits decreased. Sometimes weeks would pass before she
would make an appearance. Only the Grandmother arrived to scold us and tell us that we
were the product of an unwholesome union: our mother had married her uncle -- our father.
Therefore, we deserved to be treated like the devil's spawn.
When Mother did finally return, she told us
about a secret door in the closet that led up to the attic where we would find a huge
expanse of artifacts and knick-knacks.
And while we made this attic into our home --
the very universe of our existence -- we worried about our mother who had not visited in
quite some time.
Late one night Christopher and I unhinged the
bedroom door and snuck into the house. We found Mother's room, only to discover her living
like a princess. A huge array of dresses lined her closet. Satin sheets covered her bed.
we were outraged.
I confronted Mother on her next visit. Why do
you get to live in luxury while your children suffer and are growing ill? I demanded.
She told me that her plan was working. She was
being reintroduced into society and would probably remarry soon. All would be perfect.
All was not perfect. Cory became seriously ill,
and I had to demand that he be taken to the hospital. He died soon after. Then Christopher
made a shocking discovery. He consulted one of his medical books and discovered that Cory
had been poisoned. Arsenic, in the cookies. When was our turn?
On our next trip into the house, we discovered
that the Grandfathcr had been dead for awhile. We even found a copy of the will. Mother
was in the will, but if it was ever made known that she had children, she would be
instantly disinherited. We knew then that unless we acted quickly, our existence was about
to be erased.
Flowers in the Attic...Contradictions...
V.C. Andrew's Flowers in the Attic thrusts innocent children who lead storybook lives into
an existence of twisted beliefs, betrayed loyalties, and heartless cruelty.
Christopher Young's score reflects the naivete
of the children, utilizing an orchestra of strings, woodwinds, percussion and solo
soprano.
The beauty and innocence of the main motifs,
contrasted with the extreme loss of innocence in the film, creates a terrifying musical
contradiction -- the essence of this overall melancholy score that focuses on the sad
existence of the children, rather than the surface drama.
Such is the contribution of so gifted a
composer.
Notes by Roger
Feigelson
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