A STOLEN LIFE: Alone at Last

SPOILER ALERT.

Introverted girl meets introverted boy. Introverted girl loses introverted boy to extroverted twin sister. Introverted girl regains introverted boy (after extroverted twin drowns and introverted twin unsuccessfully commandeers extroverted twin’s life for a hot minute).

A Stolen Life, which is based on the novel Uloupeny Zivot by K.J. Benes, is, if I may use a cliché, a movie ahead of its time. And not just because of the surprisingly sophisticated technological magic (Bette Davis plays the aforementioned twins, Kate and Pat Bosworth, who interact physically with some frequency), but because it deals with a topic that is only now being fully understood, and at a time when there was no practical vocabulary for it: introversion. That is to say, the vocabulary existed, it just wasn’t defined properly in popular consciousness, and still isn’t, entirely. Indeed, in another 1940s Bette Davis vehicle, Now, Voyager, Davis’s character, Charlotte, refers to old Boston homes as “introverted” in a rather reductive, negative way (the irony of the [mis]use of a psychological term in a largely psychological – and otherwise fabulous – film is not lost on this writer). While Jung’s Psychological Types had been published in 1921, society has continually failed to grasp the deeper meanings of introversion and extroversion until very, very recently, thanks to Susan Cain and others.

Yet, despite the lack of vocabulary, between Catherine Turney’s screenplay, Margaret Buell Wilder’s adaptation, and Davis’s performance, a sensitive portrait of an introvert emerges. The dialogue – and its masterful delivery by Queen Bette – tells us everything we need to know. First, in spite of her profession to the contrary (“I never was very good at mincing words”), Kate displays the classic introverted trait of filtering. Second, she is a somewhat solitary figure, tho’ clearly socially intelligent (as evidenced by said filtering). Third, she is sensitive, empathetic, intuitive, and deep, as well as cautious and reserved.

Every time I watch this film, I find myself thinking the same thing: “People are always being so rude to her.” The first few minutes of the film introduce us to a persistent, but polite, Kate Bosworth, who responds gratefully and courteously to the less-than-gentlemanly male figures she encounters. First, having missed her connexion to the island where she is to stay with her cousin, Freddie Linley, Kate is forced to extract begrudgingly given information from a pinched-voiced, uncooperative dockworker. Then, when she asks lighthouse worker Bill Emerson (Glenn Ford), her soon-to-be love interest, for a ride to the island because she “missed the steamer,” he ungraciously replies, “Well, that’ll teach you not to be late.” Kate doesn’t respond in kind. Instead, she gently insists, “I’d be very indebted to you,” and when gruffly asked, “Can’t you see I’m full up?” replies with subtle, in fact, almost imperceptible humor and charm, “I’m not very large.” This does the trick, and Bill, Introvert #2, allows her aboard and, by extension, into his life.

During this scene, we discover that Kate is an artist, which also points to her introversion, as painting/drawing is a largely solitary activity, and artists are sensitive, often inwardly oriented people. The first time we see Kate’s work, it’s by way of her sketch of Bill, the aforementioned Introvert #2. Call it meta-introversion, or something like it: Kate is an introvert capturing the likeness of another introvert, thereby illustrating, if you will, the sympathy between them, which she seems to detect almost immediately.

Eventually, she concocts a plan to see Bill again, negotiating a deal with Eben Folger (Walter Brennan), Bill’s crotchety coworker, so that she may allegedly paint the latter’s portrait. Again, we see Kate reacting with plucky politeness to Eben’s protestations and curtness (“I said, ‘No visitors!’” And later, “Now, you’re pretty smart, for a woman!”). Introverts filter their responses because they generally dislike confrontation and unpleasantness; it takes too much energy to fight (indeed, later, when Freddie tells Kate to “fight for” Bill, she says, helplessly, “I can’t.”), and introverts’ energy reservoirs are limited. Furthermore, filtering is often used as a survival mechanism, as it creates the semblance of a thick skin; introverts are often extremely sensitive, and their seemingly impenetrable exteriors allow them to function in and navigate through an insensitive world.

More of Kate’s seeming indifference can be seen in her interactions with Bill. The latter fails (purposely? Cluelessly? Self-defensively?) to take Kate’s hint that she’d like to visit a while at the lighthouse, and takes her words, “Well, now that I’ve lured him into posing, I guess I’d better go; you’re busy,” at face value, saying, “Yes, I’ve got a couple of hours work left.” She responds simply, but tellingly, “I’m sure you have.” Her polite smile and almost flat tones tell us that her feelings are hurt, but she’s trying to hide the fact.

Another such example of Kate’s feigned impassivity occurs when she edits her reaction to Bill’s news that he is leaving because he’ll be “going on to a new job next week” (which, it turns out, is only temporary – way to scare a girl, Bill). “Well, it’s been lots of fun these past few days,” she says with unconvincing nonchalance. After having confessed to Bill her plan to get to know him in an earlier scene, she refuses to expose her heart any further, as you would expect from any self-respecting introvert.

Indeed, said confession would be a big deal to an introvert, but Kate must’ve believed the risk was worth it, as she recognizes her need for an introverted soulmate. During the “confession scene,” when Bill encourages her to go “right out into” the fog, which she’s a little afraid of, she says, “It’s like the end of the world,” and finds that it encourages one to say “honest things,” leading to her revelation.

Just before this, Kate relates, “I don’t mind being alone, but I don’t like to feel lonely.” Bill, who we’re later told “deliberately took this job here to get away from too many people,” understands. “There’s a difference, isn’t there?” he agrees. Indeed, the exchange between these characters is the crux of the personality portrait:

Kate: “Lonely people want friends. They have to search very hard for – it’s difficult for them to – to find—“

Bill: “Other lonely people.”

“The fog’s lifting,” Bill says towards the end of the scene. Kate responds, “It wasn’t the end of the world, after all.” Symbolism, not psychological terminology, illustrates the point. Introverts enjoy solitude, but not necessarily isolation; they wish to be understood, to have witnesses to their lives, and who better to share these lives with than other misunderstood introverts?

Kate seems quite self-aware in this respect. When her twin, Pat, asks her if she’d like to date one of her soon-to-be castoffs (the never-seen Tom Frasier, who owns a “perfectly out-of-this-world yacht”), Kate shakes her head and says, “I know my limitations, and I’m satisfied to stay within them.” This simple statement implies many things: Kate acknowledges her introversion, realizes she’s best suited to another quiet-living introvert, and embraces her introversion, something introverts are only now being allowed (even encouraged) to do.

Her declaration is important because it follows upon the heels of a conversation she has with Introvert #2, which takes place in a spot on the island that Bill has never brought anyone else to before. He could only share this special world with someone who would naturally inhabit it, another introvert. A little earlier, before he shows her “the best spot of all,” in effect, they discuss, vaguely, and again, without the psychobabble, the subject of introversion. Bill informs her how sorry he feels for his former university classmates, who think he is to be pitied, “stuck way off down here.” Kate gets it:

“You’ve found your right place in the world,” she says, “I envy you.”

“You know, you’re the first person that’s ever understood that,” he replies, gratefully.

The conversation, it would seem, did her good. By empathizing with Bill, she comes to appreciate her nature, and by the time she gets home, she is ready to declare as much to her sister. Bill’s island is her island, the paradisaic Isle O’ Introversion. Ironically, once Kate finds someone to share her island of isolation (aching loneliness) with, it becomes a symbol of blissful introversion (heavenly aloneness).

And just when Kate has found her psychological sea legs, having embraced her beautiful, glorious introversion, along comes the extroverted Pat and pulls the rug out from under her (excuse the multiple metaphors). Having hijacked Kate’s date with Bill (you’ll have to watch the movie to find out how!), Bill, thinking he’s speaking to Kate, tells her that while he knew she was a “swell person,” he’d always felt that there was “something lacking,” that she was “like… a cake without any frosting.” Charmer. Pat understands her own superficial appeal, tho’ not much else: “Today, you think I’m well frosted.” He remarks, “I’ll say.” She chuckles.

“What are you giggling about?” Bill asks.

“Your not thinking I was frosted,” Pat replies.

“I was never more fooled in my life,” says Bill, with a silly grin.

He has no idea how accurate his statement is. He has been fooled into thinking Pat was Kate for an entire afternoon, and will continue to be fooled about Pat’s character -- all the way to the altar.

While it may seem that Kate’s life has been “stolen” by Pat, there is more role-reversal and life-theft on the way. But more on that, later.

First, we must deal with the visit that sets it all in motion. While Kate is painting with her new artist friend, Karnock, Bill calls her to ask if she’d help him choose a gift for her man-stealing sister. She agrees. During this meeting, Bill reveals that he took on a new job that “pays darn good money,” cluing us into the fact that his priorities have changed because Pat is a demanding wife, and that theirs is an unhappy marriage. Kate says, “Bill, I can’t think of you away from the island, somehow.” (He confirms our suspicions: “I had to do something to make more dough.”) The island, Bill’s safe haven, the introvert’s comfortable cocoon, has been abandoned in favor of the extrovert’s (Pat’s) demands/needs. He is no longer living in his own peculiar world; he is, to continue the nautical rhetoric, a fish out of water, and that can only mean one thing: death.

As we might’ve told Kate, meeting up with Bill would not be a good idea. She returns deflated, and Karnock proceeds to tell her that she’ll “never land a guy all closed up inside like this,” echoing his earlier words to her about her work, that, like her, it was “stiff, ingrown, afraid.” Not a surprising diagnosis from Karnock, seeing as introverts are always being told that they need to “come out of their shells” (read: become extroverts).

She snaps, “But I wasn’t always like this; people change!” Again, the vocabulary is nonexistent, but the writers, through Kate, let us in on something here: Introverts are not necessarily retiring wallflowers. They can be open, though reserved. The point is that Kate’s introversion has become a bit more exaggerated because of the pain she has experienced at her extroverted sister’s hands. She has turned inward because the outside world, outside forces, are too hurtful and destructive. Living inside herself, her own mind, her own world, her own personal island, is safer.

In fact, she tells Karnock, “I think I’m going to the island for a while.” The island Bill abandoned. She has decided, conversely, to put her roots down even deeper there. Perhaps she feels closer to him there, but one thing’s certain: She feels closer to herself. She can heal there, by herself.

Or could have, if she hadn’t arrived to find Pat squatting on her territory. And stealing more of her life, it would seem. She has now taken up one of Kate’s passions, sailing, as well as her more casual fashion sense: “You haven’t said a word about my dungarees,” Pat intones, “I’m getting to be a big outdoors girl, now.” It’s the kind of smugness that brings out the pugilist in one.

But it’s obvious that Pat doesn’t really get it. When Kate asks, “Whatever possessed you to come here,” Pat replies, “Oh, I wanted to see the gang again.” One comes to the island to get away, Pat, not to socialize, to connect/commune quietly and calmly with one’s own self, not to take “luncheon… on Tom Fraser’s yacht.”

That is, perhaps, why the island (or its waters) must destroy Pat – she not only misses its point, but abuses it, attempts to characterize it with an opposing nature, giving it a different function. She is trespassing. So, after declaring that she has taken up sailing because she’d have “died of boredom otherwise” -- another slap in the face to Kate and her authentic love of the water -- the sea punishes Pat, who was playing skipper while boating during a storm with her sister, by swallowing her up, thereby reclaiming its proper place as a safe harbor, as it were, for the introverted.

Now, it’s Kate’s turn to steal Pat’s life, having survived the storm and been mistaken for her twin. Davis chooses to show us that Kate is “playing” Pat – somewhat unconvincingly – and it’s the right choice because it illustrates the point. Introverts often pretend to be extroverts in order to get through life, in order to be happy, because, until recently, they’ve been told that extroverts are the happier, more successful personalities. The naturally introverted Salvador Dali’s uncle advised him to do just that. I say it’s no coincidence that our Kate is a painter, too.

“Well, you’re being dreadfully unsocial,” says Kate (as Pat) to Freddie after he refuses to stay for a drink. Davis and the writers are pushing the point: Pat is a butterfly, outgoing – “extroverted.” She rather blithely invites Freddie and Bill to have drinks, to socialize, so soon after her sister’s death, when she should be in mourning. This insensitivity is intentionally jarring, for Pat was the extreme type of extrovert – the callous type, and so, tho’ jarring, it somewhat rings true. Yet, its complete impropriety also makes the moment feel false because it is: Kate is mimicking – or attempting to mimic -- Pat, and nothing more. It is a pantomime, not a conversion. When Kate plays Pat, she doesn’t even try to display sensitivity because that’s not how she truly perceives her sister to be. Something, we sense, is off. This sensation is related to that weird vibe that’s created when introverts try to network – it’s uncomfortable for their interlocutors because it’s uncomfortable, indeed, unnatural, for the introverts themselves to engage in self-promotion.

Kate-Pat admits this in a very telling piece of dialogue: “I know just how he [Freddie] feels; it’s very strange for me without Kate.” On the surface, she means that it’s strange for a twin to have lost a family member, but when we remember that Kate-Pat is, well, really Kate, the sentence takes on another meaning: “It’s very strange not being my (introverted) self.”

The beauty of this plot twist is that Kate, as Pat, soon realizes that she must start acting more like her real self when she discovers that Pat’s wild ways have caused a rift in her marriage to Bill. In fact, they were in the process of divorcing as Pat was planning to wed the married man, Jack Talbot, with whom she’d been carrying on an affair. Having asked Bill for a second chance, she now has to conform to the “kinds of things he likes,” which are the same kinds of things Kate likes. Quite the tangled web.

When Bill returns home, Kate-Pat informs him of their dinner plans. “Oh, we’re staying home tonight,” Bill says, pleasantly surprised.

“I thought it’d be fun,” she says.

“Why, yes, it would,” Bill replies, with wonder.

Fun for introverts, that is. Clearly, Pat had always insisted they go out for dinner, to socialize, to be seen, because, as an extreme, superficial type of extrovert, that was her idea of fun.

Even as Kate pretends to be Pat, striving to be more like Kate, Kate can’t seem to help being anything but, you guessed it, Kate. In attempting to save the marriage, Kate handles Pat’s affair with Talbot by not handling it at all – she, like a true introvert, avoids confrontation. She tells Bill, “He [Talbot] telephoned me two, three times, and sent me flowers. I haven’t acknowledged them I – I thought that was the best way to handle it.” Ironically, this technique is less than satisfactory to Introvert #2. He says, “Don’t you think you owe it to him to tell him that it’s all over?” To carry our identity web motif further, we could say that Bill wants Kate-Pat to act more like Pat-Kate.

The subsequent visit to Talbot’s apartment turns up even more dirt on Pat. When Kate realizes what a “laughing stock” Pat has made of Bill with “all the others,” she decides, “I can’t face him,” packs her bags, and heads for the island, where her trusty cousin is waiting for her.

When she arrives, Freddie comments on the grisly weather, but Kate says, “I like the fog.” Of course she does, now – it conceals her, shelters her introverted self, and also revealed Bill and Kate to each other, and Kate more fully to herself, that night they talked atop the lighthouse.

Freddie, of course, has figured out that Kate isn’t Pat and scolds, “It’s absolutely unbelievable that you could do such a thing.”

She replies, pitifully, “It seemed my only chance for happiness.” Again, we see the struggle between her contented introversion and the drive to behave in an extroverted manner, extroversion being the supposed key to happiness.

“But you were never a liar, Kate. How did you think you could live a lie?” Freddie asks. In other words, she had always been authentic, true to her introverted self and, like many introverts, authentic in the way she related to others.

Freddie senses Kate’s connexion with the island. In fact, he reveals that he realized her true identity for certain when she called to tell him she was coming to the island. While Karnock reproached her for “always running away,” that proves to be the right thing to do, in this case. In running away from the house Bill shared with Pat, she runs to the island, and therefore, away from her fake extroverted self toward her real introverted self, away from the false world Bill was living in with Pat, toward his real home.

In returning to her safe haven, she is not only returning to her own selfhood, but to Bill, who, in the closing scene, we see walking toward her as she stands, apparently desolate, on their special spot on the island. “Oh, Katie, I knew I’d find you here,” Bill says. In this way, Bill finds Kate, even as she has rediscovered herself, on the island and, in the process, finds himself again: “Oh, yes, I fell in love with Pat, but it was never right, not the way we were always right for each other. I know that now,” he says.

In returning to their common ground – literally – they embrace their own introverted natures and can now be together, authentically, because Pat, Kate’s extroverted and false doppelganger/alter ego, is dead, literally and figuratively.

“Let’s forget everything that’s happened, as though we never left the island. Can you do that?” Bill says. Kate nods. I think we may safely assume that introverted girl and introverted boy live happily ever after. The End.