The strange and shadowy figure of Jack the Ripper has fascinated people from the late 19th century down to the present day, giving rise to a body of literature known as ‘Ripperology’ and to inconclusive speculation as to his possible identity.

He was arguably the first serial murderer of ‘modern’ times, having targeted prostitutes in the area known as Whitechapel, close to London, England. For the space of a few months, he terrorised this area and was never caught, although it is thought that officialdom was aware of his real identity.

The History Channel on cable television has been screening a film entitled Jack the Ripper with Sir Michael Caine in the role of Detective Inspector Frederick Abberline. In my view, writer and director David Wickes has achieved a masterpiece.

The theme is the very stuff of horror. Think of the narrow, cobbled lanes of sleazy Whitechapel in the Victorian era: the crowded, noisy pub with its lights and safety; the dark, menacing streets outside, which the ‘shilling prostitutes’ had to negotiate in order to earn their miserable livelihood; and the Ripper coming at them out of the night, as it were…

Victorian life

What was most impressive about the architectonic strength and symmetry of the script was its re-creation of the variegated aspects of Victorian life as a backdrop to the tale of terror.

The grinding poverty of the folk at Whitechapel and other areas, with a mix of immigrants and native workers, was in stark contrast to the comfortable life of the affluent aristocracy. This poverty bred social movements such as the Anarchists and Marxist revolutionaries. The figure of George Lusk, a self-appointed leader of the vigilante movement to ‘catch’ the Ripper and Harry the official police force, was one of several outstanding features of the script.

Other figures evoked imaginatively by the script include the actor, one Richard Mansfield, playing the double role of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The director understood correctly that the tale of the Ripper is an enquiry into the very nature of evil. It was a stroke of genius to introduce R  L Stevenson’s haunting story into the script.
A psychic, consulted even by Queen Victoria, provides additional insights and drama to the screen.

Unknown identity

The very fact that the Ripper’s identity is unknown is what invests the matter with its peculiar horror. Give a face and a name to the Ripper, and the entire syndrome becomes banal and boring. As the matter stands, the Ripper—not being any particular man—could be the face of evil itself.

The arch, pretty and sophisticated Emma (played by Jane Seymour) offsets the pathetic spontaneity and essential powerlessness of prostitutes such as Mary Jane, Catherine Eddowes and so on.

The stratification of Victorian society is realised deftly, and there is a point to this. It seems plausible that the Ripper belonged to the ‘upper crust’ and therefore was viewed by the prostitutes as someone whom they could trust.

Also, he would have had so much contempt for these ‘whores’ that he would have considered them as ‘non-persons’ upon whom he might wreak his sadistic torture without a qualm. This element of class division must have played a major role in the Ripper’s psychological make-up.

Medical knowledge

Further, from the available evidence, the Ripper possessed considerable medical knowledge and surgical skills honed over years of practice. The painstaking research evident in the script bears testimony to this.

Other points articulated by Inspector Abberline, such as the paucity of blood found near the corpse; the time it would have taken for the Ripper to get to Mitre Square after having killed Catherine Eddowes; the jagged cuts on the organs and so on, clearly indicate the presence of a coach and a team of two men closely knit by some strange bond.

With so many policemen deployed on the streets of Whitechapel, it would also be likely that a coach which bore the royal crest would not be stopped.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, even thought that the Ripper might have been a midwife.This does not sound convincing if only because, after the second murder at least, even a midwife walking the streets at dead of night would have been stopped and questioned by one or other of the police constables patrolling the area.

Furthermore, the savagery with which the throat of the first victim was slashed—the knife slicing even through layers of tissue—argues for the Ripper being a man of some strength.

Who’s the culprit?

The argument advanced by the director and writer is the most convincing one: namely, that the queen’s physician, Sir William Gull, was the culprit. The mode of his apprehension, and the conclusion to the story, stand out as singularly impressive scenes in cinematic history.

The pace crackled with the swift juxtaposition of the Ripper’s ‘advent’ involving the coach, the high gates, the black chargers and other accoutrements — and the ambience of the well-lit pub.

Also paced brilliantly were other scenes involving the discovery of the murders, the understated anguish of Inspector Abberline and Sergeant Godley, the climactic scene in the play, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, the coroner’s court, the brief encounters of the police leaders with political authority and so on. Each scene had been crafted economically and fitted painstakingly into the pattern of the whole.

Mystery and horror

On the second or third viewing, I made a point of noticing the way the actor, Richard Mansfield, builds up the maniacal laughter of  Mr Hyde. These details meticulously enhanced the dominant mood mystery and horror.

Nor were other values, such as the music score, given less importance. The score by John Cameron was perfect, with its ‘swelling imperial theme’ and darker variations. As for the players, it was the ensemble playing for which the British are justly renowned and lauded.

This is one film which must be seen—preferably more than once, if the viewer can stomach it, for the subtleties and complexities are truly worth savouring.

Think of the work as a multifoliate plant or flower, clustered in artistry around an arresting centre. This is how a film ought to be crafted, with the various elements orchestrated in rhythmic balance to great effect.