In a way, The Devil's Backbone follows that concept even further. The haunting in this story is always simmering just beneath the film's surface, though it is laid in the background to such a degree that it allows far more earthbound conflicts to progress. Writers Guillermo del Toro, Antonio Trashorras, and David Muñoz present a cast of interesting, surprisingly detailed characters, and use the haunting--and even the Spanish Civil War--as MacGuffins to play each character off the others. And their writing is rewarded by the talented actors, who cohere into a solid and distinct ensemble. By mentioning one relationship I don't intend to demean any of the others, but the interplay among Marisa Paredes, Federico Luppi, and Eduardo Noriega is particularly interesting. The two men, one impotent but kind and wise, the other virile but violent and impetuous, hate each other and vie for the affections of the same woman, but their sick relationship is more complicated than a simple romantic competition. Noriega's character despises the old doctor played by Luppi, but he does so both because he envies what the older man has accomplished and because he hates the weaknesses the other character's age, not to mention sensibilities, represent. Luppi's character, largely turns a blind eye, perhaps through ignorance, perhaps through pomposity, to a dangerous man he permits for far too long to live among innocents. Each major character is a fleshed-out being with uncomfortable but often understandable motivations of their own. As the movie progresses, the characters shift, until by the end of the film the roles each character fills have been altered--and we didn't even know it was happening.

All that aside, The Devil's Backbone is, in fact, a ghost story, and a frightening one. Films in which a ghost actually appears can be tricky to pull off, but director Guillermo del Toro proves time and again that he understands what makes the best films in the genre work. Because the filmmakers are interested in telling more than a ghost story, del Toro doesn't have a lot of opportunities to create outright fear. However, he makes the most of all of the opportunities he's afforded. His incisive use of the the extreme closeup severely limits what the audience can see and thereby creates an intense feeling of being trapped and helpless. However, he also masterfully captures the ghost in long shots in a highly effective way I haven't seen since Kubrick's work in The Shining. The special effects staff deserves praise as well, for using effects to enhance the viewing experience, not to overpower it. A ghostly boy who hangs suspended just inches above the ground, looking as though he's drowning for all eternity, is infinitely more frightening than an effects-heavy wreck like the 1999 Haunting.

One last observation. We, as humans, have a long history of applying rules of behavior to the supernatural. We like to know that a stake to the heart will kill a vampire and that a silver bullet will take down a werewolf. In a very similar way, we like to tell our fictional ghosts that they can only haunt the place they died. Del Toro is aware of these rules, and he plays along with them. For a while. As soon as those rules are violated--as soon as the murdered, vengeful ghost follows a fearful boy out of the place where he was killed--we're forced to remember that despite what we may desperately wish, nothing in life--or death--does what we want, just because we wish it to be so.