As a child, no film had a greater power over me than The Secret Garden. I grew up watching my beloved VHS copy of the film on repeat. Get ready for a shock, because the 1993 adaptation of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s 1911 children’s novel turns – gasp – 30 years old today.

The film tells the story of Mary Lennox (Kate Maberly), a “quite contrary” – yes, like the children’s rhyme – British orphan who’s sent to live with her austere, recently widowed uncle Archibald Craven (John Lynch) at his remote manor house, perched on the edge of the gloomy Yorkshire moors. On the vast property, she finds a hidden walled garden and, eventually, the key that will open it. She also comes across Colin (Heydon Prowse), her sickly, sour cousin, who lives hidden away in the manor house. 

With the help of local boy Dickon (Andrew Knott), Mary, Archibald and Colin tend to the overgrown, unkempt garden, bringing it slowly back to life. As the garden revives, so too do the people living within the house – the neglected children and Archibald begin to shed their grief and fear so they can finally look towards a new, hopeful future. Cue happy tears and Linda Ronstadt singing the hauntingly ethereal Winter Light as the credits roll.

Like me, many millennials now consider The Secret Garden a cultural touchstone. Throughout our childhoods, we indulged in the morbid daydream that we too would be swept off to a remote Gothic manor house for an adventure on the moors. And still, we fantasise about discovering luscious, private gardens of our own. When rifling through my monochrome wardrobe, I still internally quote Martha the maid’s iconic line: “Black, black or black?” My friends describe certain men, or rather boys, as “such Colins” – ie troubled, needy, demanding, rude (in other words, not ideal). On TikTok, a video showing dreamy clips from the film edited to Lana Del Rey has racked up over a million views.

But aside from the nostalgic pull that keeps us coming back, the film itself remains one of the best children’s adaptations in cinematic history. Having grown up being able to recite the script by heart, I was struck by its maturity when I returned to it decades later.

Directed by Agnieszka Holland, a Polish film and television director who otherwise boasts a very grown-up CV (The Affair, The Killing, In Darkness, to name a few), The Secret Garden’s richly layered adult themes give it a quiet maturity that makes it stand out from most children’s films – particularly other adaptations of Burnett’s novel.

The Secret Garden has made its way to the screen a number of times. Three other films were released in 1919, 1949 and 1987. Then in 2017 came a bizarre steampunk rendition and in 2020, a World War II-set supersized version. There was also a 1975 TV series inspired by the novel, as well as a sequel released in 2001. 

Standing apart, Holland’s sophisticated take on the classic story manages to weave in the novel’s complicated thematic undertones. From class divides to childhood mental trauma to grief, these themes are allowed to bubble away beneath the surface of the deceptively simple children’s story. In other adaptations, these adult elements are typically either ignored or done with a certain leaden heavy-handedness. 

Holland strikes the perfect balance. As she told The Independent while filming: “The book is very simple and in some ways sentimental, but I think it answers many hopes and anguishes that we have in our life; it’s not cute. It’s full of struggles between life and death, something that’s interested me in all my films.”

In addition to its thematic richness, the film is also, quite simply, breathtaking. Each element comes together to make it a true work of art. The sumptuous cinematography by the extremely accomplished Roger Deakins (1917, Empire of Light) is filled with luscious shots of the garden quite literally coming to life, contrasted with sparse, dramatic shots of the icy, Brontë-esque moors and dense, gloomy shots within the house itself. Similarly, the haunting, sweeping score by Zbigniew Preisner is simultaneously eerie and magical.

The performances, too, are shockingly mature in their subtlety. Maberly’s Mary is withheld and restrained rather than bratty or brash. There is also a Bafta-nominated turn from Maggie Smith as the beleaguered housekeeper, Mrs Medlock, whose patience is running thin – her breakdown after Archibald finds out the children are running amok is, in my opinion, one of the best tearful outbursts rivalled only by Emma Thompson in Sense and Sensibility or Love, Actually. As the grief-stricken, emotionally avoidant Archibald, John Lynch gives what is perhaps the ‘biggest’ performance as he stalks the moors, wide-eyed and haunted. And who could forget the utterly charming Andrew Knott as Dickon – as a child, I admittedly swooned.

The 1993 Secret Garden is pure cinematic magic for children and adults alike. A stunning, sumptuous feast for the eyes and the imagination, it whisks us off to another world. For millennials like me, who grew up daydreaming of luscious jungle gardens and orphan adventures, the film’s ability to blend sadness and regret with joy and hope is something to be newly appreciated in adulthood. With experience, Mary’s conclusion takes on new meaning: “The spell was broken. My uncle learned to laugh, and I learned to cry. The secret garden is always open now. Open, and awake, and alive. If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”

Images: Warner Bros. Pictures; Getty