The Night House by Jonny Numb

The symbiotic relationship between grief and fear is undeniable, but for all the horror efforts that hit this tricky bullseye, just as many screw it up. Thankfully, The Night House gets the tone just right.

 

It’s one thing to craft a film that depicts the loss of a loved one and its fallout on those left behind. But the specificity of the emotions expressed – whether anger, sarcasm, fear, or sorrow – is important. If the direction, dialog, or performances falter or veer too far into camp, the dramatic weight collapses.

 

Case in point: Hereditary’s overtly fetishized portrait of familial loss, madness, and the occult, where the great Toni Collette gave all for a film that succumbed to possession cliches and self-parody.  

Loss and Loneliness

As The Night House progressed, several cinematic comparisons crossed my mind: the melancholic desperation of loss and loneliness housed in the cold shell of The Blackcoat’s Daughter. Elisabeth Moss’ terror-to-empowerment arc in last year’s The Invisible Man. And, perhaps most interestingly, Olivier Assayas’ subdued ghost story, Personal Shopper.

 

In the latter, Kristen Stewart plays the titular character, a medium trying to contact the spirit of her recently deceased brother. There is a magnificent, tension-riddled sequence where she’s menaced by a string of texts from an unknown caller. In The Night House, recently widowed Beth (Rebecca Hall) is plagued by bumps in the night, a self-starting stereo, ominous voices, and texts that appear to be reaching out from “the other side.”  

Mood of Unease

Director David Bruckner, who earned accolades for The Ritual a few years back, continues to evolve his craft here. He creates a mood of unease through a sense of isolation, a desaturated color palette subsisting on dour earth tones, and Hall’s formidable performance. Often filmed in close-up, the actress is given no room to breathe – and no place for her emotions to hide.

 

Anchoring an entire movie is a true test of an actor’s talents, and Hall meets the challenge. Caught in a cycle of blame, curiosity, and pessimism, there’s a repetition to Beth’s mourning that feels all too real. She finds comfort in the bottle, is intrigued by husband Owen’s (Evan Jonigkeit) schematics for their home, and rebuffs offers of help from friends (Sarah Goldberg) and neighbors (Vondie Curtis-Hall). She’s also plagued by nightmares that may or may not be an extension of her willful detachment from humanity.

 

To that end, Ben Lovett’s score is largely content to be a sneaky and stealthy fear delivery mechanism. The skin-crawling ambient drones add considerably to what is already a heavy experience. There are “jump” moments, but the film succeeds well beyond its in-the-moment scares.  

Relationship Dynamics

Another important key to The Night House’s success is its screenwriting pedigree: Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski were the scribes behind Super Dark Times, one of the most hauntingly accurate coming-of-age dramas ever made. These guys understand relationship dynamics, and the tiny fissures that can give way to life-altering conflict.

 

Early on, Beth encounters a parent whose son received a “C” in her class. The scene begins with unexpected humor that quickly gives way to forthright cringe. A similar seesaw of tone occurs during a happy hour where Beth tells her colleagues her house may be haunted. Hall makes Beth’s unnerving laughter as transformative as her tear-stained breakdown in the last act.

 

The Night House is a finely controlled horror effort that finds interesting new ways to conceptualize the hurt and resentment we feel when a loved one passes. In so many ways, it’s the untold secrets and stories that die with our friends and relatives that leave the most haunting imprint on how we work our way out of – or succumb to – that pit of despair.

4 out of 5 Stars