Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Remi Weekes
Starring: Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù, Wunmi Mosaku, Matt Smith, Javier Botet, Emily Taaffe,
Cornell John
In the past, if a haunted house movie wasn't doing enough to keep you
gripped, you inevitably found yourself asking the question of why the
protagonists insist on staying in the house. In recent years, with the
western world experiencing an unprecedented housing crisis, that's no longer
an issue. A home is no longer something you can take for granted, and if
you're lucky enough to have one to call your own, it's going to take one
hell of a demonic presence to oust you. It's no coincidence that in the
immediate years following the 2008 economic crash, which saw evictions on a
scale not seen since the Great Depression, Hollywood gave us a wave of
haunted house thrillers.
Watching writer/director Remi Weekes' feature debut
His House, we never find ourselves asking why the protagonists stay in the house
(though they do make an attempt to leave at one point). That's because our
leads, Bol (Sope Dirisu) and Rial (Wunmi Mosaku), are in
such dire straits that the evil in their new home is but one problem they
have to contend with.
Having escaped South Sudan but losing their daughter while crossing the
sea, Bol and Rial subsequently spend several months in a refugee centre upon
their arrival in England. Eventually they are released and housed in a
crumbling home on an equally dilapidated council estate in some nameless
corner of the country, the detritus of previous occupants left strewn across
the front yard. Their new abode is what you might charitably call a "fixer
upper", but it's theirs nonetheless. "We're not going back," Bol insists.
"That's the spirit," replies Matt Smith's condescending case worker.
Trouble is, something has followed Bol and Rial to their new home. On the
first night, with none of the lights working, Bol is treated to a series of
nightmarish visions of ghouls coming through the walls and appearing out of
the shadows, along with the cries of his late daughter. Rial begins to have
visions too, but hers are somewhat more enlightening, and they make her
question the truth about the man she's sharing a home with.
His House works best as a straightforward refugee drama, not
so much as a horror movie. The movie's most effective scenes are those which
show Bol and Rial adjusting, or failing to adjust to their new life in
England. There are moments of discomfort - a security guard not so subtly
shadowing Bol in a department store; Rial being told to "go back to Africa"
by a group of young local Black boys - but also small glimpses of warmth,
like when Bol is invited to watch a football match in a rowdy pub and joins
in a chorus of a song about infamously gangly striker Peter Crouch. It often
plays like a more grounded version of Jacques Audiard's similarly themed
Dheepan. Dirisu and Mosaku are both excellent in their first starring roles, their
performances contributing greatly to adding a touch of tangible humanity to
a film that treads a thin line between sympathetic social drama and
exploitative genre thriller.
It's when His House returns to its titular abode at night and
enters the horror genre that it becomes less involving. Featuring physical
performer Javier Botet, a regular fixture of horror movies with his
long limbed physique and flexible joints (a side-effect of Marfan syndrome),
the horror sequences play like a retread of every mediocre supernatural
thriller of the last decade, despite the film's cultural specificities.
There's no build up to the scares, which begin as soon as Bol and Rial enter
their home and are dialled up to 11 from the off, and while Dirisu is
convincingly terrified, such fear never quite translates to the audience
beyond the involuntary shocks of loud bangs and jump scares. Following a
shocking late twist, a character is given a redemption that feels unearned
given the nature of the crime it's revealed they committed.
His House is on Netflix now.
