Call me a pilgrim to Gomorrah, but man, it’s so weird, I really like horror movies that bother being scary. I know! It’s crazy! I like comedies that are funny, too! I’m a man unhinged.
So many horror films released since, I dunno, I’ll arbitrarily say 2014, are less bothered about being scary than they are about making whatever social or political point they’re trying to make. I find this thunderously dull. It’s terrible storytelling, too. Show! Don’t tell! Be scary! That’s His House. Remi Weekes shows. He doesn’t tell. He has such a great sense for visual storytelling that he’s able to take jump scares, the most derided form of scare*, and make them essential to his narrative. Basically, this is a stupendous movie. If not for Koko-di Koko-da, it’d be the year’s best horror movie. As it stands, they’re tied.
You can read my full and very enthusiastic review at Paste Magazine.
*According to critics who have only started watching horror movies since horror movies have become popular enough to take seriously. Hire horror journalists.
A Constant Visual Feast 