Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House is an unadaptable novel. Not because its events are impossible to depict, but because the bulk of the story and its main appeal are the protagonist's internal monologue. Much like The Shining, Haunting of Hill House is deeply psychological, and an adaptation without that psychology would be like a frame without a canvas. Kubrick's adaptation was a pretty frame indeed. Flanagan's is a different painting.
Certain things remain the same. The house is there, of course. Flanagan sensibly includes the iconic opening paragraph of Jackson's novel as the series' opening monologue. Characters have the same names. But apart from that, the story and characters are entirely different, which to me is a good thing. Adapting Jackson's novel would have needed nothing short of Stanley Kubrick's direction to make up for how much would be lost.
Flanagan's new story is about a family living in the shadow of their childhood trauma. We flash back and forth between the past, in which the family lives in the house, and the present, in which the family, now scattered to the winds and composed of traumatized, unhappy people, mopes and treats each other like dirt and sometimes sees a ghost. They say that horror works best as metaphor, but really, horror works best when it scares you. To that end, this is barely horror. This is a story about broken people in a broken family with the occasional telegraphed jumpscare or somewhat creepy scene. The emotions run high; the scares barely register.
It gets five stars from me for having a couple of brilliant moments. But if you're in the mood for a fright, I'd look elsewhere.
Certain things remain the same. The house is there, of course. Flanagan sensibly includes the iconic opening paragraph of Jackson's novel as the series' opening monologue. Characters have the same names. But apart from that, the story and characters are entirely different, which to me is a good thing. Adapting Jackson's novel would have needed nothing short of Stanley Kubrick's direction to make up for how much would be lost.
Flanagan's new story is about a family living in the shadow of their childhood trauma. We flash back and forth between the past, in which the family lives in the house, and the present, in which the family, now scattered to the winds and composed of traumatized, unhappy people, mopes and treats each other like dirt and sometimes sees a ghost. They say that horror works best as metaphor, but really, horror works best when it scares you. To that end, this is barely horror. This is a story about broken people in a broken family with the occasional telegraphed jumpscare or somewhat creepy scene. The emotions run high; the scares barely register.
It gets five stars from me for having a couple of brilliant moments. But if you're in the mood for a fright, I'd look elsewhere.
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