Whilst doom-scrolling through my BFI Player, overcome with choice paralysis, I stumbled upon Nobuhiko Obayashi's 1977 film, House. Having never seen it but knowing of its reputation and influence on Japanese video game creatives and games like Clock Tower, Haunting Ground, and Project Zero, I was eager to dive into its unsettling world. Was it worth the plunge though?
At its heart, House is a twisted coming-of-age story centered on Gorgeous, a naive schoolgirl. Unhappy with her father's summer plans with his new girlfriend, she decides to visit her ailing aunt's remote, eerie country home, bringing along six equally vibrant friends: Fantasy, Prof, Mac, Kung Fu, Melody and Sweet.
Upon arrival at the house on top of the hill, the property reveals its true nature: it's a sentient, malevolent entity with a voracious appetite for young women. As the girls explore, the house consumes them one by one in increasingly surreal, bizarre, and often comically grotesque ways. From a piano that devours a girl whole to a killer lampshade and a clock that vomits blood, the film plunges us into a psychedelic nightmare. The lines between reality, dream, and pure madness blur as the girls desperately try to survive, but the house's supernatural powers prove overwhelming, culminating in the shocking revelation of its purpose and the aunt's origins.
I have to say that House charmed and disarmed me from the start, beginning like a Wes Anderson-inspired fever dream of a musical comedy before shifting tonally into a deeply unsettling brand of surreal horror. It reminded me of Dario Argento's Suspiria in terms of a young woman out of her depth but is much more playful and goofy than that giallo film.
The film's atmosphere is amplified by its deliberate use of strange, dreamlike stills and dizzying cuts. Obayashi employs an arsenal of unconventional editing techniques—rapid-fire montages, unexpected zooms, and a complete disregard for logical continuity—all contributing significantly to its purposely odd atmosphere. This deliberate disruption of conventional storytelling rhythms delivers the viewer into a liminal space where reality constantly shifts, blurring the lines between conscious perception and nightmare. This stylistic choice profoundly enhances the disorienting aspects of the narrative, underscoring a pervasive sense of joyous unease that permeates every frame.
From a production standpoint, House is an audio-visual feast. The backgrounds are frequently adorned with gorgeous matte paintings, lending scenes an otherworldly, almost theatrical quality. The meticulously crafted backdrops, often featuring vibrant, unrealistic hues, provide a stunningly bizarre contrast to the unfolding chaos of theatre like staging. It's a singular blend of experimental cinema, pop art, and classic horror imagery.
The film's pacing is frantic and unpredictable, mirroring the girls' descent into madness and the house's increasingly bizarre manifestations, building a pervasive sense of dread rather than relying on overt scares.
Ultimately, House stands as a testament to fearless, unbridled creativity. Its willingness to break every cinematic rule, its unique blend of innocent charm and terrifying absurdity, and its unforgettable visual grammar have solidified its place as a quintessential cult classic. For those who appreciate unconventional cinema that challenges expectations and delights in its own peculiar madness, House is not just a film to be watched but an experience to be savored.
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