Initially, the concept of a haunted house in film and television never managed to really hit home for me. It seemed like the whole premise had hinged on flimsy excuses on why the characters can’t leave the house. The relatability factor definitively crumbles when a piece of media tries to explain that the ghostly activities are happening because the supernatural entity is too attached to the house. But then Alejandro Amenábar’s The Others came around and flipped the sub-genre on its head by diving into the deeper implications of the premise. More specifically, how a person can attach their identity to a house to such an extent that they can’t see themselves existing beyond its walls. As the years passed and I saw families implode over houses and landed properties in real-time, the metaphor of the haunted house became apparent. Netflix’s The House is a brilliant addition to this sub-genre and yet another reminder of the kind of hold a house can have on the human mind.
Directed by Emma de Swaef, Marc James Roels, Niki Lindroth von Bahr, and Paloma Baeza, The House is a stop-motion animated dark comedy anthology movie. It’s comprised of three different stories, set in different time periods and featuring different characters while revolving around the same house.
The first story, titled ‘And heard within a lie spun’, revolves around a family of four: Mabel (Mia Goth), Raymond (Matthew Goode), Penny (Claudie Blakley), and Isobel (Eleanor De Swaef-Roels), who live cozily in a cottage near the woods. However, Raymond’s (Penny’s husband and Mabel and Isobel’s father) relatives don’t approve of this and mock him for living so simply. Raymond doesn’t take this very well, drinks like a fish, and wanders off into the woods one fine night. There, Raymond is confronted by a wealthy man called Van Schoonbeek (Barney Pilling) who offers him a house on the hill if he gives away his house. The family complies and they move into this new palatial mansion. Of course, it’s revealed that the mansion and Van Schoonbeek aren’t what they seem.
One of the most striking aspects of the first story is the material with which the characters have been brought to life. Most stop-motion animated movies either use plasticine figures or puppets with movable joints. But this one uses puppets made of felt (a material produced by matting, condensing, and pressing wool or rayon-based fibers), thereby giving the characters an oddly squishable look. Unlike a lot of stop-motion animated works, the movement of the characters and the way they express themselves are incredibly subtle but very impactful. And that’s further amplified by the spirited vocal performances from Goth, Goode, Blakley, and Mark Heap. This minimalistic storytelling approach naturally bleeds into the overall visual style which is composed of static camera shots and cleanly designed sets.
The narrative itself functions on two immensely relevant themes. The primary one is that of capitalism and how the rich feed on the poor to grow richer, even if these harbingers of capitalism are the wealthiest people in the world. Once the rich are done feeding, they’ll leave the poor in a state where they’ve no option but to depend on whatever the rich are providing. That’s essentially what Van Schoonbeek does to Raymond and his family. The secondary level is about sacrifice in parenthood. Through Raymond’s mad rush to get a new house, it talks about how the ever-present commercialism that defines our society forces otherwise happy families to go out of their way to reach new heights of materialistic success. And that the result is always self-destructive in nature and ruins the lives of kids who definitely didn’t sign up for such a life.
The second story, titled ‘Then lost is truth that can’t be won’, follows an anthropomorphic rat only credited as Developer (Jarvis Cocker) who is busy setting up a house for a public exhibition. A house located on Schoonbeek street (just like the creepy man from the first story i.e. Van Schoonbeek), which the Developer has dedicated his life to and is planning to sell at a very high price. But while refurbishing the house, he’s shocked to find out that it has an insect infestation problem. After coming up with a temporary solution, the Developer opens up the house to the public and, to be honest, it goes horribly. However, a rodent couple, credited as Odd Man (Sven Wolter) and Odd Woman (Yvonne Lombard), casually settle in under the pretext of buying the house, thereby causing the Developer to freak out.
This short (and even the one after it) is traditionally stop-motion animated with puppets and clay, with the character designs being vaguely reminiscent of Wes Anderson’s The Fantastic Mr. Fox. Unlike its predecessor, the animation itself is much smoother and kinetic. Without giving away too much, the highlight of this story is a musical number by the insects living in the walls of the house. It comes out of nowhere and confuses you to such an extent that you’ll be wondering if what you are watching is actually happening or not. But, fret not because all those surreal elements are grounded by Jarvis Cocker’s amazing vocal performance. He aptly portrays the Developer’s desperation, anxiety, and fake confidence, which eventually devolves into pure frustration.
The message behind the second story is not the most decipherable one. The invasion of the odd couple could be a commentary on how long lost relatives sometimes arrive completely uninvited and then refuse to leave. They do not care about how the hosts are feeling. They just want to be served. It could also be about illegal land acquisition and gentrification. And how one’s house, which they’ve built with a lot of passion and love, can be taken away from them within seconds by people who are unaware of the house’s emotional value. Finally, (and this is a spoiler-y one) the story could be a purposeful taunt at how we always pretend to be civilized beings with our posh houses and polished culinary inclinations. But on the inside, we are basically animals who will return to our filthy ways at the drop of a hat.
The third story, titled ‘Listen again and seek the sun’, takes place in a future where the world has been wrecked by a flood and the house (which looks exactly like the Schoonbeek house with some minor changes) is owned by a Rosa (Susan Wokoma), an anthropomorphic cat. She lives there along with her two tenants (who are also anthropomorphic cats), Jen (Helena Bonham Carter) and Elia (Will Sharpe), who pay Rosa in fishes and crystals. And just when Rosa is on the brink of a breakdown because of her inability to repair the house, Jen’s friend Cosmos (Paul Kaye) shows up. Yes, Cosmos is also an anthropomorphic cat.
If the first story had a classical horror vibe and the second story was a psychological horror, the third one definitely leans heavily towards existential horror. There’s a general sense of bleakness to it due to the rising water levels around Rosa’s house. That feeling is only heightened by Rosa’s delusions that there’ll be a breakthrough and everything will return to normalcy; a sentiment that we can relate to as we are doing the same to power through the limbo that is the COVID pandemic. All this is explored rather slowly though, so as to unclench your nerves (in case they were clenched after watching the previous two shorts) and probably send you off on a wholesome note. Things do get particularly nightmare-inducing during the short’s climactic moments, thereby allowing Wokoma to flex her voice-acting prowess. And while Wokoma is the heart of the story, Helena, Sharpe, and Kaye get plenty of opportunities to flex their vocals, which they utilize to their fullest.
Just like the storytelling, the message behind the story is quite different (albeit convoluted) in comparison to its predecessors. While the first and the second stories were cautionary tales regarding one’s attachment to their home, the third one expresses the beauty of being aggressively attached to your home. That if you hold onto the thing that defines your past long enough and let people into it, which is exactly what Rosa does, you will be rewarded. Now, that does seem weird on the surface. But if you sit with it long enough, you’ll probably notice that the story is being hopeful just for the sake of being hopeful. It’s saying that it’s too late anyway for Rosa, Jen, Elias, and even Cosmos. And now they’re simply sailing towards the horizon which has nothing to offer other than more destruction and loneliness.
In conclusion, The House is visually dense and philosophically complex. You are free to enjoy the meticulously crafted stop-motion animation, the production design, the cinematography, the score, and the voice acting. But it’ll take a couple of viewings to truly comprehend what it’s trying to say about our society’s love for materialism and the habit of imbuing our belongings with emotions and memories. If this seems like too much of a chore, think about it in this way. We’ve been confined to our houses due to the COVID pandemic for such a long time. So, there’s a pretty good chance that we’ve inadvertently become dependent on it. And given how art is one of the few avenues where we can find a solution to this problem, we should actively engage with it. Especially when the said piece of art is as hyper-specific as The House.
