Review of The House of the Devil (2009) by Chuck D — 12 May 2010

Most throwback movies are just that. They pay homage, reference, wink and nod, but they're still new movies under the the skin. Grindhouse didn't do much to dissuade you from knowing that you're watching a 2007 send up of the Way It Was circa 1970's-ish, (although Death Proof sometimes came tantalizingly close). Tarantino and Rodriguez knew the words, but chose not to conduct the music. In contrast, The House of the Devil, a fiendishly brilliant horror movie about a babysitter under siege by Satanic forces, is a 1981 movie made in 2009. It has the late 70's and early 80's in it's DNA, and the year in which was actually made is nearly invisible. It is not merely an homage; it is an imitation.

So rarely do I mean that as a compliment.

Quietly unsettling, The House of the Devil is one part Tobe Hooper, one part Roman Polanski, and one part John Carpenter all in one big Reaganesque mix. That's not to say that writer/director Ti West (keep your eye on this one, kids) doesn't bring his own sauce to the table, but the movie is meticulously designed to evoke a time when horror films were smaller, quieter, and, yes, smarter. I'm not suggesting that Friday the 13th and it's innumerable ripoffs are smart movies, because they aren't. But they're Noam Chomsky compared to Saw and its ripoffs which are the coin of the realm these days. In House of the Devil, there are no shadows whooshing past the camera, no dreadful music to cue us to be afraid, no camera gymnastics. A character can hang up a phone without the orchestra helping them. The characters do foolish things as well as smart things, and the dialogue is naturalistic and even, unlike the whizz-bang word snapping of Tarantino. The obligatory Ominous Signs early on are ominous of their own accord, without insert shots or portentous camera trickery to draw attention to themselves. The movie is aware of its title, and doesn't pretend that we're breathless idiots.

The story begins with young student Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) desperately trying to raise enough money to rent a room of her own so that she can move out her current dorm room which she shares with the campus party girl. Completely broke, she decides to take a room anyway, and prays that she can come up with the money in less than a week. Rocking along with her Walkman - oh, yes - she passes by a sign posted on a student bulletin board asking for babysitters. The first Ominous Sign happens when she calls the number from a pay phone, hangs up when no one answers, and the phone rings as she walks away. When she calls him back later, the voice on the other end is calm, but hurried. On the radio, there is talk of a lunar eclipse.

The house where the job is at is remote, the guy on the other end was weird, but the pay offered was good and so Samantha alleviates her worry by taking the job against the advice of her friend Megan (Greta Gerwig) who would rather just call her rich dad to get the money for her friend. Samantha resists, and Megan insists that she accompany her to the house. "If it's weird, we're leaving", she says. The house, which seems stuck in the middle of some jet-black woods next to a cemetary, naturally, is only slightly weird until the girls come knocking and Tom Noonan opens the door. Noonan, (Manhunter, Robocop 2), who is something of a B-movie Boris Karloff of this generation, is one of those reasonably typecast actors who can exude child-like menace by simply standing there. He's the most naturally unsettling presence this side of Christopher Walken. He needs to do comedy.

Noonan plays Mr. Ulman, a lanky, quiet man who limps around his four-story mansion in the woods with a cane. He is kind and polite. Everything seems quite nice. Antiquated, but well kept. However, we do notice that his house is so quiet, so still, it begs the question of just what he was doing before he opened the door. He continuously insists how "important this night is" to Samantha, and how much it would mean to him and his wife. Megan, however, has none of it and sensibly demands that Samantha leave with her, particularly after Mr. Ulman reveals that Samantha won't be babysitting a child, but his mother, who lives on the top floor.

Well, of course she stays. Do we want our horror movie or not? If it's any help, Ulman does pay her a hundred dollars an hour up front, which is more than enough money to get her new apartment. "You'll never see her", he assures her. "She's quite resourceful", he says of his mother, which doesn't sound comforting to me. He also mentions, more than once, that if she gets hungry there is a number on the fridge to order pizza. Which, of course, elicits cries of "Don't order the pizza!" from the audience. And so Megan leaves and so does Mr. Ulman, but not before Samantha meets his wife, Mrs. Ulman (Mary Woronov). Mrs. Ulman casts strange looks at Samantha, sizes her up, asks odd questions about her love life, and Samantha is either too polite or too oblivious to take notice of the fact that the old lady's broach is in the shape of a skull.

But we do.

Soon enough, the movie settles like the house that it's named after. The Ulmans leave, and Mother is assumed to be asleep upstairs. The entire central section of the movie is simply watching Samantha piddle around this house. She reads. She does her homework. She jams on her Walkman. She shoots pool. The fact that the movie spends so much time on these banalities tells us that West is confident enough in his audience to trust him. He wants us to be as numb to this house as Samantha is, and insists that we earn what's coming. And so we watch, and wait. Everything's quiet, until Samantha accidentally breaks a vase. Footsteps are heard upstairs. Why isn't Megan answering her phone? And what about those pictures of other people in the hallway closet?

Movies are less patient than they used to be, and thus their audiences have followed. I wonder if Carpenter's much beloved Halloween would survive in today's multiplexes against the confectionery roller coasters that pass for movies these days. I have nothing against spectacle, in fact I demand it when the demand is suited. However, there is no faith in audiences or savvy marketing for real movies anymore. Studio aversion to risk has poisoned the well, and all we are being left with are theme parks in place of potential classics making their way into theatres. And thanks to Trojan horses like 3D, it seems the public has finally completely bought this snake oil, and theatres with seventeen screens rarely reserve a single one for movies with budgets lower than fifty million. Even comedies are expensive, overblown, overwritten, formulaic, and weighted down with celebrity worship. This corporate intrusion is overwhelming in its vulgarity. However, the late, great John Frankenheimer once observed that the Hollywood "Golden Age" was a lie, and that the industry has always been a whorehouse. There's truth to that, but good movies and successful movies did not used to be so mutually exclusive. Casablanca was successful. Amadeus was successful. Rebel Without a Cause was successful. Now, we have best picture winners that never made wide release, and are largely unseen. Why does good writing and trust in the audience have to be a niche market?

I digress, I know. And, yes, I also know I just brought up Amadeus in a review for a horror movie about young girls being stalked by Satanists. Sorry, I just had to get that out. My point is that The House of the Devil is a movie that wouldn't stand a chance in today's climate, and that means that it will be remembered by lovers of great horror long after the asinine Saw and despicable Twilight franchises have withered and been forgotten. It isn't that the 1980's were a time of great cinema, but rather that the filmmakers of the time were more trusting of their viewers to follow a story, which implies more faith in their story as well. Now we have faith in camera angles, spitfire editing, sound and fury. The House of the Devil is a movie that doesn't just want your money, it wants your undivided attention, and isn't shy about rewarding you for it. Go on. Pop it in. Put down the iPhone, the Blackberry, the Netbook or whatever distractions you can muster, and dim the lights, pop some popcorn, and surrender two of your precious hours. You know, the way we used to.

You'll find the devil is in the details.

SCORE: 10 / 10.