This review of His House contains minor spoilers…
You’d be forgiven for never having heard of His House. Before I wrote about Remi Weekes’ soon to be released Netflix horror film last month, I certainly hadn’t. After all, Weekes himself is something of a no-name director. His IMDB profile lists a couple of obscure short films and Fright Bites, a 2016 series of shorts he directed for Channel 4, which is likely to be the only thing of his you may have seen (but probably don’t remember). That’s why it’s all the more exciting that Weekes, in a triumphant rise from relative obscurity, has made what’s probably the best and most original horror film I’ve seen in years.
It’s no secret that the world is enveloped in a culture war. Over the past decade, tensions over immigration have reached a near-breaking point. And these racial tensions have been stoked by popular figures and the media, meaning the politicisation of refugees has become extremely common across the spectrum. This is the context in which His House operates.
Bol (Sope Dirisu) and Rial (Wunmi Mosaku) are a refugee couple who have escaped war-torn South Sudan. Along the way, they lost their daughter, Nyagak, when she and others drowned as they crossed the sea. After a particularly grim look at the realities of refugee detention and the strict rules they must adhere to, the couple are released and given a home in England. It’s grotty and in the middle of a run-down council housing community – but it’s theirs. Mark (Matt Smith), their case worker, tells them he hopes they are “one of the good ones”, epitomising the uphill battle they face.
Where His House succeeds is in the duality of the horrors it showcases. On the one hand, there’s the very real terror of war Bol and Rial escaped in Africa and their painful struggle to assimilate into a scarily unfamiliar culture. On the other, there’s the demonic presence in their house that torments them from the moment they move in. The two elements counterbalance each other perfectly and are a great source of conflict between the couple. Bol, who tries his best to assimilate, initially denies the reality of what’s happening to them. Conversely, Rial accepts it, telling the story of a night witch or “apeth” that seeks an unpaid debt and expresses a desire to return home.
Even by the end, it’s not entirely clear if what they’re experiencing is real or if it’s PTSD manifesting itself in increasingly terrifying ways. The pressures they face in their new country only exacerbate these anxieties. The damp greyness of urban London makes everything feel threatening. Each interaction with other people feels scary and are built around a sense of impending abuse and alienation, even if they turn out to be positive. This helps to build up the feeling of hostility that forces the couple to entrap themselves in their home. Of course, though, this makes them prisoners of the demons in their walls and they can’t truly escape from the banging and shouting of teenage gangs outside either. It’s a constant struggle for them and is an unrelenting assault on your sense of security.
The acting here is superb. Both Dirisu and Mosaku illicit empathy with their portrayal of mourning, guilt, and remorse. Importantly, neither Bol nor Rial are perfect people. In contrast to the media – where refugees are either one-dimensionally demonised or angelified – they feel real. They have flaws and are not entirely good. They followed their instinct to survive and that lead them down a dark path. But deep down, they’re honest people who just want what we all want – safety and a family. It’s a refreshingly real portrayal of a marginalised minority.
The film swaps regularly between flashbacks of South Sudan and London. It disorientates you as the viewer and helps to illustrate the constant struggles the couple face. It’s quite a skill to make a London council estate seem equally as frightening as a war-torn country, but Weekes accomplishes it thanks to the menacing musical score and fittingly grim cinematography. Make no mistake, it is not pleasant viewing – it’s raw and brutal. But it’s powerful.
Unfortunately, confusion surrounding the film’s conclusion does detract from the overall presentation. Depending on your interpretation of what exactly is haunting the couple, the events that unfold are somewhat perplexing. It isn’t clear if they have accepted their past or defeated it. This is caused by the truncated ending. Despite a tremendous build up to the third act, the film resolves itself quicker than it should. Coming in at slightly over an hour and a half, an additional fifteen minutes would’ve better cemented the intended ending. Even so, it certainly isn’t bad and can be forgiven.
Sitting in a genre rife with repetition, His House is refreshingly unique. It’s a new concept and tells its story from a perspective that is massively underrepresented in film. With the awful prevalence of xenophobia in today’s world, this is an important tale and His House does an excellent job of realising and humanising the experiences of refugees. As a horror movie, it’s scary, too. And it’s not your typical ‘Christian’ horror, either. It’s rooted in African tradition and beliefs, which assists in creating unfamiliar scares. As the breakout film of a relatively unknown director, His House is not one to miss and you won’t forget it anytime soon. I’m really excited for whatever Remi Weekes does next.
Overall rating: 8.5/10
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Featured Image Credit: Netflix
