Why The Haunting of Hill House is more than just a good horror fix
“Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills holding darkness within”
The 10 episode series by Mike Flanagan starts with a chilling description and visual of Hill House — the main lead in an ensemble cast. The first sequence before the opening credits is enough to cement Hill House as your quintessential horror story — the unassuming Crain family live in a haunted house where inexplicable occurrences are shrugged off as nightmares and hallucinations. It’s a bonafide recipe for disaster.
However, just as the first minute in the house hooks you in, you are abruptly transported into present-day California where a grown up Steven (the eldest of the siblings) listens to the story of a lady who claims to have witnessed the ghost of her late husband. It is revealed that Steven is a successful horror author with his books (amongst which is also the Haunting of Hill House) garnering widespread acclaim. You’d expect Steven to believe in the paranormal, or at least have an open mind towards it given his childhood experience at Hill House. Yet, Steven perceives ‘ghost stories’ with a rigid practicality, withholding them to mere stories he intends to profit out of.
In hindsight, it is here that the show already separates itself from a regular horror production. It’s acutely aware of the conventions of horror, which it tastefully serves in the first sequence. But a horrifying ambiance or the fear of an unknown entity is a temporary fear — it’s a feast one can indulge in and forget because it bears no real consequences or relation to reality. Like Steven, we too can shrug it off with ‘it’s just a story.’ But in it is in introducing two parallel narratives — one that follows the Crain family in the past and the other in the present, where you see how the experience at Hill House still bears an indelible mark on them — that the show stretches the boundaries of your regular horror fix. Hill House isn’t just a narrative focused on what happens one fateful summer. It’s a haunting saga of a dysfunctional family. Where the psychological meets the paranormal, we see what happens when innate fears and mind’s play manifest into reality.
I believe that much like romance, horror is a genre that has its own fixed set of tropes and elements that creators can choose to play with. Ghosts, spooky elevators, creepy children and haunted houses — we know the drill. For the longest time, I used to think that unlike romance, where audiences can get tired of overused tropes, horror is a genre where these tropes make its very identity. A horror story without a jump scare or an evil spirit? Blasphemous. But productions like Get Out, US, Midsommar and now, Hill House, have proven to subvert these very expectations. While the stories retain the recognisable beats of horror, with a stroke of genius, the creators behind these narratives have come up with a new melody altogether — something, unlike anything we’ve ever experienced.
Particularly in the case of Hill House, the show doesn’t slam it in your face that it’s Horror. In a beautiful way, you never forget that what you’re watching is supposed to be scary, but more than fearing when you’ll see the next ghost, what you experience is a genuine investment in the plot and characters. At the heart of Hill House, lies a compelling family drama. Each character is meaty and one that carries his or her own baggage which lies deeply buried within them. On the surface, they’re connected by the fear of Hill House, but dig deeper and you’ll realise that their individual propensity for darkness is the true star of their nightmares.
Even if you were to detach the element of horror from the mechanics, Hill House stands as a stellar story and production. Episodes five and six in particular are cinematic gems with multiple seamless 17 minute one take sequences which almost makes you feel like a fly on the wall, witnessing the fights, the meltdowns and the fear within the Crain household. The performance of each and every actor compel you to believe their stories, even if the Crane family doesn’t. You gasp louder when deep rooted family secrets are revealed more than when you see the Bent Neck Lady.
At the end of an excruciating 10 episodes, there is certainly a wave of relief that rides over you (as it should — the end of any horror saga should feel like what you experience when you’re finally off a roller coaster. Heart still pounding but you’re not complaining) With that relief however, I found myself in tears and admiration for the story. The show does introduce abstract concepts ranging from the afterlife to what it means to deal with fear and trauma and yes … it does take awhile for you to soak in the way in which the concepts are shared. But at the heart of it lies a human tale about love and loss, one that lies at the heart of all our stories. When a show that it supposed to scare you out of your wits not only successfully does so, but makes you miss the characters and tear at the ending, you’re left wondering… what JUST HAPPENED. So what do you do ? You look at all the interviews, read all the fan theories, write a whole ass article on it and make a note in your mental calendar that October 31st is now officially reserved for a Hill House binge party.
