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Every so often, you come across a piece of storytelling that creeps into your heart and splits it open with chilly intimacy. I knew very little about I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House before watching it on Netflix, apart from it having the same director as The Blackcoat's Daughter, which came highly recommended. I'm not even sure what compelled me to watch it last week; only I was in bed earlier than usual and wanted something spooky and atmospheric to lull me to sleep.
That did not happen. Oh, it was spooky and atmospheric all right, but I did not sleep soundly. I even had to put the nightlight on. What's most fascinating however is when I started tagging the usual crowd (the Horror fan corner of Twitter, mostly) to gush about it, the first responses ranged from, "Eh, pretty boring," to "I don't remember I fell asleep." Not all of them, and at least one said it got better on the second viewing. Still, this seems to be a movie that you either can't be bothered with; or that understands you so completely it feels almost rude to talk about it above hushed tones.
( Read more... )
That did not happen. Oh, it was spooky and atmospheric all right, but I did not sleep soundly. I even had to put the nightlight on. What's most fascinating however is when I started tagging the usual crowd (the Horror fan corner of Twitter, mostly) to gush about it, the first responses ranged from, "Eh, pretty boring," to "I don't remember I fell asleep." Not all of them, and at least one said it got better on the second viewing. Still, this seems to be a movie that you either can't be bothered with; or that understands you so completely it feels almost rude to talk about it above hushed tones.
( Read more... )