I am still processing my emotions after binge-watching the Netflix series “The Haunting of Hill House.” As with most shows and movies produced lately, this tale is nearly devoid of any traces of Christianity, so I recommend it mainly as creepy fun for Halloween—the media equivalent of visiting a haunted house attraction. Yet I think it transcends the horror genre a bit more than most haunted house movies.
“The Haunting of Hill House” is as much a psychological tale of dysfunctional relationships as it is a supernatural tale of ghosts. It is also a good specimen of the classic gothic literary genre, like Edgar Allen Poe’s Fall of the House of Usher—classier and spookier than many of the more comically outrageous special effects-laden haunted house movies out there (in which I include the 1999 movie “The Haunting”, inspired by the same Shirley Jackson source novel)
I therefore have mostly praise for this series. Solid acting and writing effectively establish an atmosphere of sadness and foreboding, as the Crain family’s present day struggles are set against a tragic backstory that is slowly revealed. Along the way it achieves moments of creepiness that I have scarcely seen since “The Sixth Sense.” While not above an occasional jump scare, the show’s spookiness is mostly earned through more subtle storytelling.
I’ve seen mixed reviews of the final episode. Some praised it for wrapping up the story lines and revealing the mysteries in an emotionally satisfying way. Others raged that it offered a “cheap” happy ending, slapping on a saccharine finish that betrayed the dark depths to which the story had previously gone. (One contemplated version of the ending had the Crain family remaining trapped in Hill House forever). Much as I sometimes enjoy an art house movie with a grim ending, in this case I am glad they opted for the former. The father’s sacrifice to save his children was dark enough for me, and tugged at my own feelings as a parent who loves his children deeply. Few movies bring tears, but Hugh’s final scene pulled some out of me. I would have been disappointed if he had died in vain.
Reviewing this story from a theological perspective, of course, Hugh’s sacrifice has a lot of resonance. His character was certainly not a perfect Christ figure: Hugh was guilty of willful blindness early on, and he was emotionally unavailable to his children later. I’ve rarely seen a more muted and tortured character than the quiet mumbling man who showed up for Nell’s funeral. But at the end, he showed some redemptive mettle. He put his family first, to the point of being consumed by a sacrificial death that allowed them to live.
The seductive nature of evil is another theme, especially in the last episode. Evil offers a false echo of goodness that promises to assuage some deep hurt or satisfy a craving, but this proves illusory. The mirage dissolves, and evil instead devours its prey.
Finally, the way in which a life can be “haunted” by past mistakes was portrayed compellingly. “Guilt and fear are sisters,” Nell’s apparition tells her family near the end. The final sequences of dreams play on these powerful “demons” in the lives of Steve, Shirley, and Theo, and demonstrate how these forces have dragged down and “haunted” each of the characters, more so than the actual ghosts of Hill House.
