In the realm of horror cinema, many films strive to send shivers down your spine, make your heart race, and leave you haunted long after the credits roll. Among these, “I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House” stands as a unique, atmospheric, and slow-burning masterpiece. Directed by Oz Perkins and released in 2016, this film takes a radically different approach to horror, one that relies on the power of suggestion, atmosphere, and an exploration of the eerie and mysterious.
At its core, this film is not about jump scares, gory violence, or supernatural entities terrorizing its characters. Instead, it’s a deeply atmospheric and introspective journey that delves into themes of isolation, the passage of time, and the inevitability of death. It invites us to reflect on our own existence, the vulnerability of the human condition, and the disquieting nature of the unknown.
The film tells the story of Lily (Ruth Wilson), a hospice nurse who is hired to care for Iris Blum, an elderly and reclusive horror novelist. As Lily becomes more familiar with the house and its enigmatic history, she starts to unravel the mysteries that shroud it. As the story unfolds, the boundaries between the living and the dead blur, and time itself becomes a fluid and non-linear entity.
The film’s deliberate pacing and minimalistic approach may deter those seeking the quick adrenaline rush that many modern horror films provide. However, it’s in this very restraint that “I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House” finds its unique power. It lulls the audience into a state of quiet reflection and allows the horror to seep in gradually, much like the tendrils of a creeping vine.
The house itself is a character in its own right, its creaking floors and dimly lit corridors evoking an unsettling sense of dread. As Lily roams its gloomy halls, her footsteps echo with a sense of foreboding, creating an atmosphere that is both eerie and melancholic. The house seems to exist outside of time, as if it has witnessed countless lives come and go, and its very walls are soaked with memories and stories that refuse to be forgotten.
Ruth Wilson’s performance as Lily is a masterclass in subtlety. Her portrayal of a woman who becomes increasingly entangled in the mysteries of the house is both understated and powerful. Wilson conveys a sense of vulnerability and quiet determination that makes the audience empathize with her character’s plight. As Lily’s understanding of the house deepens, her fear and confusion become palpable, drawing the viewer deeper into the film’s enigmatic world.
The film’s title, “I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House,” is drawn from the first line of Iris Blum’s final novel, which is also the central theme of the movie. It reflects the idea that the house itself is a living entity, that it is not just bricks and mortar but a repository of stories and memories. It is a place where time is suspended, and the spirits of those who once lived there linger on, unable to move on to the next realm. The house is, in a sense, the pretty thing that lives within the narrative of the film.
Oz Perkins’s direction is a testament to his understanding of the power of suggestion in horror. The film’s supernatural elements are subtle and open to interpretation. It relies on the viewer’s imagination to fill in the gaps, making it all the more unsettling. The result is a film that leaves you with a lingering sense of unease long after it has ended.
In many ways, “I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House” is a meditation on the passage of time and the transience of life. It suggests that we are all, in the end, just pretty things that live in a house—the world—until our time is up. It explores the concept of death not as a sudden and violent event, but as an inexorable, patient force that waits for us all.
The film is not interested in providing easy answers or neatly tying up its loose ends. Instead, it leaves the audience with a sense of mystery and ambiguity. The narrative is deliberately fragmented, with scenes blending together in a dreamlike fashion. This approach may frustrate some viewers, but it also invites them to engage with the film on a deeper level, to grapple with its themes, and to question their own mortality.
In the end, “I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House” is a haunting elegy of isolation, a film that challenges the conventions of the horror genre and invites us to confront our own mortality. It’s a cinematic experience that rewards patience and introspection, and for those willing to embrace its slow, atmospheric, and enigmatic journey, it offers a deeply unsettling and thought-provoking exploration of what it means to be a pretty thing that lives in the house, waiting for the inevitable embrace of time and eternity.