As horror comedies go, I cannot think of a better one in the past 5 years than Kiwi directed Housebound. Not only is the film impressively shot and written, but the overall attention to production design and geography is a marvel. The film’s primary location, an old suburban mansion (evocative of the manor-home in Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive) we get to explore from the inside out as characters are often crawling through the walls and ceilings, as well as snooping around the property outside. It is a safe bet that somewhere director Gerard Johnstone has a sheaf of graph papers with all the measurements. For a first time filmmaker, to direct with this kind of confidence in both the film language, twisty plotting, well timed character reveals, and a love of call-backs, is a sure sign of a major up and coming talent. He even nails some tricky emotional beats late in the film which give the otherwise manic film, a bit of heart.
Bad girl, Kylie (Morgana O’Reilly) is first seen knocking off an ATM vestibule with her less than competent partner and some home made explosives. The botched job (and lengthy petty crime rap-sheet) lands her in a prolonged house arrest with her busy-body prattling mother and her spacey step-father. After the security company straps the electronic bracelet to her ankle, she cannot leave the house for any reason without risking landing in prison. Kylie is used to running away from her problems, but here she is stuck, with only a couple TV channels, and god-forbid, dial-up internet, so this is flat out torture, which she is more than happy to take out her pain on everyone around her.
A great set up, both for a haunted house movie and a riff on Rear Window. Admittedly the latter was done before with the mildly shitty Shia LaBeouf vehicle Disturbia, but Housebound is playing far more on the plate of character-based territory of Joe Dante’s The ‘Burbs, with a dollop of Wes Craven’s The People Under The Stairs and a soupçon of The Innkeepers. That Johnstone is well versed in the cues and beats of these types of films, and is willing to exploit them for laughs and legit horror makes things also run in the same ultra-fun circles as Sam Raimi’s Drag Me To Hell. The difference is that Raimi was a master-craftsman when he made that 2009 film as kind of a lark executed with precise editing skill, where this is Johnstone busting right out of the gate fully formed. To wit: the tension and comedy mileage he gets out of a character simply taking a piss (or holding a tape recorder) and you will know what I mean.
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