The Haunting of Hill House

The Netflix drama’s reverence for the novel’s soul radiates through its interpretation of fear, belief and the true definition of a haunting. But the highest compliment one can pay to any tale of terror is that it feels real enough to stay with you, to keep you up at night and believe in it. ... Via writing, visuals and its cast performances, this new incarnation of “The Haunting of Hill House” is more than merely superb. It could prove to be the defining horror series of this moment.

Flanagan so profoundly conveys the ferocity with which the past haunts this family, ensnaring them in webs of grief, that it feels as if we, too, are being pushed into an oblivion, so that we no longer have to share these characters’ living nightmares. For its blistering gathering of trauma, this [sixth] episode is without equal among the six that were provided to press ahead of The Haunting of Hill House's premiere, and it leaves you with a depressing and melancholy impression that there may actually be no escape from whatever it is that’s haunting the Crains.

It's as though Flanagan has taken Jackson's original work, shattered it and then rearranged the pieces to create a completely original, but equally brilliant tale.

The real marvel of The Haunting Of Hill House is in its execution. Plot threads that initially may seem to go nowhere, or seem obvious, actually have welcome, complicated layers that reveal the relatable family dynamics underneath the heightened horror as the series goes on.

While the story's different, this spooky (if drawn-out) family drama maintains the book's spirit--smartly wedding conventions of horror to resonant experiences of trauma. [12 Oct 2018, p.48]

It’s a monologue-heavy series, but the writing is rich and haltingly expressive. ... The family’s issues with mental illness are treated sensitively and believably, and Flanagan makes sure to counter every moment of supernatural terror with a reminder that psychological terror is real, that depression, addiction, and ideation are every bit as terrifying as anything lurking in Hill House.

For eight and even nine episodes, the series does everything right as both a compelling, fractured-family drama and a dive-under-the-couch-cushions creepshow. Anyone near my office likely heard a few screams (manly screams, mind you) as I obsessively binged my way through it. That 10th episode, however? The less said, the better.

The Haunting of Hill House, adapted very loosely by Mike Flanagan from the iconic Shirley Jackson novel, is often scary as hell and possessed of enough character-centric nuance to carry viewers through to the end--even if some of the visceral frights peter out well before the conclusion.

A horror series that doesn’t immediately make a case for itself; like the best of the genre, it’s slowly insinuating, building in power as it tells a story of repressed trauma and family discord. It’s an effective scare-fest that is at its best when the tale does more than jolt the viewer.

Its real potential lies in breaking the mold more than reapplying it. It’s the people who haunt viewers more than the ghosts, and emphasizing the stories of the living is what makes Netflix’s horror show come alive.

The showrunner, Mike Flanagan, builds a dreadful atmosphere, which is crucial, because the creeping pace of his ten episodes would be intolerable if not for its ambient suspense. The show may work best as a binge watch, one where you don’t pay steady attention but instead let it haunt your own house.

Early on, creator-director Mike Flanagan creates a good deal of tension without resorting to the usual cinematic tools of suspense--creepy music, shock cuts, crazy camerawork. Later on, he resorts a bit. And there is lot of “later on.” The nonlinear, 4D-puzzle structure of the storytelling means that we already know much about what will happen to the characters, making the series into something of a waiting room. Conversations run in circles; points are made and then made again and once more for good measure.

Episodes start and end with shocks, and while they are often quite effective, the scares don’t escalate. Flanagan has made an intelligent, engaging supernatural story in which the tension doesn’t mount so much as stop and start, and occasionally sputter.

Despite some notable flaws, The Haunting of Hill House deserves credit for doing what any good ghost story does: It conjures up the unthinkable and refuses to let us look away.

The series abandons Jackson’s distinctly female gothic for a more generic examination of grief and trauma. Over 10 episodes, it’s stylish, moving, and sinister, riddled with ghosts both literal and metaphorical. But it’s hard not to feel like something has been lost in translation.

Well-acted and ponderously paced, The Haunting of Hill House would have benefited from less straining for the artistic and more of a desire to jolt its viewers.