The house that Eli Roth built

I am never above admitting when I’m wrong, even if it doesn’t happen all that often. I am fully aware how much of an unbearable smart-arse I am, there’s no need for an intervention; I’m not Jesus Christ, I’ve come to realise that now. I jest of course, but cinematically at least I have only been forced to back-track a handful of times; admitting Leonardo DiCaprio can actually act after seeing The Departed was a major stepping stone in my progress towards being a well-adjusted human being and although it’s a long, hard road, some progress is better than none. Some things I will never shift on: Blair Witch Project was unwatchable, over-hyped shit, Disney movies would all be about 400% less annoying without all the spontaneous outbursts into songs and anyone who tries to tell me DC have made a decent movie since Nolan’s Batman Trilogy is living in a fantasy world inhabited by pixies and gnomes and clouds made from candy floss. For the record I think their TV shows look like mid 90s Saturday afternoon action series shite as well but I know I’m in the minority and you have to pick your battles.

This weekend I had to back pedal with some force over one of my longer held and more vociferously defended principles, that Eli Roth can’t direct worth a shit and should scuttle off into his gore-soaked cave somewhere and stop bothering us with his horrible toss-laden movies. What spurred on this dramatic about-face, you might ask? You might not, those are the options, but you’re finding out anyway. As much as it could have been a repeated viewing of Hostel with fresher, older and wiser eyes, or casting a weathered glare over Cabin Fever, it was in fact neither. It was actually his first foray into movies not dowsed liberally with the entrails of its protagonists: The House with the Clock in its Walls.

Make no mistake, this is very much a movie for kids; adapted from the novel of the same name, it’s specifically designed to fit in the same seasonal bracket as Monster House and Paranormal and Goosebumps in that difficult-to-nail genre of 'horror movies for kids' that are mildly perilous but not enough to have them weeping softly throughout the screening and wetting their beds for weeks afterwards. Honestly though, the trailer looked like it had enough fun stuff in it to warrant a trip to the cinema, even if it was slightly ruined by the presence of the absolute cretins in the row behind us who thought that the Saturday afternoon showing of a family movie was an ideal location for a few pints, loud conversation and a complete and utter inability to grasp what was going on in the film unless they pretended they were an audio description service for the hard of sight by commenting on pretty much anything more confusing than someone tying their shoelaces. People like that seriously just need to go fuck themselves. Hard. With something unrelenting and pointy. Sorry, I strayed off into Roth-land for a moment.

I used to despise Jack Black with such a fiery, venomous passion that it made the ongoing conflict in the Middle East seem like a bit of a spat. I've since relented on that somewhat: he's not unlike Jim Carrey in that when he isn't attempting to be the zaniest person in the room, he has actually pulled off the occasional decent performance. Peter Jackson's King Kong, Jumanji 2, the afore-mentioned Goosebumps were all relatively restrained outings and all the better for it. He’s not all the way off the hook, because there’s always the terrible possibility of another Tenacious D album lurking on the horizon but for now, we’re ok; despite all the weird goings-on in this movie, Black plays it relatively straight and isn't annoying at all, managing to refrain from his trademark mania and finger-pointing for the entire length of the film. Cate Blanchett is obviously doing this for the laughs because this is a long way from Galadriel, but if you look at her almost entirely anonymous cameo in Hot Fuzz it's clear she's got a sense of humour and who wants to do dour dramas all the time anyway? Owen Vaccaro does a decent job keeping up with the adults, despite having the worst fake cry I’ve seen since the teenage son in Hereditary whimpered his way through his scenes with all the emotional sincerity of a moistened brick. He’s been in a whole bunch of movies I wouldn’t want to sully my eyeballs with including the probable riot-fests that are Daddy’s Home and Daddy’s Home 2 where I assume he’s probably more mature and composed than Will Ferrell, Hollywood’s biggest man-baby.

I know this is meant to be kids, but I will say everything was just a bit linear. There weren’t any twists or turns particularly save for one big one at the end and I don’t know if that’s because they underestimated how smart kids are or they just didn’t want to Shyamalan things up too much. I can’t really speak for how close it sticks to the novel, because I’ve never read it; there are some tense bits though and for once in Eli Roth’s storied career something approximating character development rears its hitherto unseen head. It’s a bit thin, but it’s there: people learn lessons, overcome demons, accept their own and other’s limitations and it’s all very heart-warming (or would be if I were 8 years old I guess). Honestly I will admit to being pleasantly surprised at being able to say Roth didn’t suck the life out of a magical kids’ tale and spit it out in a phlegmatic, oozing, offal-stinking mess. There are a few moments of sanitised gore; pumpkins blasting purple ectoplasm around, the bad guy’s decomposed and reanimated corpse, keys carved from human bone. It’s all done relatively tastefully though, even the creepy automatons and wind up dolls aren’t too over the top. Perhaps being forced not to rely on simply doing his best to churn an audience’s collective stomach he found that he can actually tell a half decent story.