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Cult Review
Senior Film Conservator
Honestly? Probably not, unless you’re a total completist for 1940s French curiosities. If you enjoy movies where the drama feels like it’s being performed in a library during a nap, you might find a shred of charm here. Everyone else is going to be checking their watch by the twenty-minute mark.
It’s not so much a horror film as it is a theatrical experiment gone slightly sideways. 👻
Annie Cariel is doing her best, but the script feels like it was written on napkins between train stops. There’s a specific scene where the characters are just standing around a fireplace, and the lighting is so flat it looks like they’re standing in front of a giant sheet of white paper.
Robert Goupil pops up, looking perpetually bewildered. I’m not sure if he was confused by the plot or just forgot where the camera was pointing. It happens a lot in these older features.
It reminds me a bit of the aimless energy in The Cruise of the Jasper B, where you get the sense the filmmakers were just hoping for the best. There’s a distinct lack of tension for a movie titled Maison hantée. You’d think there’d be one spooky shadow or a creaky floorboard that actually felt dangerous.
Instead, we get endless conversations. So many words. I found myself staring at the wallpaper patterns in the background just to stay focused. It's weirdly hypnotic in the worst possible way.
Maybe it’s unfair to compare this to modern stuff. But even by the standards of its own time, this feels thin. Like, paper-thin. It’s almost impressive how little happens in ninety minutes. If you want a movie that’s actually about a house, maybe watch Possession instead—at least that one commits to the madness.
Anyway. I’m going to go find a coffee. This movie left me feeling like I’d just sat through a very long, very beige committee meeting. ☕️
Year
1933
IMDb Rating
—
Editorial
Deciphering the legacy of transgressive cult cinema.
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