At the invitation of a wealthy childhood friend to come stay at his remote home, a poor photographer arrives to find some unexpected residents.
A study in the generational decay of a family, and so peculiar that it seems integrated purely through mood and location. The two friends are mutually genial at first, but a crack opens up, to the point of rupture. A twin sister appears to the guest in dreams, her only remains apparent in her dressing-table items and a bedside bowl of vomit. And lurking in a closet is a hooded man, originating from a creek-bed, who scrabbles across the floor during the night.
The location is a brown, straight-angled house, with steel-barred staircases that slash across the cinematographer's frames. Below is a sepulchral vault, which comes in to play as the lighting of the house glows red with the approaching climax. The score uses tinkling piano, wind-chimes and clicky-sticks.
The dynamic between the friends is of the host staging a betrayal by the guest, as if to confirm his hypothesis of the loneliness of existence; that between the twins, of doomed dependency. The role of the hooded man is creepy and plain mysterious. In the end, there's a sense of a curse being handed down. The performances are excellent.
It's an engaging watch, but no matter what angle I took, it didn't intrigue me because I couldn't get beneath the mood of solemn resignation. It seems to be an adaptation of the famous Poe story, but even that knowledge didn't free up any insight.
Overall: Awaiting instruction.
