While there has definitely been an uptick in animated movies that dabble in the types of visual ingenuity usually reserved for shorts, it’s a rarer occurrence when a feature length production afforded a significant budget and distribution manages to fully capture the unique appeal of the animated short form medium in all its unfettered glory. Conceived by Nexus Studios producer Charlotte Bavasso and developed by the directors in tandem with Tony Award-winning scriptwriter Enda Walsh, The House (released today on Netflix) achieves just that. Drawing upon a wealth of creative talent and shot at Mackinnon & Saunders during what has been a notably rough time for stop-mo production, the end result is a stunning, sinister, witty and captivating experience that will hopefully pave the way for similarly adventurous offerings from the platform.
The anthology is divided into three loosely-connected (beyond the titular house itself there is no discernible narrative connection; indeed each story plays out in its own universe) chapters, each helmed by some of the contemporary stop-motion landscape’s most championed talents, making it something of a virtuoso showcase that invites the more casual viewer to explore more of their respective bodies of work. Chapter One, directed by Antwerp-based team Emma de Swaef and Marc James Roels (whose work includes the spectacular, César nominated Oh Willy… and, more recently, This Magnificent Cake) tells the story of a couple who are beguiled by architect Van Schoonbeek’s offer to move them into the sprawling mansion as a condition of a land deal that will see them – in their eyes, at least – moving up in the world.
As the pair become more enamored with what the house offers them, their children Mabel and Isobel (voiced by the directors’ infant daughter Eleanor De Swaef-Roels) grow increasingly concerned that something more sinister is at play. While it all leads to a grand visual spectacle, some of the most satisfying sequences from an animation perspective come from the siblings as they explore the house’s various hidden areas. Perfectly complementing the low-key character performances carried off so well in Marc and Emma’s work is the voice cast led by Mark Heap, whose disarmingly understated performance in the role of mysterious executor Thomas inevitably gives way to his more trademark brand of hysterical lunacy as the house’s supernatural nature and Van Schoonbeek’s true intentions become known.
Chapter Two takes us to a more urban setting populated by anthropomorphic rats, the house now existing as a life-consuming real estate investment project taken on by an unnamed developer (voiced by Jarvis Cocker). At the dawn of his first open house, the developer is aghast to discover an infestation of fur beetles that threatens his hopes of flipping the property. In spite of the setback, one couple maintain their earnest enthusiasm for eventually acquiring it, an enthusiasm that soon becomes a passive, eerily benevolent refusal to leave. With tonal nods to the works of Lynch and Polanski as well as more recent cinema such as Aronofsky’s Mother!, this middle segment stands out as the more overtly absurdist and wryly comic stories of the film, drawing on director Niki Lindroth von Bahr’s gift for extracting tension and comedic discomfort from the ostensibly mundane, as evidenced in such prior films as Bath House and The Burden, whose wealth of accolades include main prizes at Clermont-Ferrand and Annecy. The story concept also allows for some of the most appealing character animation of the anthology, combining qualities of human and animal performance that can’t be expanded on without heading into spoiler territory; rest assured it is simultaneously uncomfortable and brilliant, especially amidst the spectacle of its final sequences, a masterwork of stop-motion pandemonium in itself.
The anthology concludes with BAFTA-winner Paloma Baeza (Poles Apart)’s Chapter Three, a less-sinister entry than the first and not as outlandishly surreal as the second while containing trace elements of both. In this story the house, having survived a massive flood, is being ever-maintained by its feline occupant Rosa (Susan Wokoma), who is at loggerheads with her housemates Elias and Jen, neither of whom share her passion for upkeep. With the arrival of a fourth housemate Cosmos (Paul Kaye) whose propensity toward zen spirituality manifests itself in perceivably destructive efforts against the work she has done to make the house livable, Rosa finds herself in crisis as her housemates are drawn to his charms. More driven by dialogue then the entries that precede it, Chapter Three increasingly evokes an existential anxiety dream where fear of losing control leads to a misguided impulse to double down and not relinquish what, in fact, is holding us back. The film’s ethereal conclusion brings to mind other contemporary stop-motion endeavours that draw on similarly personal and spiritual themes, such as Chris Lavis/Maciek Szczerbowski’s Madame Tutli-Putli and Duke Johnson/Charlie Kaufman‘s Anomalisa, although it takes an arguably more accessible approach with its narrative.
The House (Nexus Studios/Netflix)
A particularly impressive quality of The House is the degree to which each entry boasts its own unique, directorial stamp whilst maintaining enough consistency of style and performance throughout as to not be jarring. This is owed to a large extent by the overlap of crew and a team of key animators who are long-established veterans of stop-motion features and series alike, as well as the binding quality of Gustavo Santaolalla’s incredible score. It is rare indeed to see such a congruence of talent on one project, and should it be the case that we won’t again for a good while then The House is certainly a film to be relished and appreciated for the unique gem that it is.
Keep your eyes on Skwigly in the coming days for more coverage on the talents behind The House. The film is out now on Netflix.
