'There's Someone Inside Your House' Is Slasher Horror By The Numbers [Fantastic Fest Review]

Seldom have the opening moments of a movie been as telling – and as accidentally foreboding – as in “There’s Someone Inside Your House,” Patrick Brice’s adaptation of Stephanie Perkins’s Y.A. horror novel. The very first thing that happens, after the camera settles on a picturesque view of a Midwestern farmhouse, is a dumb jolt: a pickup truck coming into the frame, its roaring engine cranked as loud as possible, the cheapest imaginable jump scare.

There’s a real sense of surrender to that moment, as if Brice, the talented director of such moody and inventive fare as the “Creep” movies (and the delightfully bi-curious ensemble comedy “The Overnight”), is sighing and crying uncle. A filmmaker’s gotta make a living, I suppose, so here is his Netflix teen horror movie, timed to the spooky season. And there is certainly fun to be had here; the title alone holds promise, a callback to ’80s horror movies whose monikers also served as stern warnings: “He Knows You’re Alone,” “Don’t Answer the Phone,” “Don’t Go in the House,” that kind of thing. And when that title comes up big, filling the screen, accompanied by a blasting musical sting, it feels like a knowing wink to a knowing audience. But you never get the sense that Brice’s heart is in it — mainly because the picture’s best element has nothing to do with the slasher story at its center.

We’ll return to that. Said slasher story concerns serial killer’s rampage in a small town in Nebraska (the violence threatens to disrupt the upcoming “Corn in the U.S.A. Festival,” which is a good joke). His targets are the students of Osborne High, and the film begins with the murder of a star football player, who is first taunted with disturbing images of some jock hazing situation gone wrong. The victim of that hazing isn’t the killer (he was a fellow football player, on the field at the time of death), but the M.O. is established: his victims are those who are monsters themselves, with secrets that the killer can wield as justification (to himself, at least) for his brutality.

And so we have another commonality with the slashers of the early ’80s — which, before the discovery of the arch-villain as an anti-hero, were as much whodunit as horror. Our entry point into the clique-ish school (and the story) is a crew of wryly cynical, self-aware outcasts, whose traits would feel like ticking modern boxes if they didn’t acknowledge it themselves: the closeted gay guy, the bitter, rich kid, the cynical Black girl, the shy non-binary student.

We spend most of our time with the group’s enigmatic new girl, Makani (Syndey Park), a solid, likable anchor, even though she broods a lot and writes poetry. She has secrets of her own — she came to this school, and this town, after a scandal at her own — and a chip on her shoulder. Unbeknownst to her friends, she has something resembling a relationship with Ollie (Théodore Pellerin), who is too much of a misfit for even this group of misfits, and their relationship is the most compelling thing in the movie. In their scenes together, the actors’ sensitive playing and Brice’s light touch keenly capture how two semi-broken people can find each other and huddle up (“You’re the only one who lets me disappear”). Henry Gayden’s screenplay also offers the irresistible appeal of horny teens sneaking around and being bad.

The jokes in Gayden’s script — and there are plenty — hit and miss. A few lines land (one victim pleads with the killer, “Do you want money because I can Venmo you right now??”; a snotty rich girl at a funeral announces, “All due respect to the dearly departed, but I have watched a lot of true crime”). But the broad overtures at stoner comedy read as sweaty and overly assuring (there’s a very “how do you do, fellow kids” feeling to this stuff). And there are some peculiar loose ends. The opening sequence makes deft use of an egg timer, clicking so loudly and threateningly that we think it’s going to be the killer’s calling card, but it’s never seen again.

Those complaints aside, Brice (unlike some Netflix horror helmers) has a decent sense of how to put a scene together and can build up a mood of dread and uncertainty with skill. There are a handful of genuinely chilling compositions, copious buckets of blood, and while I know we’re all tired of throwback synth-heavy scores in horror, this is a pretty good throwback synth-heavy score. Unfortunately, “There’s Someone Inside Your House” otherwise rarely feels like this is more than a job for hire. [C+]

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