REVIEW: His House (2020)
Remi Weekes’ directorial debut lingers long after the credits roll
The first sound to leave my mouth when His House ended was a sigh. This isn’t a criticism: Remi Weekes’ directorial debut is exhausting to watch in the best possible way. This film is a damning indictment of the UK’s asylum system, its attitude towards refugees, and a study of the traumas of war and displacement all wrapped in the shell of a haunted house flick. It is a brilliant film, and it lingers long after the credits have rolled.
His House follows the story of Bol (Sope Dirisu) and Rial (Wunmi Mosaku) Majur, a married couple who fled the civil war in South Sudan to seek asylum in the UK. After some time in police custody, the Majurs are released on bail to a house in a run-down council estate somewhere in the south of England. Early in the film, we learn that the Majurs’ daughter Nyagak drowned when the overcrowded motorboat they were using to cross the Mediterranean capsized. Upon arriving at their new home, the Majurs quickly begin to see Nyagak and other more sinister ghostly apparitions — and fear a powerful witch may be responsible for them.
First, the scares: they’re very good. Almost every one of the jump scares hit, and in most instances they thump. The first real scare in the film almost made me leap out of my seat, and Weekes does not relent for much of the rest of the film. You shouldn’t be fooled into thinking this is your usual jump-scare fare, either — these are just the icing on the cake. The real fear — the fear that Weekes wants you to feel from beginning to end — comes from the growing distrust between Bol and Rial, the UK’s appallingly prejudicial asylum system, and the thought that the main characters could be deported back to war-torn South Sudan at any moment.
The message Weekes hammers home about the UK’s asylum system in His House is that refugees are expected to “assimilate” — though it’s reflectively unclear throughout what on earth that means. When Bol tells one of the police officers reading the Majurs’ bail conditions at the start of the film that he and Rial are “good people”, the officer replies that it “isn’t me that needs convincing”. When Mark (Matt Smith), the Majurs’ cynical but quietly sympathetic case worker, shows the two around their new home, he tells them they need to show they’re “one of the good ones”. When Bol returns to Mark begging to move him and Rial to another house later in the film, Mark replies that the authorities will ask why they’re not “fitting in”. The precarious conditions of the Majurs’ asylum claim are, ironically, the only things certain throughout the film.
This leaves room for the central question of His House: how can people who have fled war and death, lost loved ones, travelled thousands of miles on dangerous roads and treacherous seas with nothing but the clothes on their back be expected to assimilate into anything? Where are the support networks clearly needed for people who have experienced such abject and — to the people fortunate enough to have been born in countries like the UK — unimaginable trauma? Like the UK’s asylum system in reality, they are nowhere to be seen in His House: the Majurs aren’t allowed guests, pets or jobs and must survive on a minuscule budget of around £70 a week.
The Majurs’ state-enforced inability to process their grief and anguish is explored through the apeth — or “night witch” — that haunts them. The apeth is frightening: Rial describes him as a “great beast” who followed them on their desperate journey to the UK. He is a powerful sorcerer who forces the Majurs to relive their trauma over and over again. He shows them frightful visions of Nyagak and the other refugees who drowned during their journey across the mediterranean. He makes every effort to set the couple against each other. He demands penance in blood for the Majurs’ debt — which, when it is revealed late in the film, is so shocking it will take your breath away.
The apeth in His House is symbolic of the pain inherent to the refugee regime. The Majurs are made to relive their trauma over and over again because no one is interested in helping them. They see visions of Nyagak and the others who drowned because they cannot process their guilt as survivors. They are torn apart because one believes England is their home, while the other insists it could never be as such. Is it a subtle metaphor? No — and it isn’t supposed to be. It’s so well done that every time I think about the film in that way, more of it makes sense.
Weekes’ direction and the story written by Felicity Evans and Toby Venables are the driving force of His House, but it wouldn’t have nearly as much impact without the excellent performances. Dirisu and Mosaku play the lead roles with the dedication needed for such a film, but their chemistry gives the Majurs’ marriage a levity and ease that adds so many layers of authenticity to the characters. Smith does a very good job as the jaded caseworker Mark, whose malleable cynicism inspires the kind of sympathy you might not normally reserve for such people. Javier Botet is appropriately frightening as the apeth. The supporting cast members in the various flashbacks and visions are all superb.
With the exception of Get Out, I can’t think of a recent horror film with nearly as much impact as His House. It is stunning, and all the more so considering it is Remi Weekes’ first film. If this is what Weekes is capable of in his debut, it is very exciting to think about what his next efforts will look like. But until then, here’s my verdict: do not miss His House. Watch it at your earliest convenience. Rating: 4.5/5
