In the 1800’s, Raymond (Matthew Goode) is approached by a mysterious benefactor who will build his family a grand estate house and lift them from the poverty they live in currently. Now, in 2022, the house sits in disrepair as a developer (Jarvis Cocker) tries to flip the old home for a quick sale. A few years later, the neighborhood undergoes another massive shift in environment, and Rosa (Susan Wokoma), the current proprietor, tries desperately to hold on to the crumbling home which she loves. 

The House, from Netflix, is a three-part, multidirectional endeavor written by Edna Walsh. The collaboration uses a combination of unique animation styles that create a slightly uncomfortable, and sometimes deeply upsetting narrative that spans generations. It is careful and meticulous, and while it is not as esoteric as David Lynch’s Rabbits (2002), The House is still a confounding work that washes over the audience and does not necessarily reveal a clear path towards understanding. It is a memory, a feeling, a sadness, and a longing more so than it is a traditional plotted narrative. 

The film opens with Chapter One, directed by Emma De Swaef and Marc James Roels, features stop motion puppets crafted from felt. The strongest of the three segments, the opening chapter is deeply unsettling and plays out like a traditionally dark fairy tale. Showing the origin of the titular house, the interior is intentionally labyrinthian and constantly being tinkered with by the benefactor’s contractors who remove stairways and create hallways to nowhere, much to the chagrin of Raymond’s young daughters Penelope and Mabel (Claudie Blakley, Mia Goth). The horror influence here is undeniable in its design, and of the three chapters, this one is the clearest in the delivery of the moral. It ends on an ambiguous note, but as we learn quickly The House is more interested in the house than its inhabitants. 

Next, Niki Lindroth von Bahr takes over the director’s chair as we spend some time with a developer who is trying to flip this house in an easy sale. The open house is hours away and it is a bit of a domestic comedy as we see the rat scramble to fix last-minute problems with the house and ensure everything is perfect to woo the potential buyers; some of the few moments of true comedy appear in this second chapter. Many vermin come to see the house, but an odd couple (Yyvonne Lombard, Sven Walker), take an exceptional liking to the home. Soon after, the developer finds himself trapped in their web and the chapter quickly takes a paranoid tone not dissimilar to Paul Schrader’s The Comfort of Strangers (1990) or Roman Polanski’s Bitter Moon (1992), though thankfully The House remains much more celibate. 

The final chapter, directed by Paloma Baeza, breaks rank from the preceding chapters as it takes a much more sorrowful yet hopeful tone than the unsettling discomfort of what came before. Baeza and Bahr open their chapters similarly with their protagonist tending to the repairs of the house, but here, Rosa, is trying to repair the house out of love for the estate and it is not simply transactional. Her path towards this goal is questionable as she plans to exploit her tenants to fund the project and leave them in the cold when the house is complete, but as fate would have it her plan has been foiled and only Jen (Helena Bonham Carter) remains. The shifting landscape finds the house isolated on an island, and after much convincing and soul searching, Rosa makes the decision to leave the house behind and find refuge in her relationships with others and not her things. The lesson here is the same, but the difference is that Rosa actually heeds that lesson unlike Raymond or the developer: Money cannot buy happiness, wealth is found in our relationships. Between the pink and pastel color scheme, the not-too-far-off future setting, and the driving message to reach out to the people we have that really do care is reminiscent of Spike Jonze’s Her (2013) and it allows The House to conclude on a surprisingly tender note given how the anthology opened. 

The House is a strange experiment, and while its distinct chapters are all very unique, they work together in harmony quite well. It is mysterious in its delivery and while the understanding of its morals is not necessary to enjoyment, it adds great depth to the film as an overall work. That being said, it is not always easy to grasp what The House is doing in real-time but works much better after being able to digest the stories, peel back the strangeness, and examine what it is that lies at the heart of the three stories. The house is exactly that – a house, not a home – and it is only when the characters put aside their worldly material goals and decide to focus on their relationships with those around them do they ever stand a shot at being truly happy.