Bly-Gasm in 3...2...
The world’s full of one-hit wonders, be it songs, films, books, etc. That shining glint you miss if you blink. It’s no wonder they exist. Sometimes creators strike gold, only to find that they’ve set a precedence too great to live up to. It’s a fear we creative types face. Will my second novel flatline? Will my second album fall on deaf ears? Will the follow-up to The Haunting of Hill House pale in comparison to its beautiful older sister?
Fortunately, readers, after two years of patiently waiting, we have the answer to the latter, but not without a word of warning: spoilers lie in wait. You’ve been warned!
Imagine director Mike Flanagan, lying in bed next to his beautiful wife, Kate Siegel, his thoughts tossing about. I wonder if he ever feared that the follow-up would merely worship at the feet of its predecessor? Or do you think the genius knew he had an ace in the hole the entire time?
Is Mike Flanagan a genius, really? Surely, he can do wrong. He has, though some would disagree. There’s his lesser film, Ouija, for example—a far cry from some of his stellar contributions, like Oculus, Hill House, Gerald’s Game, Doctor Sleep, and now The Haunting of Bly Manor. And I’m not even touching the remake of I Know What You Did Last Summer. Admittedly, I haven’t seen it, but I did see the original when it was released in theaters. You can dress up a turd, but it still smells like shit.
Yeah, the guy can do wrong...but very little. I’m still going to argue that he’s got the Midas Touch. Look at his filmography. It’s not as lengthy as some, but he’s not been at this a terribly long time, either. In that handful of years, he’s mustered one hell of an impressive resume. In doing so, he’s catapulted his name to the top of the list of favorite horror writers/directors. All this to say that Mike Flanagan isn’t without his creative flaws. Just balancing things out before the flood of compliments breaches the levee.
Now that we’ve gotten the obligatory objectivity out of the way…Holy mother of God, Jesus H. Christ! I wasn’t prepared for another masterful installment of one of the greatest horror series of all time (make no mistake—it is one of the greatest horror series put to film…if not the greatest). I’ve got faith in Flanagan’s capabilities, but I wasn’t sure anyone could pull another trick like that out the proverbial hat. Hill House was masterfully envisioned, written, and directed, with an extraordinary soundtrack to match. A contribution to the horror world unlike anything before it. Flanagan wrote, created, produced, edited, and directed the series for Netflix, which aired in October of 2018. An impressive feat for anyone, particularly when it renders such astounding results.
Hill House was horror done viscerally, intelligently, emotionally. It left the cliché drivel outside the door and packed each episode with rich, palpable tragedy that horrified, all while breaking our hearts. You couldn’t not feel for the characters in Hill House. Their troubled lives and deep wounds spoke to each and every one of us on a level not often found in any series or film—not just horror. Which is also why Hill House transcends genre lines. It’s a story, not about a haunted house, per se, but about haunted people, and aren’t we all haunted in some form or fashion? So few of us are unfamiliar with sorrow. Some of us have lived very haunted lives, which is why Flanagan’s characters are so much more to us than people acting out a script. They’re artistic depictions of the gut-wrenching tragedy too many of us have endured.
You won’t often find people writing horror in this way. Unfortunately, and as much as I love the genre, horror too often relies on cheap tricks, jumps scares, loud noises, and predictable tropes. To be fair, so does action, fantasy, romance, and comedy. While no genre is immune to cheap tactics, horror has a Get Out of Jail Free card. Jump scare people, add some blood & guts, and someone’s going to call it horror and like it. Horror’s forefathers haven’t always set high expectations. We certainly don’t buy a ticket for the latest horror flick expecting to see Academy Award worthy material. But the tide's shifting. With additions like Get Out, The Witch, Hereditary, and Midsommar, horror has raised the bar. Hill House and Bly Manor went and thrust the damn thing to the top rung, and I’m all too eager to see what’s coming next.
So few things live up to exceedingly high expectations, but The Haunting of Bly Manor, while slightly less visceral, offers so much depth, beauty, and substance, I couldn’t’ possibly pick a favorite season. Both are perfectly splendid.
For those of us who don’t scare easily, I still remember how uneasy Hill House left me feeling, which is as close to scared a film/show can leave me. It filled me with a sense of foreboding I couldn’t shake throughout the week I watched it. The term eerily effective comes to mind. With the exception of an ending I didn’t completely love, it was perfection. While Bly Manor didn’t offer up the same sense of dread, it delivered a beautiful ending and was, in my opinion, perfection. Hill House left a grim scent in its wake, but Bly Manor broke our hearts every episode and put them back together with endearing, richly imagined characters we forgot were mere works of fiction.
While everyone played their parts well, Dani, Jamie, Owen, Mrs. Grose, and Viola stole our attention. Victoria Pedretti, Rahul Kohli, T'Nia Miller, and Kate Siegel brought such life to their roles, allowing viewers to fully immerse themselves in a somber world packed with as much love as there is pain. While Bly Manor has received overwhelmingly positive reviews, some have complained that it’s only a gothic love story. Take it from a women who holds rather loathsome feelings for romance: while Bly Manor can certainly be categorized as a gothic romance in the same way Penny Dreadful can be, it lacks the sap romance is so often drenched in and tells a story about unbridled love, horror, and the lengths we’ll go to in order to protect those we love most. And make NO mistake—it earns its genre title. It’s horror exceptionally well.
Dani’s scarred past, combined with her endearing, childlike sweetness kept me bonded to the character, rooting for her happiness throughout. Jamie served up refreshing sarcasm, but her depth went far beyond that of a snarky gardner. Her ability to love despite inevitable tragedy hooked the viewer from start to the very last moment. Owen was kindness and love and patience. He was an anchor for Mrs. Grose when she couldn’t quite steer her own ship, and a bit of levity in a home succumbing to the weight of its demons. Mrs. Grose was poise and loyalty and such loveliness. Another anchor for the family, but one losing her hold. And Viola is a complex woman we admire and hurt for as much as we fear. The never-ending nature of her pain was a form of brutality depicted so vividly—enough to make anyone’s heart ache, and certainly enough to raise the hairs on any claustrophobic’s skin. She’s a villain you can love, while entirely wanting to avoid.
Owen and Mrs. Grose’s love story was full of such admiration, respect, and life, despite their inability to bring it to fruition.
Dani and Jamie’s relationship was exquisitely told. It unfolded so beautifully, forcing the viewer to fall in love with these two characters all over again in the last episode. The great misfortune that lay waiting for them was painstakingly highlighted by their profound adoration for one another.
Speaking of the last episode, I was thrilled (despite the emotional sucker punch) that Flanagan chose to take a different route this time around. Some loved Hill House’s conclusion, but I wasn’t one of them. Sometimes you want the bow on the end of your agonizing story, but some endings call for a bit of heartache…even if it comes at the cost of our emotions. While Bly Manor’s story ended with profound yet justifiable loss, Flanagan managed to punctate the rawness with just the right amount of hope. Nevertheless, it ended with heart, even if it was a shattered one.
Someone asked me shortly after watching the series why Dani needed a tragic past. What was the point of her loss? The answer was simple. I’m not in Mike Flanagan’s head. I don’t know the man. But it seems a very Mike Flanagan move to give everyone baggage. Personal demons serve to enrich the storyline and add depth and meaning to blossoming relationships, or simply to the relationship between a character and their place within the world Flanagan has created for them. I suppose that’s what makes his work so outstanding. The characters and their tremendous losses are real. No, not non-fiction. But they’re depictions of how so many of us traverse our lives, dodging as best we can the demons of our past and the shadowy areas we see lurking in our futures. He feeds us genuine, fully realized characters we grow to love and care about, and he places them in nightmares realistic enough (despite their otherworldly qualities) to believe could exist—full of real life horror: death, loss, suffering. No tropes, no entrails, no shrill noises strategically placed for the unsuspecting viewer. Just brutally real human suffering. After all, life and loss is a language everyone understands.
That’s the genius of Mike Flanagan. He’s a storyteller willing to dig into the recesses of society’s collective fears, stand boldly in the face of mortality, and deliver tragedy in a way that makes us feel things we often do our best to avoid. This is storytelling done right. With honesty. With introspection. With a flagrant disregard for genre norms. And with an equally talented cast and one hell of a soundtrack.
Are Hill House and Bly Manor good? No. They’re impeccable, crowning achievements, and for many, they answer that question we fans get asked too often: Why do you love horror?
Available on Netflix
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