The Front Room Review

Hagsploitation. Psycho-biddy. Call it what you will, the film industry has always had a fascination with the aging process, especially when it applies to women. Look no further than last month’s The Substance, which layered its body horror with attitudes to the inevitable changes in appearance that come with advancing years. The result was a controversial but exhaustingly powerful piece of cinema, one that The Front Room can only look at with wonder.

Based on a short story of the same name by Susan Hill, the film finds Belinda (Brandy Norwood) and husband Norman (Andrew Burnap) awaiting the arrival of their baby. But their home is turned upside down when his father dies and formidable stepmother Solange (Kathryn Hunter) moves in. Demanding, and with attitudes that Belinda especially finds offensive, she turns out to be a master and malevolent manipulator, dominating the household and creating constant tension behind a carefully crafted public façade of generosity and benevolence. And, when the baby arrives, Belinda’s worst fears start to come true about the old lady’s influence.

With twins Max and Sam Eggers, brothers to Robert (The Lighthouse, The Northman), at the helm, the film immediately raises expectations for something challenging and hair-raising. It doesn’t take long for the penny to drop. What they have in mind is closer to a comedy/thriller with a psychological bent. What they give us is camp, superficial, with a wince-making fascination with bodily functions and precious few of the laughs we’re hoping for. Unless you find diarrhoea inherently hilarious, that is. A cynical view could be that Solange’s habit of making what she describes as a “M – E – double-S” might be giving her daughter-in-law an indication of what to expect when the baby arrives, but that’s clearly not the character’s intention. She’s all-too-obviously the proverbial wicked stepmother, from the moment she makes her melodramatic entrance shrouded in black, itself a bony pointer of things to come.

Kathryn Hunter’s (Poor Things, The Tragedy Of Macbeth) typically physical turn, stomping around the house with the aid of her walking sticks, is the main reason for watching what is a disappointingly superficial attempt at psychological horror. Deliberately over-the-top – and shamelessly recycling Anthony Sher’s famous “spider” interpretation of Shakespeare’s Richard III as the basis for her movement – she dominates all of her scenes, giving the film a tone that is both arch and camp, as well as providing most of that scarce humour. That all comes out of her blatant and transparent manipulation of the couple, complete with cheeky smiles and winks.

Aside from her performance, we’re left with a cluster of horror conventions – the creaking old house with hideous furniture and wallpaper to match – a scene which feels like it’s been lifted straight out of Rosemary’s Baby and a nod in the direction of Psycho. But they’re such clumsy, obvious references that they have no chance of leading anywhere. As a picture of old age, it’s borderline humiliating, leaving us with a lingering bad taste and feeling thankful for Hunter’s presence. It’s her film, but sadly it never gets close to living up to her.