Review

Ti West’s The House of the Devil is a dandy, on its own modest B-movie terms. Apart from one serious (and shocking) explosion of gore, it’s an ode to seventies gothic, female-oriented horror films in which less is more. Desperate for money, college sophomore Sam (Jocelin Donahue) answers an ad for a babysitter, and, along with her pal Megan (Greta Gerwig), heads deep into the woods to the old manse of — wait for it — Tom Noonan and Mary Woronov. The doleful giant Noonan seems very regretful about what is about to happen. But there is that imminent eclipse of the moon, and his wife and (unseen) mother-in-law are breathing down his neck for ... what?

You have to be a bit indulgent to love this movie as much as I do. Gothic conventions require the heroine to walk trepidatiously down dark hallways and up dark staircases, and she does this, by my rough count, 72 times. But Donahue is very, very pretty (in a straight-ahead, Pamela Sue Martin kind of way) and I didn’t mind watching her face for long stretches. Mumblecore darling Gerwig has little coils of flakiness popping out of her, and I hated to see her leave the scene so early. Noonan made me laugh every time he appeared — and he's never camp. A.J. Bowen is like a subdued version of Texas Chainsaw Massacre character — and all the scarier for not leading with his slobber. Rarely has a film squeezed so much icky dread from a pizza — two different pizzas, actually. I’m not sure I understand the denouement, but it certainly leaves a door — or a portal to hell — open. — David Edelstein