A long time ago, in a city far, far away I worked in a London hostel for young people who found themselves homeless. Over time one of my responsibilities became the oversight of the house next door to the hostel in which were accommodated a smaller number of people who had arrived in the UK seeking asylum. All these years later I can still remember some things about some of the people I worked with there Yugoslavia with whom I often watched and talked about football or the news updates from his homeland. At one point we even accommodated a man who was an IRA informer - not an asylum seeker exactly, but we were to treat him as such when he was placed with us.
When I spent time listening to and learning about these people what quickly became clear was something I knew at a subconscious level but had never really processed or given active thought to up to this point - that when you move countries, no matter how few tangible, physical possessions you bring with you, there are some less tangible things that you can't leave behind. It may be your own physical body, your culture, your beliefs and expectations, your memories and hopes, or many other things. All these come with you, whether you like it or not. This was reinforced for me when my wife and I emigrated by choice to South Africa; in doing so you realise how much more invisible baggage there must be when one flees as a refugee.
This is the territory His House covers so well - a small-scale British horror movie about a couple escaping Southern Sudan for the UK, placed for the time being in a nameless house on a nameless housing estate. They come with little in their hands, but much else they haven't been able to shed, and it's those things that haunt them so compellingly over the 90 minutes or so of this film.
The film stands on two brilliant central performances from the actors playing the couple at the film's heart - at least one of whom is on screen for the whole of the running time. But it's also much more than the performances - it's the clever use of a wide range of ideas and tropes such as the haunted house story, the home invasion movie, gothic fiction, or even at one startling point the Narnia Chronicles. These tropes are both embraced and subverted often to subtly powerful effect; and it's the wordless moments that are often the most powerful - sound design or slow camera pans bring us some of film's most memorable and effective moments.
On the face of it the film's ending may seem cloying and naive, but the reality is that it gives us a more profound truth than we may been prepared for; that in order to truly make a home for ourselves in a new context we must look squarely in the face of all the unseen things we carry with us, accept them, grieve them as appropriate and place them in their proper setting. Then we move on; not without those things, but with those things giving light and shade to all that we are in the new places in which we find ourselves. As such this is not only a powerful, chilling, and moving film about the refugee experience, but one about experiences we all go through at different life stages.
