Whilst I have previously moaned about the lack of horror films at the theatres during Halloween ’24, we’re in the unusual situation of having two A24 studio genre films released in pretty much the same week right on top of Samhain. Well, in the UK at least. Because previewing from the 31st of October onwards is Heretic (Hugh Grant goes Grand Guignol) which is being released a week later in the US. But we’re gathered here today in The Front Room, which has just started showing on UK screens, although it got a theatrical release in America back at the beginning of September (where it received mixed reviews and muted box office takings). It has to be said that it’s sneaked pretty quietly into the UK, with only a (bizarre-but-brilliant) second online trailer set to Docheii and JT’s Alter Ego song to suggest its nature (See? I’m down wid da’ kids after all…). It’s likely to be widely overlooked in favour of Smile 2 and other recent genre offerings during the spooky season. So what have we got here? The plot is loosely based on a short story by Susan Hill (of The Woman in Black fame), starring actress/singer Brandy Norwood (I Still Know What You Did Last Summer) and stage/screen doyenne Kathryn Hunter (Harry Potter and a lot more). It’s been written and directed by Max and Sam Eggers in their feature film debut, and if that surname seems familiar… yes, they are brothers to Robert (The Witch and others), with whom they have previously worked. Time to make an appointment and view the house then.

 

After a chintzy theme tune and 70s sitcom credits (or is that just me?), we’re introduced to Belinda (Brandy). She’s an accomplished anthropology professor who is frustrated at having her career sidelined by management in her institution. Part of this is due to her being heavily pregnant and her boss using it as an excuse to bring other staff in. Stressed-out Belinda is still mourning the loss of a stillborn son in recent years and struggling to pay the bills, so she snaps and quits her job. This leaves her slightly milquetoast husband (Andrew Burnap as Norman) supporting the household in his role as a public defender. So, it’s not a good time to learn about the death of Norman’s father, leaving him obliged to contact his estranged stepmother Solange (Hunter, throwing caution and subtlety to the wind). The couple are shocked to find that Solange has intentions of living with them, a decision softened by the fact that she has left everything to them in a will and is eager to pay for bills and furnishings. Abused by her as a child, Norman is aghast at the concept but is talked into accepting the situation by a level-headed Belinda. She soon comes to regret that decision, as the ultra-religious Solange shows a sadistic streak for causing trouble and attempts to turn Norman against his wife. Things are only going to get worse when the baby is born…

 

In all honesty, TFR is such a quirky and odd offering, that it’s a stretch to class it as a horror film as such. The BBFC rated it as a 15 due to “strong language, threat, and brief sex”. There’s also quite a bit of poo and wee in there as well. And farting. Not to mention some very uncomfortable scenes in other respects. Like Hill’s The Woman in Black, this would translate easily into a stage play. It’s mostly a two-hander, with other characters occasionally interjecting in the dynamics between Belinda and Solange. To be honest though, this is mostly Norman being useless or having his attention diverted. Also, 90% of the narrative takes place in one house, including the eponymous location in the title. So don’t expect sudden jump-scares, a body count, or any type of (typical) gore. The genre element comes mostly from an emotional level and that of malignant manipulation. It also harkens back to the so-called sub-genre of “hagsploitation”. You know the type of fare. Darkly humorous movies that feature a mixture of horror, thriller, and strong female character elements. Usually, ageing women who have grown somewhat unbalanced, violent, or sadistic to those close to them. Think of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, Frightmare, and more recent examples like Shyamalan’s The Visit, along with Ti West’s X.

 

With that in mind, Hunter is the MVP of the piece with her performance as Solange. She doesn’t just chew the scenery. She gets a JCB digger, excavates the set, and pats it down with a steam-roller. Her take on Southern discomfort is something else. It’s almost as if she’s channelled the spirit of Foghorn Leghorn (google him… I say, google him) and convincingly amalgamated it into a hateful persona that some people would swear that they’ve met in real life. Yes, she’s the Mother-in-law that every woman dreads as a house guest, let alone a regular fixture. By comparison, Brandy is somewhat understated, although she simmers nicely during every indignity that she suffers. It’s only by the time you reach the end of the film, that you realise that it’s quite a clever and layered performance, even if it is the less showy of the two leads. As such, both actresses bounce well off each other and provide an inherent level of watchability.

 

And the contrast/conflict/clean-up situations between Solange and Belinda provide the bulk of the context, tension, and icky moments. They also provide several interesting allegories that can be analysed as much as you want after the credits. Ostensibly, there’s obviously the straightforward “take-my-mother-in-law-no-please-just-take-her” motif. But there’s also the wider theme of the generational gap. Belinda’s busy lifestyle, career aspirations, and empathy for others, as well as her latent motherhood, are (arguably) indicative of the best elements of the modern generation. Whereas the horribly manipulative and borderline abusive approach of mothering and control belongs to the older Solange, along with racist attitudes, ask-no-questions religious fervour, and emotional blackmail. In modern America (and most countries to be fair, definitely including the UK), it reflects the divisive nature of society at the moment. The “I’m-right-you’re-not” mentality that’s so prevalent in politics and personal values. You get the picture. You can also read themes of cyclical abuse as Solange attempts to create a barrier between Norman and Belinda. But enough of that. What about the poo, wee, and “horror”?

 

There are touches of the surreal and a hint of the paranormal in the story. It’s suggested that Solange has the genuine ability to heal and influence others, as well as being able to commune with the dead. But there’s also a level of ambiguity as to whether certain elements actually occur, given Belinda’s propensity to sleepwalk and imagine things. The most disturbing plot-beats come across from the old woman’s eagerness to use degrading methods to get what she wants. This occasionally manifests in pitch-black gross humour, where Solange literally farts in the general direction of her carers, intentionally soils herself, and flaunts her old-fashioned beliefs in the most astounding way (“I’m a racist baby! Goo-Goo! Gah-Gah!”). The darker elements are often at odds with some bizarrely comical sequences, which is probably why the film has had mixed reactions to some extent.

 

Along with this mixture of tones, it’s questionable as to what you might take away from the film when the story wraps up. There’s a twist that’s not really a twist (or that surprising) and the whole point seems to be that the current generation needs to adopt some of the older generation’s meanness for the greater good. Which is a bit simplistic, to say the least. Or it could just be that some people of an advanced age are mean and selfish, meaning that relations should just be kept away from them until they eventually die alone and unloved. Which is depressing. It’s the sort of movie that you’ll walk away from saying, “Hmm. That was interesting”, rather than “Wow! That was awesome/scary/life-changing”. Of course, some people may also walk away going “WTF was that about?” or “Old lady pee! Gross!”. With that in mind, it’s worth watching (for Hunter’s unabashed performance if nothing else), and it proves that the Eggers family has talent running through their shared blood. Just be prepared for eccentricity and emotional nastiness, rather than violence or spooks. Hunter’s no chicken.