What if a haunted house story was told entirely from the perspective of the walls themselves? Writer-director Harry Aspinwall’s experimental thriller, “The House Was Not Hungry Then,” attempts exactly that. The film, which recently arrived on VOD to rent or buy, is a unique blend of supernatural horror and arthouse experimentation that challenges genre conventions.
From the opening frames, it’s clear that Aspinwall is playing by a different set of rules. The film is composed entirely of single, locked-off wide shots. We watch events unfold through the “eyes” of each room, a perspective that personifies the structure itself. This approach naturally ratchets up the tension; our visibility is limited to what the house can see, and the sound design purposefully muffles anything happening in adjacent rooms or beyond the home’s exterior walls.
This isolation is effective, but it is also alienating. By design, the story is an extreme slow burn. Characters drift in and out of frame—some driving the plot, others merely marking the passage of time—which may feel tedious to viewers accustomed to being close to the action.
The plot centers on an abandoned Scottish home harboring a grim secret. Aided by a caretaker (Clive Russell), the house lures visitors inside, and one by one they disappear, said to be consumed by the house itself, leaving no trace. Each consumption is accompanied by a growing rumble, presumably only audible to us, the viewers. This cycle is disrupted when a young woman (Bobby Rainsbury) breaks in seeking refuge while searching for her estranged father. Unlike previous victims, her respect and care for the space tame the beast, opening a cryptic line of communication that reveals fragments of the home’s history.
However, the film’s greatest strength is also its undoing. Because we are tethered to the house’s cold, static viewpoint, we are fundamentally disconnected from the victims. Even as we learn more about Rainsbury’s character and her father’s fate, the emotional stakes remain out of reach.
Aspinwall set out to create a horror film of distance and sparsity, intentionally avoiding any cues that tell the audience how to feel. But without those breadcrumbs of humanity to follow, the viewer is left in a void. We watch movies to feel something; when the credits roll on “The House Was Not Hungry Then,” that void is filled only with a sense of indifference.
If you’re a fan of experimental horror or if Aspinwall’s approach to this film sounds intriguing, the film’s conceptual boldness makes it worth a look. But if you prefer your thrillers with a human heartbeat, you may want to skip this one.
Where to watch “The House Was Not Hungry Then”:
