Hell House
The smattering of pre-Oscar buzz flicks has ushered in a vast array of interesting, smaller films that may or may not stand on the same pedestal, be they Paul Thomas Anderson’s absurdist romantic-comedy, Punch-Drunk Love, Steven Shainberg’s haunting portrait of contemporary S&M, Secretary, or Michael Moore’s latest opus, Bowling for Columbine. Though these movies certainly have their chance at the larger award ceremonies, some of which have already been lauded as such, none have been put against the sure-fire bets that the movie-going public has been anticipating since the festival circuits began months ago.
Unfortunately, films easily can pass or fail in this interim period between the summer blockbusters (or lack thereof this particular last season) and the Oscar season quickly upon us. Patently, no film should be lost amidst the fray, if worth the watch. However, those few and far between gems beneath the sand remain there for the grabbing, if only the audience found themselves interested in the dig.
One such gem is the enumerable Hell House, created affably by filmmaker George Ratliff (Plutonium Circus, Purgatory County). The documentary, which was also edited by the capable hands of Michael LaHaie, who also edited the equally “hidden” How’s Your News. Though Trey Parker and Matt Stone produced How’s Your News, it might have been the subject matter having to do with a group of disabled adults traveling the country that kept it from a suitable release.
Much like How’s Your News, it could very well be the subject matter that is plaguing this film’s chances in the box offices. Hell House, which has as of yet been released outside of a tiny touring schedule at a handful of art house theaters throughout the States. No matter what the reason, this creative, intimate, and devilishly simplistic work of slice-of-life filmmaking should be among those the audience is clamoring to watch before the deluge of the December movie brigade explodes in the theaters.
Hell House follows a group of fanatical, though seemingly good-hearted, Christian “missionaries” from the suburbs of Cedar Hill, TX who have taken it upon themselves to win back “the lost” from a culture that would condone teen pregnancy, raves, rampant drug use, family abuse, and so forth. The members of the community church, along with what appears to be the rest of the town, create and maintain an anti-haunted house in which rather than being spooked by ghosts or monsters, groups of thousands pass through observing scenes of brutal, grueling true-life moments such as those previously mentioned. One room might be a young girl bleeding to death from an abortion. Another room displays a rotund boy being ostracized in his classroom at school, later shooting himself in the head. And though the Hell House might seem a means of simple prevention, there are more offensive and harsher accounts such as the hospital room in which a man is slowly, painfully dying of AIDS simply because he spit in the face of the Lord, by being homosexual.
Obviously, such a haunted house could bring about a certain degree of controversy, and therein lies the fulcrum of Ratliff’s accomplished documentary. Rather than a condemning, bias trial of these naïve townsfolk, the Ratliff has made a real-life Waiting for Guffman in which those involved so adamantly with the Hell House are in fact totally unaware of the implications of such an attraction, and in fact truly believe what they are doing is for the good of all Mankind.
By taking us straight into the houses and offices of those creating the Hell House, Ratliff reveals exactly who these people are, why they are church-going citizens, and why they are so disturbingly excited to be the “abortion girl” or the “guy who rapes the chick at the rave because we get to dance all night,” or even the “drunken, abusive father in the wife-beating scene.” We watch as the script-writers of Hell House have a virtual Abbot and Costello moment in which the typist cannot understand the name of demonic, evil role-playing game, Magic: The Gathering, or a moment of struggle in which a group of painters realize they are, heaven forbid, utilizing the incorrect color of white paint in the “Satanic rituals scene.”
With astounding footage of pure serendipity, including that of a baby suddenly having a seizure during an interview with of one of the Hell House members, a polemic group of foreign youngsters cussing and deliberating over the offensive nature of the house after being kicked out by one of the Hell House constituents, and the general stress of such an prodigious undertaking, Ratliff presses every end, every intimate second of the Hell House, answering any questioning an onlooker might have without ever pushing his own translucent filmmaking style. Rather than moving to a more turgid, stylistic feel that could have easily been granted with such subject matter, Ratliff has left the footage almost untouched except by the fingers of editor LaHaie, creating a realistic, naturalist portrayal of the Hell House itself that places the audience in the gruesome house, the tense offices, the wholesome households.
No matter how or why this Golden Gate Award winning documentary has been released at all, the fact is that through word-of-mouth, Ratliff is sure to see the public view his deserved work in the near future. But, just in case: while waiting for Solaris, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Adaptation, Catch Me if you Can, Ararat, Far from Heaven, and Gangs of New York, go catch this flick if you can, and bring a friend or two.
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