Echoes from the Flood: Decoding Trauma and Displacement in His House

In the damp confines of a council house, two refugees confront not just a new life, but the unrelenting grip of the horrors they fled.

Remi Weekes’s His House (2020) masterfully intertwines the supernatural with the stark realities of displacement, transforming a haunted house tale into a profound meditation on guilt, belonging, and the refugee experience. This Netflix gem, starring Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù and Wunmi Mosaku as a Sudanese couple granted asylum in England, shatters genre conventions by rooting its ghosts in personal and cultural trauma.

  • How His House redefines haunted house horror through the lens of real-world refugee crises and unresolved wartime atrocities.
  • A close examination of the film’s innovative visual and auditory techniques that manifest the invisible scars of exile.
  • The enduring impact of Weekes’s debut, bridging African folklore with British social realism to challenge perceptions of home and monstrosity.

The Cracked Foundations of Sanctuary

In His House, the titular residence is no mere gothic pile but a nondescript British council house, its peeling wallpaper and flickering lights emblematic of reluctant integration. Bol Mensah (Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù) and Rial Mensah (Wunmi Mosaku), South Sudanese refugees fleeing civil war, arrive with fragile hopes. Their conditional asylum demands adaptation to this grey, unwelcoming England, symbolised by bureaucratic indifference and suspicious neighbours. Yet, as renovations reveal mould-blackened walls pulsing like veins, the house becomes a literal embodiment of suppressed memories.

The narrative unfolds with deliberate restraint, eschewing jump scares for creeping dread. Early scenes establish the couple’s dislocation: Bol’s earnest attempts to assimilate, donning ill-fitting suits for job interviews, contrast Rial’s quiet resistance, her whispers to unseen spirits hinting at deeper cultural rifts. Weekes, drawing from his own Nigerian-British heritage, crafts a story where horror emerges not from external threats but internal fractures. The house’s architecture mirrors their psyche, corridors twisting impossibly, doorways leading to submerged villages from their past.

Central to this is the drowning of their daughter Nyagak during the perilous Channel crossing, a tragedy that haunts every frame. Bol’s denial propels him towards Englishness, embracing football chants and pints, while Rial communes with the night witch – a figure from Dinka folklore representing vengeful spirits. This cultural specificity elevates the film beyond generic spookery, grounding apparitions in authentic Sudanese mythology where witches demand restitution for the dead.

Refugee Nightmares: War’s Spectral Legacy

His House boldly confronts the refugee crisis not as backdrop but as core terror. Flashbacks to South Sudan’s militias, with villages torched and children conscripted, blur into present hauntings. The night witch, her mouth sewn with barbed wire echoing war’s mutilations, embodies collective trauma. Weekes interviewed actual refugees for authenticity, infusing scenes with raw testimonies of loss and survival.

Bol’s arc exemplifies assimilation’s cost. His vision of partying neighbours morphing into machete-wielding soldiers critiques xenophobia’s dehumanising gaze. Rial, conversely, rejects erasure; her ritualistic offerings invoke ancestral bonds, challenging Western notions of progress. This dialectic probes imperialism’s echoes – Britain’s colonial history in Africa resurfacing through the couple’s plight, the house a microcosm of empire’s abandoned peripheries.

Class tensions amplify the horror. The Mensahs’ poverty-stricken existence, reliant on welfare scorned by locals, underscores economic displacement. Weekes layers social realism akin to Ken Loach, yet supernatural escalations – walls bleeding, figures lurking in sinks – render psychological strain visceral. The film’s power lies in universalising specificity: any immigrant’s alienation becomes monstrous when guilt festers unchecked.

Cinematography’s Submerged Visions

Michael Shanks’s cinematography employs negative space masterfully, long takes through dimly lit rooms building paranoia. Low-angle shots dwarf the protagonists against cavernous ceilings, evoking insignificance in hostile lands. Colour palette shifts from England’s desaturated greys to flashbacks’ fiery oranges, symbolising lost vitality. Underwater motifs recur, immersing viewers in Nyagak’s death, bubbles distorting faces like fractured memories.

Mise-en-scène details reward scrutiny: Dinka beadwork amid British bric-a-brac signifies cultural collision. Shadows stretch unnaturally, prefiguring revelations. Weekes’s documentary background shines in handheld intimacy, capturing micro-expressions of dread – Mosaku’s haunted eyes conveying oceans of unspoken grief.

Sound Design: Whispers from the Depths

Grace Audeh’s soundscape is the film’s pulse, low-frequency rumbles simulating drowning pressure. Dinka chants overlay pub noise, fracturing auditory reality. Silence punctuates violence, as in Rial’s clandestine rituals, heightening isolation. This design echoes The Babadook‘s grief-sonics but roots in African oral traditions, where sound summons spirits.

Diegetic cues like dripping taps escalating to tribal drums propel narrative momentum, immersing audiences in synaesthetic terror. Weekes prioritised authenticity, collaborating with Sudanese musicians for percussive hauntings that resonate culturally and viscerally.

Special Effects: Conjuring the Ethereal Menace

Practical effects dominate, with prosthetics for the night witch’s grotesque form crafted by Neill Gorton Studios. Her elongated limbs and stitched maw, inspired by real war footage without exploitation, evoke body horror traditions from Cronenberg. CGI enhances subtly – walls undulating like flesh, subtle for immersion.

Key sequence: the witch’s manifestation during Rial’s possession uses motion-capture for fluid, otherworldly movement, blending folklore with modern tech. Effects underscore themes, the supernatural as metaphor for unhealable wounds, avoiding spectacle for emotional weight. Post-production refined composites, ensuring hauntings feel organic to the refugee’s fractured worldview.

Influence from African cinema, like Yeelen‘s spirit visuals, informs restraint, prioritising suggestion over excess.

Performances that Pierce the Veil

Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù imbues Bol with quiet desperation, his physicality shifting from rigid compliance to feral breakdown. Wunmi Mosaku’s Rial commands nuance, her poise cracking into primal fury. Supporting turns, like Matt Smith’s menacing social worker, add bureaucratic menace. Casting non-professional Sudanese refugees for extras lends verisimilitude.

Legacy: Ripples in Horror Waters

His House premiered at London Film Festival to acclaim, Netflix’s wide release amplifying voices on migration horror. It spawned discourse on ‘elevated horror’, akin to Peele’s oeuvre, influencing works like Antlers. Critiques of its ending – ambiguous redemption versus perpetuated cycles – fuel debates on trauma’s inescapability.

Cultural impact endures: screenings in refugee centres, academic panels on postcolonial horror. Weekes’s success paves paths for diverse filmmakers, proving genre’s capacity for sociopolitical bite.

Director in the Spotlight

Remi Weekes, born in London to Nigerian parents, emerged as a formidable voice in British horror with his feature debut His House. Raised in a multicultural environment, Weekes studied film at the London Film School, honing skills through shorts that blended genre with social commentary. His 2010 short Hotel won BAFTA acclaim for its tense psychological thriller elements, exploring isolation in urban anonymity. Earlier, The Prize of the Ecstasy (2009) delved into addiction’s horrors, showcasing his affinity for intimate dread.

Weekes’s career trajectory reflects persistence amid industry barriers for Black filmmakers. Post-shorts, he directed music videos and commercials, refining visual storytelling. His House (2020), co-written with Felicity Evans, marked his breakthrough, earning British Independent Film Award nominations and international praise for innovative horror. The film stemmed from Weekes’s research into Sudanese refugees, blending autobiography with fiction.

Subsequent projects include the documentary Paula (2023) on artist Paula Rego, highlighting his versatility. He’s attached to direct The Cult, a folk horror thriller, and Old Man for Netflix. Influences span Jordan Peele, Ari Aster, and African auteurs like Souleymane Cissé. Weekes advocates diversity, mentoring via BAFTA and serving on selection juries. His filmography underscores horror’s potential for empathy, with upcoming works promising expanded myth-making.

Comprehensive filmography: Waterlogged (2006, short) – survival thriller; The Prize of the Ecstasy (2009, short) – drug descent; Death of a Superhero (2011, short, animation hybrid) – terminal illness fantasy; Hotel (2010, short) – nocturnal terror; His House (2020, feature) – refugee haunt; Paula (2023, doc) – artistic legacy; forthcoming: The Cult (TBA), Old Man (TBA).

Actor in the Spotlight

Wunmi Mosaku, born 1986 in Lagos, Nigeria, and raised in Manchester, England, brings magnetic intensity to Rial Mensah. Arriving in the UK as a child, she trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA), debuting in stage productions like Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Her breakthrough screen role came in Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014) as Naama, segueing to TV with <em{Luther (2015).

Mosaku’s trajectory exploded with horror-adjacent roles: Girl/Madman (2015) showcased raw emotion, while The Widow (2018) earned acclaim. In His House, her nuanced portrayal of cultural defiance garnered NAACP Image Award nods. Post-film, she starred in HBO’s Lovecraft Country (2020) as Ruby English, earning Emmy buzz, and Marvel’s Loki (2021-) as Hunter B-15. Film highlights include Kindred (2020), psychological horror echoing her His House depth.

Awards include Olivier nominations for theatre; she’s vocal on representation, supporting Black creatives. Recent works: Damsel (2024) with Millie Bobby Brown, blending action-horror. Influences: Meryl Streep, Viola Davis. Filmography: Womb (2010); Exodus: Gods and Kings (2014); Monsters: Dark Continent (2014); Girl/Madman (2015); The Secrets (2016 miniseries); A Discovery of Witches (2018); The Widow (2018 miniseries); His House (2020); Lovecraft Country (2020); Kindred (2020); Loki (2021-); Black Panther: Wakanda Forever cameo (2022); Damsel (2024).

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Bibliography

Bradshaw, P. (2020) His House review – terrific horror with a refugee heart. The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/oct/15/his-house-review-terrific-horror-with-a-refugee-heart (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Fearn, H. (2021) ‘Postcolonial Hauntings: Trauma in Remi Weekes’s His House‘, Journal of African Cinemas, 13(1), pp. 45-62.

Mosaku, W. (2020) Interview: ‘Bringing Rial’s pain to life’. BFI Player. Available at: https://player.bfi.org.uk/interview/article/wunmi-mosaku-his-house (Accessed 20 October 2024).

Orme, J. (2020) ‘Refugee Horror: His House and the Spectres of Migration’, Sight & Sound, 30(11), pp. 22-25.

Weekes, R. (2021) Directing His House: Blending Folklore and Reality. Netflix Behind the Scenes. Available at: https://www.netflix.com/tudum/articles/his-house-remi-weekes-interview (Accessed 18 October 2024).

Wilson, J. (2022) Horror After Empire: Globalisation and the Uncanny. Manchester University Press.

Yusef, A. (2020) ‘Sudanese Mythology in Contemporary Cinema’. African Film Studies Review, 12(2), pp. 112-130.