A fascinating Gothic mystery graces the screen with little pomp or circumstance, and absolutely no delusions of grandeur, which helps make it memorable. Based on the novel by Shirley Jackson (which is now certainly on my reading list), We Have Always Lived in the Castle is interesting, diverting, and just chilling enough to make up for its disappointing lack of style or atmosphere.
The psychological thriller focuses on two sisters, Constance and Merricat Blackwood, isolated in their stately mansion on lush New England grounds. Side note: this movie feels distinctly Southern Gothic (a la V.C. Andrews) except for the clearly not-Southern setting. Their only companion is the aging Uncle Julian, and the three are the only survivors of a tragedy that took the lives of their parents, their aunt, and their brother. And, before you can ask, the "tragedy" was murder by poisoning.
In the unprepossessing story, we have a litany of horrific tropes that make the proceedings move along with intrigue if not directorial flair. Merricat (Taissa Farmiga) practices protective magic to keep the Blackwoods safe from angry, fearful, and vengeful townsfolk. Shady cousin Charles (Sebastian Stan) shows up with one eye on Constance and the other on the family treasure. Merricat attempts to stop Charles and ends up setting fire to the house, which is then raided by the villagers. Ultimately, the two sisters remain together, their secrets are revealed, and we suspect they will live in happy, agoraphobic isolation until death. They're so pale and creepy they may well remain together long after death, too.
The Gothic tale -- a sort of morbid parable -- is buttressed by lovely costumes, set pieces, and subtle score, but all are occasionally undercut by direction and cinematography that feels a little too precious, almost as though it was filmed as a Hallmark special. It doesn't help that the narrator -- or at least Merricat, from whose perspective we are clearly meant to view the story -- is unreliable and tends toward the sociopathic. Shouldn't that flavor the lens of the film? Perhaps it's only a measure of my personal preference, but I prefer the weirdly campy, aggressively uncomfortable aesthetic of Stoker, which seems to me a comparable piece.
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