The most impressive thing about Ti West's brilliantly nostalgic horror is the fact that the final blood soaked act pales in comparison to the first tension filled hour. In the age of goreno it's easy to take for granted a decent scare, horror was once a genre populated by expertly crafted jump scares and horror directors used to be adept at creating an almost overwhelming sense of foreboding. These days a few gallons of fake blood and some sticky giblets is all you need to ask for to get a horror green lit.
This is perhaps the main reason that House Of The Devil sailed straight to DVD in the UK, because aside from a hugely effective SPLAT! moment, the first 70 minutes are completely bloodless. From the opening credits, ripped straight from the genres heyday, it is evident that West knows exactly what he is doing and this confidence carries the film.
Sure the final 20 minutes let loose with the requisite amount of bodily fluids, but the bloodletting is almost a relief after the excruciatingly ratcheted tension that has built up for the first hour.
House Of The Devil is a masterful film, one that I fear will be ignored by all but the snobbiest of horror aficionados. Shame, because this film deserves wider appeal.
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