His House (2020)

His House is special because it treats a haunted-house story as something more than a delivery system for jolts—it turns the genre into a language for grief, displacement, and the quiet humiliations of starting over. Remi Weekes builds dread with a patient, skin-prickling atmosphere, then lets it bloom into genuinely frightening set pieces that feel rooted in lived experience rather than horror-movie mechanics. Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù and Wunmi Mosaku are terrific, giving the film a bruised intimacy that makes every creak and shadow land harder, because you believe in the people enduring them. It’s a heavy, intense watch and not ideal if you want escapist scares, but if you’re on the fence, this is the rare horror film that lingers for its humanity as much as its nightmares.

His House is clearly aiming for more than cheap scares: it uses a haunted-house setup to explore refugee trauma, guilt, and the pressure to “fit in” somewhere that doesn’t want you. When it works, the atmosphere is tense and the leads (Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù and Wunmi Mosaku) sell the grief and fear with real humanity, making the horror feel personal rather than gimmicky. But the film can be uneven, with a few clunky story beats and repeated scare patterns that blunt the dread, especially if you’re hoping for a consistently sharp, escalating fright ride. If you want polished, tightly paced horror, you may find it frustrating; if you’re open to a heavier drama-first horror that’s more unsettling than fun, it’s worth your time.