“The Old Cathedrals Often Have Sublime Artworks Hidden Away in the Darkest Corners for Only God to See. The Same Goes for Murder.” – Jack

Whether writing screenplays that contain scenes of self-administered clitorectomies or expressing Nazi sympathy at press conferences, the controversial yet distinguished writer-director Lars von Trier (Dogville, Antichrist, Melancholia) loves to cause headlines, with shock value frequently being employed as one of his greatest tools, often accentuating the underlying themes of his filmography. The House That Jack Built, released in 2018, is perhaps von Trier’s most distressing film to date, however, presenting the filmmaker at his most unfiltered and uncompromising. As such, for some, the film will serve as a captivating arthouse piece that delves into the layers of a serial killer’s mind, while for others, The House That Jack Built will seem like nothing more than an insensitive, tasteless horror flick brimming with disturbing moments, all in service of a lumpen statement that has been better cinematically expressed elsewhere.

Plot Summary: Reflecting on his existence, Jack, a failed architect and sadistic serial killer, describes his twelve-year reign of terror to Verge, his unseen, enigmatic companion, illuminating the significance of his systematic atrocities by recounting five randomly chosen incidents from his blood-spattered past…

Premiering at the Cannes International Film Festival on May 14th, 2018, The House That Jack Built was reported to have more than a hundred audience members (including some critics) walk out during its premiere, despite a six-minute standing ovation following the screening. Furthermore, some of the resentful audience members condemned the film afterwards on social media for its relentless violence and nihilistic tone. Although I’m usually not one to get offended by media, The House That Jack Built is a film where I can, at least, understand why some take issue with the flick, as the film effectively promotes the idea that life is cruel and soulless, whilst simultaneously playing upon many ‘hot topic’ political assertions, primarily around the American politician, media personality and 45th president of the United States, Donald Trump. This persistent fatalistic outlook, along with its excessive runtime and unsettling violence, ensures that The House That Jack Built harbours minimal appeal for general audiences, even if much of the potentially contentious commentary gets buried beneath the film’s many other aspects.

Boasting about his achievements to an unseen, accented man known as Verge, the titular, obsessive-compulsive engineer, Jack, portrayed by Matt Dillion, appears unhinged yet astute straight from the opening scene, as he circumstantially describes five haphazardly chosen events from his life, all of which involve gruesome murders. From there, the film spends little time on Jack’s upbringing or the circumstances that led him to such a depraved place, but instead concentrates purely on the unconnected series of incidents where Jack slaughters his victims. Through these scenes, you can see Dillon slowly losing himself in the role as he spectacularly portrays Jack as an authentic, twisted psychopath who possesses no redeeming qualities or childhood trauma in an attempt to connect with the audience. Additionally, the supporting cast of Bruno Ganz, Uma Thurman, Siobhan Fallon Hogan and Sofie Gråbøl are all adequate in their various roles, usually as screaming, hapless victims.

A hefty portion of the cinematography by Manuel Alberto Claro, unfortunately, leaves much to be desired as the film is shot in an almost documentary-like fashion, predominantly relying on hand-held close-ups and mid-shots, where characters repeatedly pass in front of the frame, obscuring the audience’s view. As a result, The House That Jack Built has a noticeable deficiency of attractive shots and is continuously dimly lit, causing many scenes to blend together. That being said, the film does include a handful of brief animated sequences that are invariably visually interesting, in addition to an intriguing assemblage of archival footage/images for whenever Jack refers to fortes like architecture or winemaking.

Exceedingly unremarkable, the original score by Víctor Reyes is barely discernable for most of the scenes it’s featured within. Thankfully, the song choices throughout the runtime manage to audibly enhance the film somewhat, as songs like Fame by David Bowie support the story’s implied 1970s time period while classic French overture pieces, such as Partita No. 2 in C Minor, BWV 826 and The Four Seasons – Concerto No. 3 in F Minor, RV 293, heavily contrast with the ghastly violence on-screen, making a few of Jack’s killings seem darkly comedic.

Regarding the film’s graphic violence, I would argue that it could be excused in this case, given the narrative revolves around an unfeeling mass murder, an inherently frightening yet compelling subject matter that has been covered many times before in cinema with a comparable level of violence, most notably in the horror/black comedy classic; American Psycho (2000).

In summary, unlike a few other horror flicks that attempt to dive into the headspace of a serial killer, The House That Jack Built truly pulls no punches, depicting a self-examining, metaphor-heavy story of a man disguising his shortage of worthwhile contribution with violent self-interest. Throughout the film, Lars von Trier essentially grabs the audience’s head and shoves it into a vortex of anguish, unconcerned about whether it will appeal to the masses. For that reason, the film is not one I would recommend lightly, as if not swept up in the interpretative storytelling of The House That Jack Built, this sickening arthouse flick will likely carry the allure of a lengthy therapy session as it lacks the magnetism of some of von Trier’s other work. Rating: 6/10.