The Beach House
shudder
Jeffrey A. Brown's The Beach House, for the most part, succeeds as an eerily enigmatic science-fiction horror with an engaging enough central dynamic for the audience to be engulfed. However, with predictable and genre convention at its most generic and bane, Brown's film before long falls into the cycle of the mundane.
The comparisons between Richard Stanley's The Color of Space are uncannier than anything. That being said, it is not a factor of each film taking inspiration from each other but more so a problem of the genre and narrative being tired and flat. Brown's film throughout does nothing of the sort to project a form of uniqueness or distinctive palette to combat predictability, and therefore the layers of narrative.
Nonetheless, when compared against Stanley's body horror feature, the same complaints of anticipated genre convention can be raised. However, even when the form of body horror is elevated to a more substantial and entertaining fashion akin to John Carpenter's The Thing and an extraordinarily induced colour palette is on offer. It is the performance of none other than Nicolas Cage in all its chaotic gold that produces the most intoxicating element for the audience to indulge.
Unfortunately, Liana Liberato as Emily nor Owen Levelle's cinematography incites such engagement or entertainment value to be found in The Beach House. The former puts forward a strong if not overly contrived character that exclaims foreshadowing and existential scientific dread at every opportunity. A factor that becomes tedious and one-note long before the climax of the film, and while the emotional gravitas of said character in question is felt more often than not, the characters romantic interest and emotional pull are convicted extremely poorly in an underwritten love story.
The latter, however, is arguably the most impressive and astute aspect. The lack of vision from director Jeffrey A. Brown is arguably present, but the cinematography on occasion (specifically establishing shots of the environment) look devilishly impact-full and towards the climax of the film inflict a decent sentiment of claustrophobia and tension surrounding the plight of the characters.
All in all, Jeffrey A. Brown's The Beach House is more of an underwhelming entity than it is a disappointment. For fans of the genre of body horror, it will suffice as mere baseline entertainment, but when compared to the likes of Carpenter’s The Thing and Stanley's Color of Space, Brown's film is sadly incomparable in entertainment value and within the tone of genre.
