Patrick Breen led new credence to, “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”
When a curious stranger sought shelter in the home of a troubled family far removed from the nearest town, a dark brooding tale of tragedy unfolded in the Bleeding House. First time director/screen writer Philip Gelatt was inspired from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and it’s easy to recognize its atmospheric influence once the camera gazed upon an isolated home in the middle of nowhere before a stranger came knocking. Nick, the mysterious stranger was played by the well versed Patrick Breen who channeled a convincing creepy, soothing predator dressed in the iconic white suit and pontificating with a Southern accent. The more unpredictable variable was the proverbial elephant sitting in the room suffocating every member in the family. The nightmares of the mother, the selectively catatonic daughter’s obsession with dead things, and the father’s financial troubles gave the audience pieces of a puzzle to play with. With Nick’s introduction, the careful controlled development of family psychology was undermined and reduced to a predictable linear suspense thriller. With very little material to work with beyond the first 20 minutes, Alexandra Chando never quite convinced the audience of the one plot twist in the film because there was no development but rather, creepy imagery. Nick did all the talking, sometimes for other characters, and perhaps explained too much of the plot. While Gelatt created a serviceable film, he didn’t have to spoon feed the audience at every juncture. A charismatic weirdo can carry a film but he or she can also take the audience out of the film to the point where he was overbearing. Nonetheless, the Bleeding House was still a serviceable film with form and function.
The Bleeding House rates as a house brew on tap. It has taste but less character, it could have been so much more.
Cheers,
Ron
