Inspired by Spielberg, but lacking the magic that made his classics tick
The House with a Clock in Its Walls
12A cert, 105 min Dir Eli Roth
Starring Owen Vaccaro, Jack Black, Cate Blanchett, Kyle Maclachlan, Renée Elise Goldsberry
It may never match Gremlins or The Goonies in terms of Eighties popcultural cachet, but Barry Levinson’s Young Sherlock Holmes made a lasting impact on many young cinemagoers three decades ago for one clear reason: it was intensely scary but in an entirely child-friendly way, from its possessed patisserie to its ethereal, swordswinging stained-glass knight. Getting that balance right is a tonal high-wire act of Niagara-spanning magnitude, which The House with a Clock in Its Walls unwisely attempts to replicate.
Adapted from a 1973 book by John Bellairs, and wielding its Amblin Entertainment logo like a Kitemark of retro merit, this family fantasy tells the story of 10-year-old orphan Lewis Barnavelt (Owen Vaccaro), who in the Fifties is sent to live with his eccentric uncle Jonathan (Jack Black, rehashing his recent eyebrow-wiggling turn in Goosebumps) after his parents perish in the standard-issue car crash. Jonathan is a warlock who lives in a rickety mansion buzzing with mostly benign haunted toys, sentient furniture and a topiary griffin whose flatulence is peppered with bark chippings. But one poses a problem: a doomsday clock concealed somewhere in the building by its previous owners, the evil Isaac and Selena Izard (Kyle Maclachlan and Renée Elise Goldsberry), which could bring about the end of the world.
By day, Lewis must contend with life at a new school, where his bow tie and pilot’s goggles instantly mark him out as a misfit. In the evenings, Jonathan and his waspish neighbour Florence Zimmerman (a wasted Cate Blanchett) school the boy in magic, while ransacking the house for the deadly clock, sometimes using axes in ways that allow director Eli Roth to winkingly send up The Shining. Roth is the torture-porn journeyman behind the Hostel films and the dismal Death Wish remake with Bruce Willis: this is his first venture into 12A territory, and he shows no noticeable flair for it.
As befit their Spielbergian pedigree (the company was co-founded by the ET director in 1981), the classic Amblin films ran on awe, and framed every magical moment as formative experiences for their pre-teen heroes. But here, weird happenings are ten-a-penny: within minutes of Lewis arriving at his uncle’s, an armchair is scampering around like a puppy, rendered in generic CGI. Too hectic to be scary, and with a plot regularly bogged down in optimistic franchise building spadework, The House with a Clock in Its Walls never quite grasps what made its inspirations tick.