The Haunting review

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The fairytale-like teaser trailer for this latest interpretation of The Haunting was so seductively eerie that you couldn't be blamed for becoming excited. Alas, the movie itself doesn't deliver on this promise: it's neither eerie nor seductive - in fact, it's a sore disappointment.

DreamWorks' horror-home chiller is based on Shirley Jackson's 1959 novel, The Haunting Of Hill House, which was adapted for the screen once before in 1963 by Robert Wise. Those were the hey-days of cine-psychoanalysis, and that version (considered a masterpiece at the time, and still pretty effective now) was essentially a study of sexual repression. It saw lesbian Theo aggressively flirting with the oblivious Eleanor, who's terrified of her awakening sexual passion towards the married doctor. That fear, heightened by labyrinthine corridors and mysterious noises (which never fully materialised into ghosts), formed the film's driving force.

Screenwriter David Self probably aimed for high camp, but he forgot to tell the director. What might have worked if it was played for laughs is just plain boring. With lacklustre effects and no atmosphere, this is a horror that horrifies in the wrong way.