There is a reason The House of Yes, the ambitious but controversial play by Wendy MacLeod, has somewhat faded into obscurity, only really being known to those devoted to lesser-known stage plays – but it has nothing to do with the content of the story, but rather the depths to which it is willing to go to shock and disturb without a moment’s hesitation. Mark Waters undertook the task of translating the play to the screen in an adaptation that has had its own tumultuous history, going from critically-reviled dark comedy that was noted for aiming too high than it could reach, to cult classic, cherished by devotees of independent cinema with a fervency rarely seen with even the most committed supporters of more mainstream work. Independent cinema inspires an entirely different brand of obsession, which is hardly ever inappropriate, since there is a dedication to these films that would be motivating if it wasn’t so intimidating at times – and The House of Yes, while not the kind of cult classic that has reached a status notable enough for it to infiltrate the wider population, is one that features such a peculiar kind of humour, arguing against its existence as something so utterly deranged seems misguided. If this doesn’t quite make sense, then perhaps its easier to experience this film firsthand, since the madness incited by Waters’ strange brew of dark comedy and haunting melodrama makes for an experience unlike any other, and immediately establishes The House of Yes as some of the most odd forays into the world of familial drama ever committed to film, and one that is better seen directly, rather than spoken through by means of a mere proxy. Different factors go into the creation of this film, which is truly unforgettable – and whether this is a merit or shortcoming is up to the individual viewer, who may be delighted or repulsed by what we’re witnessing on screen – and perhaps even at the exact same time.

Strange but compelling in every way, this film draws you in with its unconventional charms, and keeps you engaged in a way that goes against every principle we hold to be sacred. There are some boundaries that are simply not crossed in proverbially “decent” society – and several of them are present here, with McLeod and Waters ignoring all the conventions by conveniently stepping over them in an effort to tell a story that we’re not likely to find told in any self-respecting film. There is a contrast in this film that seems quite peculiar – we’ve seen many instances of the collision between the straight-laced frigidity of exterior suburban society, and the debauchery that lurks just out of sight, behind the veneer of decency. However, The House of Yes takes it to an entirely different level, not being a film made in poor taste, but rather a tasteful controversy masquerading as a family-based melodrama. Waters does well in his adaptation – taking the story of a family meeting for Thanksgiving, one of the children bringing their fiancee to meet his relatives for the first time, and turning it into a hilariously distressing comedy-of-errors that is as insidious as it is chipper. The charms that exist in The House of Yes are unorthodox, but still wildly fascinating, and we soon discover how the humour, which we think would soften the blow of the controversial subject matter and justify it, is often just as disturbing as the more serious moments, since there is a darkness that is perhaps far too bleak for many viewers who enter into this film expecting something that pushes the boundaries. The House of Yes instead eviscerates these boundaries entirely and places itself in their place, a new demonstration of the bleak depths of the human imagination, as complex as it is oddly terrifying.

At the centre of the film are a quintet of wildly diverse performances, both in terms of the characters that are being portrayed, and the quality of work being done by the actors. Of the five characters that populate the film, the only one who feels out of place is Tori Spelling (and whose presence can easily be understood through the fact that her entertainment mogul father was the primary financier of the film), but even she manages to rise above her limitations and embrace the madness of the story. Parker Posey and Josh Hamilton, who are both symbols of this era in American independent filmmaking, play the twins who have been engaging in perverted debauchery since their teenage years, and their reunion rekindling the taboo spark that drove their family apart in the first place. Both actors fully commit to the roles, and find the intricacies in a pair of despicable characters, and even manage to humanize them to a strange extent. Freddie Prinze, Jr. is also quite good as the youngest sibling who feigns ignorance, but actually turns out to be just as deceptive as the rest of them. Binding the film together is film legend Geneviève Bujold, who plays the family’s matriarch who claims to be only focused on perfection (not having time to dig deep into the alleged indecency occurring around her), but soon proves herself to be the most sinister of them all. Without the cast surrendering to the strange premise and playing these characters with a peculiar lack of self-awareness, it’s quite unlikely that the film would’ve worked, especially considering how dialogue-driven it is – mercifully, the ensemble rises to the occasion, and delivers fascinating performances that ground the inherent insanity that runs rampant throughout this film and keeps it engaging without allowing it to go off the rails too often.

The House of Yes is a film that deals with the distinctly taboo subject matter, so if one removes this side of the story, it isn’t particularly noteworthy. There have been some fascinating discussions over the years surrounding films like this, where subjects such as incest are primary to the narrative, and the place they have in a world that quite rightly understands these issues are not something that will (or should) ever be embraced as normal. The House of Yes navigates this discourse through demonstrating its own disgust with the topics at hand – not once does this film glamourize or even vaguely try and justify the behaviour of the characters, showing them as abhorrent and utterly malignant, and where we’re fooled into thinking their repulsive eccentricities are indicative of some inherent charisma, which could not be further from the truth. In many ways, The House of Yes functions as a retreading of many of the ideas of the “grotesque” sub-genre that was prominent in Italian filmmaking in the decades preceding this one, where excessive, heightened characters engaging in debaucherous activities were used to revolt the viewer to the point of wanting to escape the film, but being kept there through engaging filmmaking. We’re drawn into this world, invited to become part of it, even against our better judgment – and extending us an invitation into its demented corner of a warped, perverted paradise allows the film to exert its peculiar perspective on unsuspecting viewers, who are gleefully ignorant of the true depths of darkness that this film is willing to plunge towards without a single moment’s hesitation, which makes its devil-may-care attitude simultaneously endearing and terrifying.

The House of Yes isn’t always an easy film to watch – it’s stilted and awkward at time, and it has a foreboding sense of malice that I’m not sure always serves it well. However, when we look at it from afar, it’s easy to understand why this caused such a stir – it addresses issues that are not important so much as they’re omnipotent in the cultural consciousness, and through commenting on taboo themes, it exposes the hypocrisy of suburban life, which is far from as idyllic as it has been shown to be in less-controversial glimpses into the inner machinations of ordinary existence. Waters may have become more of an establishment-aligned director in the decades that were to come, but in the earlier stages of his career, he showed great promise as a provocateur, putting together a masterful adaptation of McLeod’s bizarre play, filtering it through the lens of a profoundly unsettling glimpse into the darker side of humanity. Working with a gifted ensemble, and gradually unveiling the hideous underside of suburban life, The House of Yes is a profoundly unsettling, but always thoroughly captivating, dark comedy that takes no prisoners, and puts us through the proverbial emotional wringer in a way more orthodox films often refuse to do. This film is not against alienating the viewer, and it is often in this approach that it’s able to make the most profound impact – dark, demented and brilliant, there are very few films quite like The House of Yes, which may be a great relief or a distressing realization, depending on how one reacts to its bewildering brand of darkly comical despair.