We’ve all experienced this feeling: we’re sitting at home, peacefully going about our day. Then there’s a knock on the door. The confusion immediately sets in when we realise that we were not expecting someone, and usually open the door to either a pleasant surprise or a major inconvenience, depending on who stands across the threshold. However, there are some instances where it’s a truly unwanted visitor, and someone who we cannot wait to get rid of for whatever reason. This is something that Walter Mosley used as the foundation for The Man in My Basement, his deceptive and daring novel, which has now been adapted by the author (in collaboration with screenwriter  Nadia Latif) into a film of the same title, directed by Latif (in her directorial debut), becoming one of the year’s most bizarre and unconventional psychological thrillers. The story follows Charles Blakey, a man who is down on his luck after being fired from his job, and with the bank gradually making it clear that they will be taking his home (which has been in his family for eight generations) should he not pay his mortgage, he resorts to finding a way to keep his home, no matter the cost. Coincidentally, he is visited by Anniston Bennet, a peculiar and eccentric older man who arrives on his doorstep with a strange request: he would like to rent out Charles’ basement, for reasons he does not disclose, but his insistence on getting his agreement, and his willingness to pay an extraordinary amount of money (which is oddly the same amount Charles needs to pay off his debt) eventually leads to the younger man taking him up on his offer – but when it is revealed precisely what Anniston was doing, Charles begins to have second thoughts. A strange and mystifying blend of dark comedy, psychological thriller and body horror, The Man in My Basement is a film that cannot be described in linear terms, and truly has to be seen to be believed, both in the themes being explored and the lengths to which the director goes to examine this material, which proves to be quite challenging for both the people who made the film and the audience who watch this surreal, off-the-wall satire come to life on screen.

The premise behind this film is certainly strange, but anyone who has read any of Mosley’s work will know that this is par for the course for the writer, who has made something of a career from challenging and provoking the status quo through his art. The Man in My Basement is not always cited as a particular major work for him (if anything, critics at the time were slightly unkind considering it was one of a few forays he made outside of the Easy Rawlins series of books, for which he is still primarily known), but it is nonetheless a novel that is well worth our time, and has become the root of a truly terrific film. Usually, we’d try to decode such a film to understand its deeper meaning – but there comes a point here where we simply cannot comprehend everything that is being shown on screen, and we get very little assistance from Mosley or Latif, who are deliberately quite standoffish in delivering a clear explanation for the wildly offbeat events that make up this film. It ends up being a case of individual interpretation, using the cues presented to us to decode the underlying message – and from my perspective, The Man in My Basement is a film about the spectre of colonialism, the story of a white man being forcibly locked in a cage as a means to not only atone for his own sins (the extent to which Anniston is truthful about his past is never revealed), but also the misdeeds of his forefathers, seeking out self-inflicted retribution by forcing a black man to serve as his captor and torturer, entirely against his wishes. This is a brutal reduction of the film and its many tremendous ideas, but it’s the only coherent explanation we can give without becoming too focused on analysing every minuscule detail. As the film progresses, we see more layers begin to emerge – these are never as clear as they seem, and the filmmakers tend to reiterate the point that there isn’t going to be any explanation, and the fact that we get many moments where it seems like the answers will be revealed, only to have the story complicated further, tells us everything we need to know about how this film approaches these complex themes.

Considering the staggering amount of subtext and complex allusions (ranging from literary analysis to political commentary), it is not surprising at all that The Man in My Basement is a more unconventional, challenging work. Latif may be making her debut as a director, but she is already exhibiting such deep self-assurance and confidence with how she puts this film together, showing incredible skill that we don’t normally see from people without much experience. Considering the ambiguous nature of this film and how it handles its plot, it’s clear that the execution of its core ideas was extremely vital, which is where we find so many of the film’s most intriguing ideas developing. The story relies heavily on the atmosphere, and both the screenplay and the direction constantly underline just how unsettling this narrative is, frequently building itself around a very particular kind of tension that exists somewhere between darkly comedic and deeply horrifying. The use of a very particular aesthetic becomes important to the film – it needs to look simple enough that the viewer feels like they can recognise the setting (as far as the film taking place in a seemingly ordinary suburban house), but where the gradual deconstruction of the protagonist’s sanity is not only felt, but seen. The fact that we never see the house in its entirety seems like a deliberate choice, an opportunity to challenge the viewer to peer into his life, watching his daily routine like voyeurs, quietly observing his slow descent into madness, while never being able to communicate with him directly. A film very much driven by the mood more than it is the story (which is in itself very strong, just being far more ambigious, a design feature that does create a fascinating blend of emotions that cannot be fully manufactured), The Man in My Basement is exceptionally well-directed, with a fast pace that intermingles with the central mystery, playing on our inherent curiosity and leading us right to the brink of madness (along with the protagonist) as we join him in his futile attempts to find answers to explain these bizarre events that slowly plunge him into a state of complete psychosis, forcing him to reckon with the past in harsh and complex ways.

The Man in My Basement is very well-directed, but it is also a film that seems to take a lot of inspiration from classical stage-to-screen adaptations, or at least works heavily inspired by theatrical productions. We can see allusions to work like The Servant and The Caretaker (both by Harold Pinter, who seems to be a quiet influence on this particular story), in that it is essentially a two-hander about domestic infiltration and the gradual subversion of traditional master-servant tropes in which the two characters engage in a battle of wits until their positions are inverted. In order to fully achieve the intended impact, the film needed to find the right actors to bring these roles to life, particularly since neither are particularly easy character to play. Corey Hawkins is the more prominent of the two, at least in terms of plot function – a man who has been driven to the point of near-sanity as a result of his decaying sanity and volatile domestic situation, but who puts on a facade of being composed, simply because he can’t afford to be viewed as weaker than he already is. Hawkins has constantly proven himself to be an extraordinarily gifted performer, albeit someone who is not always given the appreciation he deserves, and while this film may not be the most exuberant demonstration of his talents, it does rely on his natural charisma and ability to make an otherwise pathetic character come across as sympathetic. However, it is obvious that the main attraction of The Man in My Basement isn’t Hawkins, but rather Willem Dafoe, who delivers yet another spellbinding performance as the mysterious Bennet, a man of completely ambiguous origins who strongarms his way into Charles’ life, irrevocably changing it for his own perverse reasons, and ultimately serving as the physical manifestation of the colonial spirit, which has come to atone for its sins. There is a reason why Dafoe is considered one of the greatest actors to have ever worked in the medium, since he’s simply too magnetic a presence on screen to ignore, and even when playing as decadent and challenging a villain as this, he avoids becoming cartoonish, instead finding a very distinct sense of whimsical evil contained within this character that is both entertaining and wickedly compelling. The chemistry between the two leads is exceptional – they’re at their best when engaging in a back-and-forth, challenging each other and eventually seeing their dynamic shift, which becomes the cornerstone of this film’s wonderfully strange and eccentric perspective.

In an era where filmmakers have been forced to reduce their films to the point where it is essentially serving the deeper meaning to the audience on a platter, we can admire a film like The Man in My Basement for daring to not only embrace the ambiguity, but rewards viewers who are willing to engage with the more vague elements to the point where the meaning can change for every individual. Meaning is arbitrary and unnecessary, which is a message that this film communicates clearly and with a lot of attention to unsettling the underlying commentary in very unique ways. It doesn’t seem right to call something like this entirely original, since conceptually and formally there are many similar works, and it is essentially based on a pulpy thriller novel that may have been crafted by an exceptionally strong writer, albeit one that has always been more focused on creating atmospheric genre works more than deeply academic accounts of these themes. Nonetheless, The Man in My Basement is a fascinating piece of filmmaking, a well-crafted psychological thriller that may depend mostly on its actors to deliver these complex and engaging narrative ideas, but which also has some distinctly unique plot mechanics that we can appreciate as being somewhat original, at least in kickstarting some compelling discussions around the nature of truth, identity and race relations. It’s a difficult film to talk about, since there’s intentionally no clear resolution, and the answers remain entirely ambiguous – but like any challenging work, the viewer is placed in a position where our interpretation becomes valuable and unique, functioning as the foundation for an intriguing, complex blend of dark comedy, psychological thriller and social commentary, woven together into this deeply unsettling and frequently very unique work that unsettles and provokes, while also never neglecting to entertain, being as enticing and captivating in practice as we would expect, leading to some wonderfully captivating moments. Provoking both thought and a strong, visceral reaction, The Man in My Basement is quite an achievement, and a film that will stay with the viewer long after it has ended.