One of the great joys of exploring cinema is that sometimes you come across a film that had previously never been on your radar, but once it catches your attention, it feels like a revelatory moment. Whether through a recommendation from a trusted voice or simply stumbling upon a film by accident, it can be a fascinating experience. You’ll Like My Mother, written by Joe Heims  (based on the novel by Naomi A. Hintze) and directed by Lamont Johnson, is a film that does not announce itself so much as it waits to be discovered, and while it has been shrouded in near-obscurity for over half a century, it is gradually starting to rise in estimation, especially amongst those who find its particular brand of off-kilter horror quite endearing. The film centres on Francesca, a young widow who is about to have her first child, having lost her husband recently. Never having met his family, she decides to make the long trip to Minnesota, where his family lives in a rural, remote part of town. Braving the freezing conditions, she makes her way to their foreboding estate, where she’s greeted by Mrs Kingsolving, her husband’s vaguely sinister and very stern mother, as well as Kathleen, the young man’s developmentally challenged younger sister, who is the unfortunate victim of her mother’s strict, uncaring nature. Realising that she is not welcome in this home, Francesca attempts to leave – but when a snow-storm renders her unable to return home, or even exit the house, she finds herself trapped, the maniacal Mrs Kingsolving having many secrets that she would prefer remain concealed (leading her to attempt to isolate her new houseguest) and that make it clear that she is not who she claims to be, and that this home is a far more dangerous place than it claims to be. Not a film with the most unique or daring perspective, but one that nonetheless draws our attention through its promise of wickedly entertaining, deliciously deceptive storytelling that may not shatter any boundaries, but instead functions as a delightfully deranged psychological horror, the kind that are truly no longer being made.

Some themes are so universal that we often struggle to find any works of literature that can say something new about them or make unique contributions. When it comes to a theme like motherhood, the reality is that we’ve seen just about every possible configuration of story about the subject, which means that it’s less a case of being bespoke and more about using other elements (particularly those found in a given genre) to heighten the experience and say something interesting. The era in which You’ll Like My Mother was produced was one in which horror films that centred on family dynamics, particularly motherhood, were at their peak. There’s something so compelling about the idea of making a film that targets arguably the most sacred and tender of relationships, using it as the foundation for harrowing, deeply unsettling filmmaking – and this is precisely where the original novel takes its cues, and which Johnson and Heims use at the cornerstone for their adaptation, which is relatively straightforward as far as interrogating those same themes tend to go, but still underline the foundation of these narratives in a way that is very much notable. There’s nothing particularly unique about this story, but we find that it functions as a tense exploration of the dynamic between people who were previously strangers, but by virtue of marriage end up being related to one another – in the hands of any other filmmaker, You’ll Like My Mother could’ve been nothing more than a tacky, feature-length joke about a terrible mother-in-law, but through some very careful curation of a few key ideas, Johnson manages to cobble together something quite engaging, a disquieting exploration of the dynamic between women as they come into conflict over their differing perspectives of motherhood, which proves to be quite an ordeal.

Part of the appeal of You’ll Like My Mother was the presence of Patty Duke, who was continuing to forge her path as one of the most singular talents working in Hollywood at the time. In what was clearly an effort to take on more adult roles, she does what she can to portray the character of Francesca as more than just a wide-eyed, innocent young woman. She’s undeniably the protagonist of this story, and the victim of some cruel, sinister figures, but she’s also got an awareness of her surroundings and the gumption to know how to stand up for herself. It’s wonderful work from Duke, who takes a character most would consider slightly one-dimensional and elevates her splendidly. However, this film is intentionally focused on making her character the least interesting, solely because the real attractions here are found in the supporting cast, which is often the case with these psychological horrors, whose modus operandi seems to be casting a recognisable star or two as the heroic, likable lead, and then assembling a rogue’s gallery of more obscure (but not any less talented) supporting players to populate the smaller parts. The best performance in the film is Rosemary Murphy, whose Maria Kingsolving is one of the great villains of the 1970s – not only is she purely evil in a way that draws us in, but she has layers of malice that we often don’t see in contemporary horror films. In recent years, we’ve seen a divide between antagonists that are either trying to be justified in their misdeeds or so purely evil that they lack dimension. Murphy brings such nuance to the part of someone whose actions are never explained, but whose sinister activities are far more complex than simply being the product of psychopathy. Credit must also go to Sian Barbara Allen, someone who was such a magnetic screen presence, but sadly did not do much work over the years, and considering she’s playing the challenging role of a young neurodivergent woman (who also ends up being the true hero of the story), she has many opportunities to develop a complex character. The film has surprisingly strong characterisation, and everyone is doing stellar work, which only elevates the story and brings its more subtle themes to life more vividly.

It certainly takes a lot of work to transform a relatively non-descript work of pulp fiction like this novel into a well-crafted, meaningful film that isn’t just a bundle of conventions thrown together and presented as mindless entertainment. There are layers to You’ll Like My Mother that feel so much more nuanced and compelling than many may think at first – it is easy to dismiss it as yet another entry into the biddy horror genre, where seemingly the most non-descript, pleasant demographic of people (older women) are positioned as terrifying villains – a technique that has its roots in folklore around witches and how they were usually presented as elderly, reclusive women – but there is so much more to this film than initially meets the eye, which becomes part of the experience of making our way through a film that seems relatively straightforward on the surface, but has intriguing nuances that keep it entirely engaging, even at its most seemingly simplistic. Johnson was a filmmaker who worked primarily as a director-for-hire, never really developing a style of his own, but earning a reputation for being more reliable – and considering this film was designed to be a quickfire psychological thriller that gets everything wrapped up within a breezy 90 minutes, it’s not surprising that it was handed to him, since it’s not a narrative that required someone with a particular style. Yet, we find that the film is exceptionally well-directed, which is likely an intentional choice to offset some of the writing, which is not necessarily weak in itself, but instead does veer towards the cliched on more than one occasion, which is entirely understandable (and frankly quite excusable, considering the nature of the film) – but even at its weakest, the film is slick and visually quite stunning. The use of colour itself is quite memorable, since the production design keeps everything quite drab and lifeless, an intentional choice to underline the foreboding nature of the story, but the occasional burst of colour adds a necessary jolt of energy to the proceedings. It’s a surprisingly nuanced film, and one that absolutely earns our affection for how profoundly compelling it manages to be despite its more conventional material.

Ultimately, You’ll Like My Mother is not a film that does anything particularly revolutionary or challenging, but instead captures the spirit of an era in a way that is entertaining and unforgettable. It carries some interesting commentary around motherhood and the relationship between newly-minted members of the same family, taking a premise as simple as the tensions between a woman and her mother-in-law and heightening it into a hilariously irreverent and frankly deranged story of someone escaping a psychopath through engaging in a game of cat-and-mouse, in which it turns out that the more shrewd, innocent of the pair always emerges victorious. It’s a strange film, and one that doesn’t always land in the way that we imagine, but rather than going down a familiar path, the director chooses to take the opportunity to develop some of the more intriguing themes without it becoming too heavy-handed or obviously dense. As audiences become more acquainted with these offbeat horror films from this era that exist outside the popular canon, we start to see further discussion around some terrific gems, those films that have not been widely available, but yet have proven to have lasting power, especially in how they capture the intricate nuances of popular stories and ideas without needing to be overwrought. By no means a masterpiece, but rather a reminder that some films are at their best when they’re allowed to be a bit more conventional, You’ll Like My Mother is a terrific little oddity, anchored by terrific performances and a lot of extremely fun ideas – and if nothing else, it gives a pleasantly demented diversion, the kind of wholeheartedly offbeat entertainment that we don’t find often these days, and which has proven to be nothing if not entirely valuable, at least in terms of drawing audiences in and giving us something to remember.