Unlike its predecessor, ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018), Mike Flanagan’s signature second instalment focuses less on the dread and more on the emotional side of things. The ‘it’s not a ghost story, it’s a love story’ phrase has been around for quite a while, and it takes on a meaning of its own in ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’ (2020). The original, ‘every love story is a ghost story’, can be found in a letter that David Foster Wallace wrote to the late Richard Elman back in 1986. Both expressions could easily fit within the walls of Bly Manor and make perfect sense.

I do enjoy the ghostly anthology style, and here’s to hoping that Mr Flanagan will undertake other such projects in the future. There are so many haunted places in this world, and so few artists who are truly equipped to tell these stories with adequate profundity and emotional intensity… it would be a shame not to produce more of this stuff.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

While I understand that Bly Manor may have disappointed some viewers who previously applauded Hill House, a fraction of the blame can be placed on the marketing department. We went in expecting something else, but I found strange enlightenment in the end, an ‘Aha!’ sparkle that brought me back to the ‘love story, ghost story’ trope above. Truth be told, no respectable haunting was ever a gory horror tale with blood and guts and jump-scares. Ghosts are fingerprints of the past in our collective folklore, spectres who are unable to let go, even in death, and some of whom are able to influence the world of the living.

It means we have to deal with sadness, remorse, longing, and other equally consuming feelings that we experience in the presence of death and the absence of those we loved and lost. Therefore, a true ghost story has multiple dimensions. A good ghost story is able to break your heart, and Mike Flanagan does it in two different styles with both Hill House and Bly Manor. The former explores the grief and bitterness that suicide leaves behind. The latter studies love and its dysfunctions as they unravel under the influence of a spirit whose rage binds everyone to her. Both have mysterious, almost-sentient houses as leading characters.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020)

Mike Flanagan has become a master of the genre with both limited series, but also with his work on Stephen King’s ‘Gerald’s Game’ (2017) and the more recent ‘Doctor Sleep’ (2019). His writing style has an almost poetic depth I’ve only seen in Shirley Jackson and Henry James, which is probably why he resonated so beautifully with these illustrious authors’ works. The focus is never really on the actual ghosts. After all, they tell the same story—unresolved issues, the inability to move on, the violence of their death which caused a bruising of the very fabric of existence… it’s always a broken heart at the centre of a haunting, somehow. No, the focus is on the living and on how they cope with loss, with misery, and with the supernatural elements that they never wanted to believe in.

‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’ simply does it with a sweeter tone. The ghosts have a more personal autonomy than those of Hill House. The living and the dead collide, repeatedly, between the walls of the English mansion, its rooms seemingly larger at night—as if the house itself inhales deeply and holds its breath until the light of morning. There is poetry in Carla Gugino’s storytelling monologues. I was pleasantly surprised by its added value, in fact, as I am not really a fan of narrators in moving pictures. Her repetitions have a dramatic effect, evoking the very loops of post-existence that ghosts seemingly go through. I doubt the series would’ve had the same effect without her. Sometimes, telling adds value to showing.

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Some things could have been done differently, sure, but I wouldn’t dare dissect the series down to its bones for this because the transgressions are minimal, at most, and splendidly overshadowed by the extraordinary performances of its actors. Keeping in line with the anthology format we’ve seen before in Ryan Murphy’s ‘American Horror Story’, there are returning cast members who’ve changed their residence from Hill House to Bly Manor. Each of them is exceptional and remarkably versatile.

Victoria Pedretti brings tears to one’s eyes as Dani Clayton, a young woman struggling with her sexuality and a tragedy she feels personally responsible for. Her intensity is only matched by her emotional palette. Few manage to express true and unexpected terror when locked in a closet—few manage to make the viewers themselves take deep breaths to fight a growing sense of claustrophobia, of walls closing in. Dani is also at the centre of the love story that is the hidden heart of this series, able to explore the payoff after having endured incommensurable horrors at Bly Manor and able to bid her lover farewell when the time comes to carry the curse back to its roots.

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Kate Siegel returns as Viola, the angry and faceless spirit at the root of this nightmare—the former lady of Bly Manor who found herself betrayed and enraged beyond the grave. Her vicious circle break hearts, over and over, as she goes through the motions and consumes everything in her path, even when there is no one left to remember her. Viola is proof that there is nothing worse than being forgotten. Not even death is worse than vanishing into the dark recesses of human history.

Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Henry Thomas came back, as well, as Peter Quint and Henry Wingrave, respectively. One is a deeply flawed but passionate man, and the other… well, they’re more or less the same, actually, despite their financial and societal differences. Carla Gugino is a delightful presence, her deep voice and melancholic gaze working seamlessly as a thread that pulls everyone and everything together.

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Benjamin Evan Ainsworth and Amelie Bea Smith are both extraordinary as the children of Bly Manor. These sterling thespians are able to build their characters into three dimensions that mercilessly punch holes through one’s stomach. Miles and Flora are both odd—I believe they were written as such, while also trying to stay at least partially true to their age. It’s not an easy task to accomplish, but they both come through quite nicely. They’re ‘perfectly splendid’.

Rahul Kohli as Owen is a dollop of kindness and hope that is desperately needed, particularly in the darkest of times. His love story is the saddest, too, once you realize that he will never be able to bring it to a positive conclusion. But frankly, the true star of Bly Manor and a breath-taking performer that deserves her own crown is T’Nia Miller as Hannah Grose. Hers is the hardest tale to tell. It starts and ends in tears, yet it is filled with love and hope and mountains of empathy strangled by threads of lost time. If anyone ever wondered what being a ghost might feel like, Hannah is an exceptional point of reference.

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The lasting impact of ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’, much like its predecessor, comes from the brilliant combination of image and production design. The haunted house takes centre stage, of course, and to achieve a troubling effect evoking of Hill House, Mr Flanagan brought Patricio M. Farrell and art director Hugo Santiago back for Bly Manor. The ghostly Easter eggs, the period pieces, and the spine-tingling details… it all adds up to that subtle dread that’s meant to erode the resolve of everyone involved—characters and viewers alike.

To further strengthen the end result, Flanagan worked with Maxime Alexandre of ‘Annabelle: Creation’ (2017) fame and James Kniest, previously known for ‘Annabelle’ (2014). In an interview with Variety, Mr Kniest addresses the importance of using Hill House as a roadmap for Flanagan’s second Haunting foray.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

Most of the story’s tone is eloquently captured in the screenplay and through the actors’ performances, but the style and camera language had to also match. With each Haunting, the camera work begins with static and symmetrical angles, gradually evolving into a more fluid and almost organic motion—we saw it in the funeral home with the Crains, and we see it again through the layers we peel away at in Bly Manor. The dark aesthetic delivers stupendously as the truth is gingerly revealed, painting tragedy with a fair palette.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

At the end of the day, each viewer will make up their own mind regarding ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’. They may voice discontent and point to insufficiencies whilst praising ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ as the superior of the two. It could go the other way around, as well. Or, better yet, each series will stand alone and with its distinctive set of features, while both pay homage to some of the best ghost tales ever written.

Whether it’s a love story or a ghost story or somewhere in-between, one truth remains. Our fascination with death and whatever might come afterwards is a timeless and endless source of hope and heartbreak.

Mike Flanagan is a darling of horror film festivals and a rapidly rising star of the genre. Therefore, I was not at all surprised upon learning that he had been tasked with bringing Stephen King’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ onto the silver screen. On the contrary, I was excited, and fortunately, my initial expectations were met although not dramatically exceeded. Don’t get me wrong, I was not disappointed, though I do feel like Mr Flanagan was constantly torn between pleasing both Kubrick and King audiences—surely, we agree they’re not one and the same.

Adapting Stephen King’s works has always been a hit and a miss process, with some exquisite cinematic masterpieces like ‘The Shining’ (1980), the celebrated precursor to ‘Doctor Sleep’, as well as ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ (1994), ‘Carrie’ (1976), ‘The Green Mile’ (1999), and ‘Stand by Me’ (1986), to name but a few. I’m relieved to be able to place Flanagan’s work into the good pile rather than the bad, where bombs like ‘Needful Things’ (1993) and ‘Maximum Overdrive’ (1986) dwell.

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‘Doctor Sleep’ has ginormous shoes to fill, and Mr Flanagan does an excellent job of not getting himself lost inside them. After all, ‘The Shining’ suffered critical modifications from book to screen. Most of you might remember that Mr King hated Kubrick’s adaptation so much that he invested in a remake which unsurprisingly bombed. As far as the storyline goes, ‘Doctor Sleep’ picks up where ‘The Shining’ left off—both the movie and the book, which had to be tied up somehow in a manner that made sense. The book saw the Overlook Hotel exploding. The film clearly didn’t. Some assembly was required.

In the first ‘chapter’ of the film, we follow young Danny Torrance at first with his mum, both of them learning to live with the trauma and grief after leaving Jack for dead at the Overlook. While Shelley Duval and Jack Nicholson dominated ‘The Shining’ back in 1980, Flanagan’s sequel adaptation has Henry Thomas and Alex Essoe as Jack and Wendy. Aesthetically grand choices, both talented and intense enough to portray iconic characters. Danny is trying to cope with his ‘shining’, his special ability that brought the Overlook to life, so to speak, in the first place. Having been introduced to death and ghosts and violence from such a young age, it’s difficult for him to move on, especially since the spectres have followed him home.

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After he learns to lock away the bad stuff with a little trick from his memory of Dick Hallorann, Danny delves into adulthood with a serious drinking problem. The film follows him right up to the peak of his crisis. Having used alcohol to cope with his ‘shining’, Danny hits rock bottom when he takes money out of the wallet of a woman with whom he had a coke-and-booze-addled affair the night before.

Ultimately, Danny moves to a small town in New Hampshire, sobers up, attends AA meetings, and remotely befriends Abra Stone, a little girl with a gift like his. Of course, things take the obligatory dip into nightmare territory when a cult of apparent immortals start hunting Abra down, desperate to feed on her ‘shining’ in order to further prolong their lives—her power could feed them for entire generations, unlike other kids with ‘steam’, as they call it, these days. Danny must therefore mentor and protect the girl against these monsters, who will stop at nothing to kill her.

‘DOCTOR SLEEP’ (2020), ©WARNER BROS.

I am in awe of Ewan McGregor. He manages to do a lot more with an otherwise bland character—the book’s strength did not come from Danny Torrance, not where ‘Doctor Sleep’ is concerned, at least. The kid version of him from ‘The Shining’ was a strong presence. But Mr McGregor breathes life into a grown-up Danny with his fears and vulnerabilities and self-loathing. We believe him as the alcoholic in desperate need of redemption, and we believe him as the man who is ready to face the demons of his past, including his own father, in order to protect the future, here portrayed by young Abra Stone.

His growth as Doctor Sleep, the kind soul who guides the dying hospice patients where he works into the afterlife, is done with a certain solemnity and reverence towards death itself. This particularly poignant side of him has roots in Flanagan’s writing, too, carrying over several touching notes from ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018). McGregor’s Danny isn’t just the main character, however. He is also the supporting element for Kyliegh Curran’s Abra—not necessarily a father figure but more of a Dick Hallorann himself.

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Ms Curran’s interpretation of a teenage girl who has grown with a titanic ‘shining’ is also noteworthy. While still young, she does not lack the talent to bring Abra to life as Mr King penned her. She is not a victim, nor is she entirely invulnerable. No, Abra is aware of how insanely awesome she is, but Danny does help to remind her that she is not invincible, either—that’s something she also gets from those frightful telepathic encounters with Rose the Hat.

From Abra’s point of view, I’d say that ‘Doctor Sleep’ is less a tale of empowerment and more a journey of overcoming trauma and horrific violence, as Abra sees the terrible things that The True Knot cult are willing to do for power like hers.

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Truth be told, I believe it’s Rebecca Ferguson’s stunning performance as Rose the Hat, the cult’s leader, that truly carries the film into the realm of greatness. The book offered little for us to work with as readers. There were plenty of gaps to be filled, yet Ms Ferguson, better known for her roles in ‘Mission: Impossible – Fallout’ (2018) and ‘The Greatest Showman’ (2017), manages to build an impressively spooky and authentic villain. There is depth in her persona and a truly desperate hunger for immortality.

While she has been a conscientious collector, her cult’s supply of ‘steam’ is running low, and their more recent victims have not been enough to feed them in the long term. The entire ‘tribe’ is a strange combo of misfits with sociopathic tendencies who live in their RV’s, crossing the entire country in search of more ‘steam’ to keep themselves young for longer. Their villainy is interesting, however, because they’re aware that they cannot live forever. Everything they do is solely for the purpose of cheating the clock. Rose and The True Knot are troubling metaphors for those in the real world who thrive and feed on pain and misery.

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In writing the screenplay adaptation, Mike Flanagan had to reconcile two sides of the same coin in a manner aimed at drawing and pleasing two kinds of fans—the Kubrick aficionados who still refer to ‘The Shining’ as one of the best movies ever made and the King devotees whose guilty pleasure is watching ‘The Shining’ since it is still superior to the remake. Both sides equally demanding. The writer-director faithfully recreates the elegant dread and the layered terror that made the Overlook so memorable. It is still home to a variety of live-in fiendish phantoms and a nightmarish cradle to which we are forced to return.

Story-wise, ‘Doctor Sleep’ builds Danny as the guiding light emerging from his personal darkness, a reluctant mentor to Abra’s fierce youth. She may be young, but she knows that she might be the only one who can stand up to the True Knot. On the other hand, Danny has his past demons to deal with—starting with the undying presence of his father, the spirits he locked inside boxes in his head, and the Overlook, where he knows they will have a better shot at defeating Rose the Hat.

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Mike Flanagan’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ is quite the visual treat, too. Rife with emotional close-ups and mainly adhering to a nocturnal grey and blue palette, the film can be seen as an extension to ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ and as a loving tribute to Kubrick’s original imagery. Michael Fimognari has worked with Flanagan before, on ‘Gerald’s Game’ (2017), another King adaptation, and on the above noted Shirley Jackson-based Netflix miniseries. I see this as a fruitful partnership, as Mr Fimognari not only understands the sophisticated yet heart-rending style that has become Flanagan’s signature, he also manages to convey the Kubrick-inspired imagery meant to tie ‘Doctor Sleep’ to ‘The Shining’.

The lighting is low, and there is much to work with in the darkness. Rose the Hat and Crow Daddy and Snakebite Andi are thrice as scary whilst glazed in shadows, each of them hungry for a few more years, a bit more youth. In Danny’s room, the tenebrosity serves to remind us where he comes from and where he’s been, while in Abra’s room it is a medium for her to sink into when she sleeps and unwittingly witnesses the terrible murders committed by Rose and her deranged crew.

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But it’s the production design that really does it for me. The sets, in particular, stand on the shoulders of Roy Walker and Leslie Tomkins. Combined with Fimognari’s cinematography, however, the viewer is mercilessly dragged back to the real Overlook—the ‘70s style orange and brown geometric carpets, the high ceilings with wagon-wheel chandeliers, the terracotta walls and the red-door elevators… the chills just rush through and anchor us so deep into the story, we cannot escape. Not until Danny deals with his past.

Production designer Maher Ahmad, best known for ‘The Fugitive’ (1993), ‘Zombieland’ (2009), and ‘Little Evil’ (2017), and art director Richie Bearden of ‘Den of Thieves’ (2018) and ‘Game Night’ (2018) are just two of the team that delivers the superb visuals behind ‘Doctor Sleep’, and they deserve a round of heartfelt applause. It’s not just the Overlook that stands out, however. A personal favourite of mine is the visual duet between Abra and Danny’s room, the latter fitted with a blackboard wall on which she leaves him telepathic chalk messages. And then there are the minds of our characters—Danny’s with its boxes and Abra’s with its traps for Rose.

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While there are plenty of Kubrickian nods, the film ultimately stands more as a longer episode of ‘The Haunting of Hill House’, combining soul-stirring and supernatural elements that cause all kinds of jumps and jolts in the viewers. And while Mike Flanagan, a man of many talents, works hard in treading that fine line between Stanley Kubrick and Stephen King whilst building on the heritage of ‘The Shining’ left by both, he is at his peak when left to his own devices.

‘Doctor Sleep’ is the most beautiful when it steps away from its source material and predecessor, standing boldly as a cinematic oeuvre. By adding its own flavours into the mix, it expands on the book with deeply fascinating characters—I, for one, find it hard not to sympathize a little with Rose the Hat’s desire to remain young for longer. Of course, the end does not justify the means. Innocent children are tortured and murdered for the most selfish reasons, and so the horror transpires brutally onto the screen. Ultimately, Mike Flanagan follows his creative path and gifts us with a story that does not disappoint.