Now Showing: Nothing Happens, Then Everyone Dies
There are horror movies that thrill you. There are horror movies that haunt you. And then there’s The Open House, a movie that just sort of… exists. Released on Netflix in 2018, this American “horror” film is written and directed by Matt Angel and Suzanne Coote, who apparently decided to conduct a cinematic experiment: How long can you make audiences stare at an empty house before they start rooting for the villain?
Spoiler alert: the answer is 94 minutes.
The premise sounds simple enough — a grieving mother and son move into a fancy mountain chalet and start experiencing strange events during open houses. It’s a setup rich with potential for paranoia and psychological tension. But The Open House squanders it with such lazy execution that you could replace the haunted house with a haunted toaster and it would make the same emotional impact.
The Netflix Algorithm Strikes Again
Netflix has produced some truly great horror films (Gerald’s Game, His House, The Ritual), which makes The Open House feel like the one that slipped through quality control while the intern was on break. It has all the hallmarks of an algorithmic thriller: attractive leads, a scenic location, a few loud noises, and a villain who’s probably just a metaphor for poor writing.
What it doesn’t have is tension, logic, or an ending. Watching it feels like scrolling through a streaming menu at 2 a.m. — you keep thinking something interesting will happen, but all you get is buffering.
The Death of Dad (and of Plot Momentum)
The movie opens with tragedy: a suburban dad (Aaron Abrams) is killed by a speeding car. It’s sudden, shocking, and — briefly — effective. Then, nothing happens for about twenty minutes except grief montages and awkward small talk.
Naomi (Piercey Dalton), now widowed, moves with her teenage son Logan (Dylan Minnette, fresh off 13 Reasons Whyand probably regretting this decision) into her sister’s unsold luxury home. The catch? Every Sunday, strangers show up for an “open house,” meaning they have to vacate the premises and hope no one steals the silverware. Naturally, this means someone starts creeping around.
You might expect a slow build of unease here — hints, atmosphere, maybe a few clues about who’s behind the disturbances. Instead, you get the cinematic equivalent of static. Objects move slightly. The phone rings. Someone turns off the water heater. That’s it. The movie’s big scares are about plumbing.
The House That Bore Me
The chalet is gorgeous — perched in the snowy mountains, full of glass, and utterly wasted on this script. The camera lingers on every hallway, every staircase, every empty room, as if trying to find meaning that isn’t there. It’s like a real estate video tour directed by someone who just learned about “subtext” from a fortune cookie.
At first, Naomi and Logan think the house is haunted. Then they suspect the neighbor, Martha (Patricia Bethune), who alternates between friendly and “I definitely have bodies in my garden” energy. Then they blame each other. Then they just get tired and mope.
For a movie called The Open House, it spends a suspicious amount of time closed off — emotionally and narratively.
The Characters Who Forgot to Exist
Dylan Minnette does his best, but his character is written with the emotional depth of a weather forecast. He’s sad. Then he’s moody. Then he’s confused. Repeat for ninety minutes. Naomi fares slightly better, but only because she gets to yell occasionally. Their dynamic consists mostly of shouting, sulking, and accusing each other of turning off the water heater again.
Even supporting characters are walking clichés:
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Martha, the eccentric neighbor, whose confusion about her dead husband’s status might have been eerie if it weren’t explained away by Alzheimer’s — a subplot so carelessly handled it borders on offensive.
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Chris, the helpful store clerk who exists purely to be murdered halfway through.
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Evil Boots, the nameless intruder whose entire personality is “owns footwear.”
By the time the movie finally reveals him, you’ll be begging him to hurry up and kill everyone just to put them — and us — out of our misery.
Horror by Spreadsheet
The scares in The Open House are so generic you can practically see the checklist:
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Lights flicker ✅
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Footsteps in the hall ✅
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Phone rings, no one there ✅
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Basement shot that lasts too long ✅
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Unexplained loud bang ✅
It’s like a haunted house designed by an accountant. Even the editing feels lazy — scenes just end mid-moment, as if the director decided, “Eh, that’s enough acting for today.”
At one point, the mother finds a photo crumpled in the trash and assumes her son did it. This leads to a shouting match so overwrought it could qualify for Olympic-level melodrama. Later, she finds photos of herself sleeping, which should be terrifying, but by then the audience is too emotionally detached to care.
The Third Act That Refuses to Exist
The final twenty minutes of The Open House are where most horror movies come alive. Here, they just lie down and die.
Chris, our friendly side character, gets his throat slit. Naomi is tied up and tortured. Logan accidentally stabs his mom (oops!), and then — for reasons unexplained — our villain removes Logan’s contact lenses, which apparently makes him as helpless as a bat at a rave.
The chase through the woods should be tense, but it feels like an overlong snowshoeing commercial. Eventually, Logan succumbs to hypothermia, and Evil Boots strangles him to death. Then the movie just… stops. No reveal. No explanation. No catharsis. The killer drives off to his next “open house” like he’s on a timeshare murder tour.
It’s the kind of ending that makes you wonder if the filmmakers ran out of budget, time, or the will to live.
The Real Horror: Netflix Auto-Play
The most terrifying part of The Open House is what happens after it ends: Netflix immediately recommends another movie, as if to say, “We’re sorry. Please don’t cancel your subscription.”
But the damage is done. The lack of answers isn’t mysterious — it’s lazy. The villain has no motive, no backstory, not even a creepy mask. He’s just a pair of boots attached to disappointment. The filmmakers clearly thought ambiguity equals art, but in reality, it just equals 94 wasted minutes.
It’s like ordering a pizza and getting an empty box with a note that says, “Interpret this.”
In Defense of Nothing Happening
Some fans argue the movie’s vagueness makes it realistic — that evil doesn’t always need explanation. To which I say: fine, but real evil at least has the decency to be interesting. The Open House isn’t realism; it’s boredom with a flashlight.
Even the snow — which could’ve been a metaphor for isolation or grief — just makes everything look like a cold Ikea catalog. By the end, you’ll long for the sweet release of credits, or perhaps a home invasion of your own, just for excitement.
Final Verdict: House for Sale, Slightly Cursed
The Open House is a masterclass in wasted potential. It has atmosphere, capable actors, and a premise tailor-made for suspense. What it doesn’t have is purpose. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a ghost knocking politely, then leaving when no one answers.
If you want a haunted house movie that goes nowhere, answers nothing, and kills everyone anyway, congratulations — you’ve found it. Just don’t expect scares, explanations, or a reason to stay awake.
Rating: 1.5 out of 5 contact lenses.
Because even the killer looked bored — and he was getting paid to be there.
