When any creative work becomes a huge success, one that dominates the pop culture conversation for weeks, months, or even years on end, the follow-up is often scrutinized and criticized to an absurd degree. To some, if the follow-up isn’t exactly like its uber-popular predecessor, it’s labeled “bad” or “a failure.” On the other side of the coin, if it’s too much like its predecessor, the follow-up is deemed “unoriginal” or “been there, done that,” etc. So hitting that middle ground with fans and critics alike is often quite difficult.
The Haunting of Bly Manor, the spiritual successor to Mike Flanagan’s immensely popular haunted house series The Haunting of Hill House, arrived in October 2020 with not only enormous hype, but also a nearly insurmountable level of expectation. If you haven’t seen the series yet and expect a carbon copy of Hill House’s big jump scares, thunderous plot twists, and high rewatchability (thanks to Flanagan’s subtle, clever placement of ghosts throughout the series), you’ll be highly disappointed.
The big difference lies in the nature of the storytelling. Hill House and Bly Manor both explore the individual and collective traumas of people who have experienced/are experiencing, life in a haunted house. However, the audience already knew the root of the issues in Hill — the haunted house possessed their mother (Carla Gugino, who also appears in Bly), and the family escaped the house, leaving her behind to die. That series deals with the fallout and how the family, often in character-specific, driven episodes, needs to process the trauma and end the haunting in their lives.
Bly Manor follows a similar narrative structure; episodes focus on specific characters and how their experiences at Bly have traumatically impacted their lives. However, we’re missing one central piece of information here — why is all this happening, and maybe more importantly — how is all this happening? While we get the trademark Flanagan timeline shifting, there are more questions about what’s real, and, more importantly, who’s real.
Reality is played with in such a way that we’re constantly second-guessing what we’ve seen. Repetition also plays a much bigger role in Bly Manor than in Hill House. This repetition feels like it was ripped from a classic novel (or an episode of Doctor Who), and it only heightens the sense of fear and madness slowly gripping the characters and the audience alike.
Yet Bly Manor shares many of the same characteristics as its predecessor. The series imbues nearly every scene with an unnerving sense of fear, tension, and horror, from slow camera pans to shadowy corners to moments when the camera focuses ever-so-slightly away from dialogue. While nothing is as horrifying or shocking as the Bent Neck Lady or the Ghost in the Bowler Hat, plenty of spooks and specters lurk in the most unexpected places to give you some big frights (though not as rapid-fire as Hill House). There’s a really compelling story underlining the entire haunted house story, just like Hill House.
Like Hill House, Bly Manor can only deliver such a complex, rich storytelling structure with an incredible cast in town. Before we deep dive into performances, note that another big difference between the two series is that the performances here aren’t the big, eye-catching ones you saw in Hill House. Like the horror, the performances are quieter and more deliberate, but when those big dramatic moments come, this cast delivers.
Victoria Pedretti, who played Nell in Hill House, is in the lead as Dani, an American schoolteacher haunted by her past — figuratively and (maybe) literally? Pedretti is the audience proxy, and her constant fear and bewilderment wonderfully reflect the audience. She also delivers on a great, unexpected emotional story arc that carries the second half of the series. Â T’Nia Miller (Years and Years) delivers a staggeringly tragic, powerful performance as Hannah Grose, the maid of Bly, caught in personal hell. At the same time, Raul Kholi (iZombie) perfectly balances her with a comedic yet sensitive performance as her unrequited love interest, Owen. And of course Flanagan regular Henry Thomas (Doctor Sleep) is here and once you get past that accent, his story takes an absolutely wild and unexpected turn.
However, Oliver Jackson-Cohen (The Invisible Man), who was a revelation as Luke in Hill House, absolutely steals the show as the Scottish valet, Peter Quint. Quint is probably the most complex character in the series because, depending on the episode (or even the scene), he can be seen as a sinner or a saint, abusive or abused, hero or villain. Quint is one of the most fully fleshed-out characters in the series, which definitely lets Cohen flex his acting muscles. The only downside of his dominant performance is that it often cuts into the development of Quint’s love interest Ms. Jessel (Tahirah Sharif, A Christmas Prince: The Royal Baby). Sharif absolutely shines with what she’s given, but it definitely feels like a lot was left on the table for her character.
While Hill House still feels bulletproof to major criticism, Bly Manor has some definite bones to pick with, mostly in the ending. It’s just entirely too long. It’s not Return of the King long, but almost. The series shoves too much into tying Carla Gugino’s yet-to-be-named character (at the time) into the story she tells the guests at a wedding rehearsal. Some decisions in the ending could also turn people off, as it’s a bit too neat and a bit too much fan-service-y. Shave 5-10 minutes off, and you’ve got a terrific ending.
