ok. Narrative obfuscation in House Of Leaves. Itâs a relatively simple story about a man who moves into a house with his wife and kids, and the house is haunted. Thatâs it. The core themes are very transparent.
Except, that story is documented by a famous war documentarian, then published as a series of rare tapes, which are discoursed by film buffs, then interpreted from viewings and reading film critique by a blind old man, then his thoughts are transcribed into a manuscript by a series of young women, which is then compiled from scattered notes by the most mysoginistic, damaged, toxic pothead drop-out who wonât stop talking about his life, which is THEN edited and published by some vaguely nefarious agency who soberly refuse to provide any clarification or context.
Itâs not simple, but there are so many different hands on the wheel with wildly differing opinions that you canât discern the truth.
Johnny Truant is such a miserable hopeless fuck up. He has no sense of academic rigor or archival professionalism. Any interference he provides only muddies the waters and taints what would otherwise be a gripping piece of metaphysical film criticism. His neurotic rambling and personal anecdotes cloud an otherwise reasonable story.
If he wasnât in it, if we could read Zampanoâs manuscript directly, WE would be able to understand the truth. We would get it completely, and we wouldnât have to encounter so much violence, so much miserable graphic detail. It would be a better story.
And fuck it, if we didnât have to read all of Zampanoâs tangents and analyses and interpretations, if we could just find a copy of the famous âfive-and-a-half minute hallwayâ vhs, if we could SEE it, weâd understand. We wouldnât need endless pontification of what Navidson and Karenâs marriage might entail, or recitations of what a director once said in a Rolling Stones article. Weâd see the hallway itself, stretching out into what should be the backyard, and weâd get it. Hell, Zampano is blind in his old age. He canât even watch the damn movie! But we could. Weâd know instantly, the second we saw it. The impossibility of it, the gravity of it, the weight of that dark abyss.
And well, the VHS recording is a little dark, and the quality is poor, and maybe the white balance isnât so perfect. And actually, VHs tapes could be manipulated. We canât be sure that Navidson isnât just using clever videography tricks to invent a hallway. If we were there, if we found the house (itâs in virginia, isnât it? we even have the address). If we GO there, we could look down that hallway. And itâs dark, so if we just brought a flashlight, maybe took a few steps inside-