Review: Brandy Norwood Stars in The Front Room, a Thriller that Gets Very, Very Gross

Say what you want about the debut feature from writers/directors Max and Sam Eggers (brothers of filmmaker Robert Eggers, who helmed The Witch and The Lighthouse, as well as the upcoming remake of Nosferatu), but The Front Room is not afraid to go wild, go sickening, or go to the bathroom.

What I’m trying to say is the that film seems obsessed with every possible bodily fluid except blood, which is pretty bold for what is, at its core: a horror movie. And I mostly dug it, although I was frequently left uncertain whether I should laugh, gag, or both. If that sounds like a good time to you, I’m still not sure you’ll dig this one, but you won’t be bored.

Pop singer and sometime actor Brandy Norwood (I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, the 1997 Cinderella—the one with Whitney Houston as the Fairy Godmother) plays Belinda, a pregnant professor whose hours are being cut, likely because she’s with child, and she’s not happy about it. Her lawyer husband Norman (Andrew Burnap, Under the Banner of Heaven) is on the verge of getting a major settlement on a case he’s been working on for months, and this will lead to a much-needed cash influx. But in the meantime, this young couple is broke and in need of a lifeline before the baby is born.

It’s at this time that Norman gets word that his estranged father has died, and the event brings up a great many bad memories for him, growing up in a home with a religious zealot stepmother, Solange (the great Kathryn Hunter, Poor Things), who tormented him as a boy. She’s still living but old and barely able to walk without the help of two very loud canes. She makes the couple a deal: she’ll give them all her money (a substantial amount) if she can move in with them. It seems too good to be true, but they reluctantly agree, with Belinda being the most enthusiastic about something she believes will make their dreams possible, especially after she quits her job in frustration.

What follows is, to put it mildly, exceedingly messed up, with Solange turning up the heat under the couple in several areas, including forcing her religious beliefs onto them; strongly pressuring them into changing the forthcoming baby’s name; and taking care of her increasing needs, so much so that Belinda begins to suspect that maybe Solange is faking it. These scenes are absolutely nightmarish, and once the baby arrives, Solange starts making herself the only person that the baby responds to in terms of calming its crying. Based on a short story by Susan Hill, the film hints that Solange’s spiritually based powers of second sight and mild healing might be a legit thing, and that makes her even scarier. And when you hear Hunter’s piercing screeching voice, you’ll understand Belinda growing less and less patient with her.

The films takes a turn (and some may completely check out at this point) when it introduces Solange’s incontinence and Belinda being forced (because Norman is at work) to clean up the foul messes Solange regularly (and perhaps deliberately) leaves for her. As the film goes on, it’s clear that Solange is an actual danger and is willing to accuse Belinda of elder abuse by throwing her head against a coffee table and needing a hospital visit. With The Front Room, Hunter installs Solange as maybe the most awful (in a good way) screen villain of the year. She’s a master of facial expressions, verbal tone, and going from sweet little old lady to demonic troll in a split second. It’s unnerving and keeps you on your toes every time the door to her first-floor room is opened (it was going to be the nursery for their new baby, but Solange commandeered that too).

My biggest issue with the film is its finale, which is as abrupt a stop as you can imagine, to the point where I believe severe edits were made the movie’s final third just to trim the length and end the torture and excrement. The Front Room isn’t a proper takedown of religion and those who used to be sinners who have been somehow saved by a higher power and become both devout and devoutly hypocritical. It’s only a solid story of paranoia, allowing guilt to run your life, and how making decisions when you’re financially desperate is never a good idea. With the right crowds, I could see this one becoming a cult hit (which of course means it won’t be). But between the child endangerment and old ladies getting knocked to the ground, you could do worse in the current horror space.

The film is now playing in theaters.

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Steve Prokopy

Steve Prokopy is chief film critic for the Chicago-based arts outlet Third Coast Review. For nearly 20 years, he was the Chicago editor for Ain’t It Cool News, where he contributed film reviews and filmmaker/actor interviews under the name “Capone.” Currently, he’s a frequent contributor at /Film (SlashFilm.com) and Backstory Magazine. He is also the public relations director for Chicago's independently owned Music Box Theatre, and holds the position of Vice President for the Chicago Film Critics Association. In addition, he is a programmer for the Chicago Critics Film Festival, which has been one of the city's most anticipated festivals since 2013.