bleak house

FROM: New York Times

By:

Cue the creepy music; ignore the blazing sunshine. Ring the bell to an unassuming suburban home, hedges neatly trimmed. Spot, out of the corner of your eye, a small sign hidden in the ivy. “Bleak House,” it says.

The door swings open and there, surrounded by blood-red walls, is a hellhound with four hooded eyes and gaping fangs. The head of Frankenstein’s monster floats, disembodied and huge, a story above it. Peering at you from the living room, his fingers paging through a book, is the early-20th-century horror novelist H.­P. Lovecraft. On a Victorian sofa, a demented doll stares down a bronze gargantua, Uncle Creepy and Cousin Eerie.

Welcome to Guillermo del Toro’s imagination.

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Guillermo del Toro Bleak House

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