Sean stirs desires in Rachel that hitherto have had no possible outlet save self-gratification and her brother, who for his part seems all too eager to realize the more incestuous aspects of the “curse.” As this perverse triangular conflict brews, another boils over in the form of Mr. Bermingham (David Bradley), the family solicitor who’s arrived to inform the youths that their finances are exhausted and they must sell the house. He may well, in fact, be bilking them, but he’s certainly going to make a pest of himself. As the logic of such stories requires, things will not end well for him.
David Turpin’s screenplay is adequate but slender, with rather too few complications and a foundational mythology that, when finally revealed, proves pretty skimpy itself. That doesn’t trouble O’Malley. He brings so much gloomy, lustrous visual enchantment to the tale that it feels quite bewitching while you’re watching it, up to and including an extravagant watery climax that really doesn’t explain much. But then, perhaps making sense of it all is rather beside the point here. (Just who are the titular “lodgers,” anyhow?)
Similarly, it doesn’t matter a great deal that the performers are a bit variable (the leg of “Game of Thrones” regular Simon isn’t the only wooden thing about Sean); after all, the actors aren’t playing fully dimensionalized characters so much as picturesque figures in Gothic tableaux.
The real stars here, handled with loving care by O’Malley, are Richard Kendrick’s gorgeous widescreen lensing and Joe Fallower’s superbly detailed production design. Both make use of exquisite locations primarily in County Wexford, notably the storied, purportedly haunted Loftus Hall (which celebrated its 666th year last annum). A mournful cello-dominated score by scenarist Turpin and two others abets the pervasive mood.
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