It’s true. I finished The Haunting of Hill House last night, and I’ve been sorely troubled ever since. By bad writing. The series itself was adequate, but that final episode? Whatever drugs the producers were on, they should’ve brought enough for the whole class. I was on the show’s side, despite the cliff the writing fell off by the middle of the last episode. Right up until the uplifting, saccharine folksy acoustic guitar came in.

Sure, like this beat-sweetening Netflix press release says, it’s a “re-imagining” of the Shirley Jackson novel. In the same way that it’s a “re-imagining” of The Shining or The Brady Bunch Movie or Scooby Doo and The Witch's Ghost. Or Vertigo, right? Because that’s got a spiral staircase in it, too.

Save yourself the ten episodes. Watch the 1963 movie. Or better yet, read the book.