Lyvia’s House
Directed by Niko Volonakis
Written by Patricia V. Davis
Starring Tara Nichol Caldwell, Joshua Malekos, Danielle Octavien
Unrated
Runtime: 116 Minutes
Available digitally October 1

by Allie Lembo, Staff Writer

When Tara’s (Tara Nichol Caldwell) boyfriend of two weeks asks her to move to rural California with him, every person in her life warns her not to. Her gut instinct, honed by an acclaimed journalism career, is swallowed up by her hot boyfriend Johnny’s (Joshua Malekos) dreamy karaoke serenade and off she goes to start a new life in a new state. This is the beginning of the revenge thriller Lyvia’s House, and the essential component that makes Tara so difficult to root for; she, like many women before her, thinks red flags are just flags that are red.

Tara’s new home has all the marks of a tale of the Gothic, which still don’t seem to knock off her rose-colored glasses for Johnny. There are limited connections to the outside world thanks to spotty cell service and no internet. She begins imagining night time disturbances in the form of scurrying rats. In her home hangs a missing woman’s portrait who bears an identical resemblance to Tara. Most importantly, the town itself is haunted by a series of murders 20 years ago. 

If Tara’s relationship feels too short, the body count of the murderer feels too high: 25 kills. Unfortunately, the inspiration for Lyvia’s House is the schizophrenic serial killer, Juan Corona, convicted of 25 counts of first degree murder in 1973. Corona predominantly slashed migrant farm workers with a knife or machete before burying the bodies in peach orchards. Those orchards are located in the same town in Sutter County, California that screenwriter Patricia V. Davis lived. 

This small town with a dark past charmed Davis and makes Tara feel more at home than her boyfriend who begins to grow irritable and paranoid by her new relationships with the townsfolk. Once Tara discovers that Johnny never called to set up the internet, gaslit her with his pet rat, and that he’s spent more time here than he’s let on, Tara decides not to run.

Lyvia’s House pulses with secrets, but the mystery only reaches its conclusion because Tara puts herself in an unreasonable amount of danger; she’s as thick headed as a concrete bust. Clumsily explained by a plucky journalistic attitude, she begins a crusade on why he did this and why he did this to her, getting back into bed with a man she knows has been letting a rat scamper across her face as she sleeps and denying it.

Like Sydney Prescott lamented in Scream (1996), we know our movie heroines need to be running out the door and not up the stairs when there’s a killer in the house. But Sydney herself runs up the stairs when faced with the killer. In our fantasies, we make smart choices. We watch horror movies, the characters feeling relatable until they finally make an unwise choice, and we can relax. We would never do that because we know better. Or would we?

The plot of Lyvia’s House is sustained on character choices that are so irrational that the movie loses some of its fervor, despite the other creative choices that really work in its favor. The constant synth score supports a steady pace and the ghost of the missing artist Lyvia in flashbacks, in the title, and in portrait-like shots constantly unsettle the film.

A good murder mystery is judged by its reveal, and Lyvia’s House manages to expose each lie and tie up every loose end with an explosive confession of a violent finale. If only there was a more satisfying way to get there than Tara’s complete asininity.

However, sometimes 25 victims seems like an exaggeration when it’s not. And sometimes people find a reason to stay in a relationship that’s gone so sour it’s sweet for the flies.