In the last week, I have devoured the first season of American Horror Story. As you might be able to guess, I loved it.
I do like horror films, although I struggle to be brave. I always feel like I’ve made a dreadful mistake as soon as I start watching, but I always go back for more. My ultimate scariest is Paranormal Activity. American Horror Story is essentially a horror movie over a television series. It is, I believe, a completely novel concept. I can’t think of another series like it.
So far there are three seasons with another, I believe, in development. The cast is an ensemble, and they are the only thing that is consistent over the seasons. The story, characters and setting are all completely different. This first one that I have seen is Murder House, and the next one is set in an asylum. GAH!
The story was fantastic, one of those rare shows without a weak episode. It centres on the Harmon family, who have moved to LA for a fresh start after Husband Harmon’s affair following Wife Harmon’s miscarriage. I know. These men. Sadly, the house is ridiculously haunted, with ghosts of every inhabitant and unfortunate individual that has happened to die in the house since 1928. As the number of ghosts increases, so does the rate of new deaths. They’re pretty malevolent.
I don’t want to say too much more, for fear of ruining the plot for you. However, relationships are formed and broken on both sides of the breathing divide – in some cases across said divide – and as the stories through the generations layer on top of one another it is difficult to decide exactly who you are rooting for. I adored it, especially Evan Peters, who I have quite a strong crush on now. I don’t entirely know what that says about me, but I don’t think it’s anything good. Still, at least it’s not Justin Bieber.
The first two seasons are on Netflix right now! Do it!