It’s less a man cave than a preteen fantasy, with crucifixion scenes and skeletons wedged beside beyond-cute figurines from Miyazaki movies. Giger works to concept sketches for Disney’s “Fantasia” and “Sleeping Beauty,” all of it chosen and carefully placed by Mr. There are more than 700 pieces of original art in Bleak House, from R. “This house is basically a response to his house,” another fright mansion, Mr. The y became friends in L os Angeles, talking shop over desserts at the House of Pies. del Toro of course believes in ghosts, and if any spirit invades his space, it is that of Forrest J Ackerman, a horror and sci ence-fi ction writer who m Mr. “Guillermo has an imagination perhaps more precise and rigorous than any director I’ve worked with,” Mr. del Toro, who wrote the screenplay with Matthew Robbins.
“I love the idea that when Gothic romance started, they used to call it ‘a pleasing terror,’” said Mr. It stars Mia Wasikowska as a young bride, Tom Hiddleston as her mysterious husband and Jessica Chastain as his sister. He and his team designed it, from the oozing basement to the faces hidden in the woodwork. That last genre inspired “ Crimson Peak,” his film out on Friday, Oct. There are reference libraries for the occult, horror, fairy tales (in a secret room, behind a bookcase), history, Teutonic mythology, anatomy and Gothic romance. “We draw, draw, draw,” he said, every frame as detailed as animation. He writes there, and when he is in production, a handful of designers work in the repurposed garage. del Toro, the Mexican filmmaker known for the terrifying fantasy of “ Pan’s Labyrinth” and American action-horror series like “ Hellboy,” christened this pad, which serves as repository and inspiration.
Welcome to Guillermo del Toro’s imagination.īleak House is what Mr. On a Victorian sofa, a demented doll stare s down a bronze gargantua, Uncle Creepy and Cousin Eerie. Peering at you from the living room, his fingers paging through a book, is the early-20th-century horror novelist H.P. The head of Frankenstein’s monster floats, disembodied and huge, a story above it.
The door swings open and there, surrounded by blood-red walls, is a hellhound with four hooded eyes and gaping fangs. Spot, out of the corner of your eye, a small sign hidden in the ivy. Ring the bell to an unassuming suburban home, hedges neatly trimmed.
Cue the creepy music ignore the blazing sunshine.
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