Lin Shaye Goes Full Method Puppy in ‘House of Abraham’
At 81, the “Godmother of Horror” proves she’s still got bite – and bark – in her latest psychological thriller.
If you’ve been following horror for longer than five minutes, you know Lin Shaye. She’s the woman who made psychic mediums cool again in the Insidious franchise, turned Dead End into a cult classic, and somehow made us root for an elderly woman wielding supernatural powers like she’s channeling her inner John Wick. Now, in House of Abraham, she’s back to remind us why she’s horror’s most reliable scene-stealer, playing a character so deliciously unhinged that you’ll question your own moral compass.
House of Abraham drops us into a secluded retreat where troubled souls gather for what they believe will be a compassionate end to their suffering. Think Midsommar meets A Cure for Wellness, with Natasha Henstridge‘s Dee uncovering the sinister truth behind the operation. But the real revelation here is Shaye’s Beatrice – the facility’s eerily cheerful assistant who greets guests with the warmth of a favorite aunt and the moral flexibility of a cult enforcer.
“She’s like a little puppy,” Shaye tells me, describing her approach to Beatrice with the kind of matter-of-fact delivery that makes you realize she’s spent decades perfecting the art of finding her inner animal in horror’s darkest corners. “I mean, she deals with her relationship. It made it easy. And then the violence was sort of a counterpoint to that, which I think made it more horrific, too.”
This puppy metaphor isn’t just cute actor-speak – it’s the key to understanding why Shaye’s performance works so brilliantly. Beatrice operates with the desperate need for approval that would make a golden retriever jealous, but she’s willing to murder for head pats. It’s simultaneously endearing and absolutely terrifying, which is exactly the kind of tonal tightrope walk that separates great horror performances from generic villain scenery-chewing.
“My focus was primarily on pleasing my master,” Shaye explains, diving into Beatrice’s psychology with the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loves her craft. “I had a desperate need for approval and for affection to an Nth degree, you know, where I would murder people for him. I would kill people. I’d cremate them for him.” She pauses, then adds with characteristic honesty: “I think when people have that intense of a need… it totally opens the door for the most hideous behavior because you’ll do anything to get it.”
Working alongside writer-actor Lukas Hassel (who plays the enigmatic Abraham) and director Lisa Belcher, Shaye found herself in the unique position of collaborating with filmmakers who understood her process. “Lukas is such a commanding, gorgeous, gigantic presence,” she notes, explaining how his physical presence helped shape Beatrice’s submissive physicality. “I always felt like that little sort of little turd standing next to him.”
But Shaye admits that much of Beatrice’s memorable behavior wasn’t actually on the page. “I don’t think it was really in the script,” she confesses, crediting her Method training for allowing her to discover the character through instinct and environmental absorption. “The actual physicality was very helpful… allowing the emotionality and the physicality that is around you to shape what you’re doing.”
This kind of creative fearlessness is what’s kept Shaye relevant in a genre that typically chews up actors and spits them out faster than you can say “final girl.” Even after five decades in the business, she still approaches each role with the nervous energy of an acting student. “My hands got cold and clammy, and I realized the most important thing for me to do is literally breathe,” she says. “But to allow any ideas you have, even if you think they’re the dumbest idea in the world, jot it down or write it down.”
The film itself tackles the taboo subject of assisted dying through a horror lens, which attracted Shaye precisely because of its controversial nature. “As artists, that’s sort of our job, isn’t it… to discuss stuff that people don’t want to in a palatable way because it’s, quote, entertainment.” Though she initially suggested they call it House of Suicide (before being gently reminded that few would want to see a movie with that title), she appreciated the project’s willingness to examine uncomfortable themes through genre storytelling.
House of Abraham proves that psychological horror works best when it’s grounded in recognizable human emotions, even when those emotions lead to unspeakable acts. Shaye’s Beatrice isn’t just a monster – she’s a lonely person whose need for connection has been weaponized by someone who understands exactly which emotional buttons to push.
Lin Shaye continues to demonstrate that age is just a number when you’ve got talent, fearlessness, and the ability to find truth in even the most twisted characters. In House of Abraham, she delivers another masterclass in making the unthinkable feel uncomfortably human.
Where to watch House of Abraham
