Flannery O'Connor was never this grotesque but I do wonder what she would have thought of The Bleeding House. This independent grotesque mixes religion and blood in equal parts into a taut suspense thriller even as it neatly character studies victim and vile killer alike. Patrick Breen absolutely lights up the screen as Nick, a psychotic serial killer who may or may not have a conscience of some sort. The rest of the players here keep up just fine but it's Breen who lulls us into a trance with his lilting Southern accent and white linen suit. He's like some impossible Capote come to haunt us from Hell, wrongly inspired by the writing of his In Cold Blood. Faulkner comes to mind as well. The gore here, is palpable even when it isn't onscreen but this is no simple tale and no one, not even Nick, escapes the scripts unerring scrutiny as The Bleeding House dismembers and dissects family dysfunction, simple choatic tragedy and the true nature of evil.