Wow. Incredible. I have just got through (and believe me that is the correct expression) watching this with my husband and feel that I can now say without fear of exaggeration that it is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most stupid film I have ever seen. Okay, I am willing to concede that it might not actually be the most stupid film in the world, but I do have a hard time imagining anything more consistently cretinous. To be fair, though, that could just be because the human brain was never designed to conceive of idiocy of that magnitude without literally imploding from the impossible and unbearable strain.
The premise is simple: a gaggle of hip, swinging-sixties socialites are induced to leave a happening party in the middle of the night (for reasons that are never adequately or convincingly explained), to drive, for miles, in the dark, to the far less salubrious surroundings of a deserted, reputedly haunted manor house slap-bang in a wooded square acre of nowhere. What follows has a numbing inevitability about it, not helped by the fact that the 'haunted house' has all the atmosphere of a Wetherspoons pub, or that the ensuing antics of the actors are so whimsically asinine that you often wonder if you're not watching an episode of Hollyoaks where the cast have unwittingly invented time travel.
That is not to say that the acting was the worst thing about this film. The continuity errors are so numerous that they could form the basis of the most liver-punishing 'have a shot when you spot one' drinking game ever devised, and the script seems to exist with the sole purpose of propelling the cast through an increasingly nonsensical series of events, the downward spiral of which is only ever briefly punctuated by bouts of jaunty inanity or otherwise motiveless dialogue. And yes, I know a great deal of the horror genre's dramatic tension derives from the protagonists making bad choices and doing stupid things, but the decision-making process depicted in this film wouldn't make sense anywhere outside the confines of an insane asylum, and if your dog behaved with such flagrant dim-wittedness you'd shoot it to put it out of its misery. I kid you not: They not only decide to visit the house in the first place, but after one of their number is murdered and they know that a member of the remaining five is responsible they decide to cover up said murder and continue associating with each other, returning, in fact, to the scene of the crime at a later date and repeating their actions in order to discover the identity of the killer. Yes, that's right, they voluntarily lock themselves in to a structurally unsound horror house where they saw a close friend murdered with the probable killer in order to solve? the crime? Never before has the phrase WTF? been so aptly applied.
Not that this is an adequate description of the sheer range of stupidity on offer. My personal favourite is the group 'bitch', Sylvia, who displays great promise in the field of utter stark-staring twittery very early on, continually accepting lifts from a man who is, to all intents and purposes, stalking her. She later goes for gold, achieving a personal best of leaving the house where she has only recently, voluntarily arrived because she is too scared (or 'bored' as she puts it), only to walk miles in the dark through a wooded area that is previously unknown to her, dressed in platform boots and white Mary Quant mini dress, looking for all the world like a futuristic prostitute. She then proceeds to hitch a lift with a perfect stranger. Sheer genius. Another example of barefaced unabashed full-frontal empty-headedness is the group standing around discussing complicity in the murder of their friend outside the police station where they have been brought for questioning. It was at this point I did start to wonder if I was watching a film at all and not some celluloid decent in to madness, either that or a very subtle (albeit bizarre) form of anti-drugs propaganda.
There are yet many other rare gems on offer, but it is only fair that you are allowed to discover them for yourself. This film is, after all, a rare cultural artefact, crystallising as it does the essence of all that is gleefully crapulent in sixties cinema. Truly, like a major road traffic accident, it is compellingly awful, and as such to be saluted.
The premise is simple: a gaggle of hip, swinging-sixties socialites are induced to leave a happening party in the middle of the night (for reasons that are never adequately or convincingly explained), to drive, for miles, in the dark, to the far less salubrious surroundings of a deserted, reputedly haunted manor house slap-bang in a wooded square acre of nowhere. What follows has a numbing inevitability about it, not helped by the fact that the 'haunted house' has all the atmosphere of a Wetherspoons pub, or that the ensuing antics of the actors are so whimsically asinine that you often wonder if you're not watching an episode of Hollyoaks where the cast have unwittingly invented time travel.
That is not to say that the acting was the worst thing about this film. The continuity errors are so numerous that they could form the basis of the most liver-punishing 'have a shot when you spot one' drinking game ever devised, and the script seems to exist with the sole purpose of propelling the cast through an increasingly nonsensical series of events, the downward spiral of which is only ever briefly punctuated by bouts of jaunty inanity or otherwise motiveless dialogue. And yes, I know a great deal of the horror genre's dramatic tension derives from the protagonists making bad choices and doing stupid things, but the decision-making process depicted in this film wouldn't make sense anywhere outside the confines of an insane asylum, and if your dog behaved with such flagrant dim-wittedness you'd shoot it to put it out of its misery. I kid you not: They not only decide to visit the house in the first place, but after one of their number is murdered and they know that a member of the remaining five is responsible they decide to cover up said murder and continue associating with each other, returning, in fact, to the scene of the crime at a later date and repeating their actions in order to discover the identity of the killer. Yes, that's right, they voluntarily lock themselves in to a structurally unsound horror house where they saw a close friend murdered with the probable killer in order to solve? the crime? Never before has the phrase WTF? been so aptly applied.
Not that this is an adequate description of the sheer range of stupidity on offer. My personal favourite is the group 'bitch', Sylvia, who displays great promise in the field of utter stark-staring twittery very early on, continually accepting lifts from a man who is, to all intents and purposes, stalking her. She later goes for gold, achieving a personal best of leaving the house where she has only recently, voluntarily arrived because she is too scared (or 'bored' as she puts it), only to walk miles in the dark through a wooded area that is previously unknown to her, dressed in platform boots and white Mary Quant mini dress, looking for all the world like a futuristic prostitute. She then proceeds to hitch a lift with a perfect stranger. Sheer genius. Another example of barefaced unabashed full-frontal empty-headedness is the group standing around discussing complicity in the murder of their friend outside the police station where they have been brought for questioning. It was at this point I did start to wonder if I was watching a film at all and not some celluloid decent in to madness, either that or a very subtle (albeit bizarre) form of anti-drugs propaganda.
There are yet many other rare gems on offer, but it is only fair that you are allowed to discover them for yourself. This film is, after all, a rare cultural artefact, crystallising as it does the essence of all that is gleefully crapulent in sixties cinema. Truly, like a major road traffic accident, it is compellingly awful, and as such to be saluted.