This is one of those films with a pretty poor reputation that means I haven't got around to watching it until now. I wasn't missing much. THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF HORROR – one hell of a title that has little to do with the film itself – is notable as one of the earliest examples of the slasher genre, the sort of film where lots of pretty young folk are offed one by one by an unknown killer. It has assured direction by Michael Armstrong, who afterwards went to the continent to shoot grisly witchcraft horror MARK OF THE DEVIL, and a cast of youthful actors who were once big names in their heyday.
Frankie Avalon, a one-time singer, has one of the major roles playing his typical character – young, handsome, popular with the ladies, charismatic to boot. He could almost be said to be playing himself. Then there's an obnoxious Richard O'Sullivan, before he found fame on television, and red herring George Sewell, who lurks around looking shifty a lot but that's about it. Dennis Price pops up as an inspector but he only gets a couple of scenes himself, while Jill Haworth's sole contribution is to sit around and look pretty, which she does well enough.
Unfortunately, although the film looks good, it goes nowhere. The script is sub-par and the story plodding. It takes an age for the set-up to get going, and then things look like they're going to pick up with an exceptionally shocking and gory murder sequence about halfway through. Then things kick back to first gear and nothing else happens until the denouement, which itself consists of a couple of people chatting in a room for about ten minutes while suspense builds. There's more gore at the climax, and then everything's left unfinished, so it feels as if they ran out of money.
Aside from those two murders, there's nothing to remember about this movie. The characters are trite, self-centred, and rather irritating, particularly in O'Sullivan's case, and the incredibly annoying Veronica Doran is another detraction the film has. There's far too little incident taking place, which would be all right if this was an exercise in atmosphere building, like some of the Italian gothics from the same era, but it's not. I enjoyed looking at the colourful '60s costumes and sets, but that enjoyment only went so far – and in the end I was just sitting, waiting for something – ANYTHING – to happen. It never did, which is why this one's a dud.
Frankie Avalon, a one-time singer, has one of the major roles playing his typical character – young, handsome, popular with the ladies, charismatic to boot. He could almost be said to be playing himself. Then there's an obnoxious Richard O'Sullivan, before he found fame on television, and red herring George Sewell, who lurks around looking shifty a lot but that's about it. Dennis Price pops up as an inspector but he only gets a couple of scenes himself, while Jill Haworth's sole contribution is to sit around and look pretty, which she does well enough.
Unfortunately, although the film looks good, it goes nowhere. The script is sub-par and the story plodding. It takes an age for the set-up to get going, and then things look like they're going to pick up with an exceptionally shocking and gory murder sequence about halfway through. Then things kick back to first gear and nothing else happens until the denouement, which itself consists of a couple of people chatting in a room for about ten minutes while suspense builds. There's more gore at the climax, and then everything's left unfinished, so it feels as if they ran out of money.
Aside from those two murders, there's nothing to remember about this movie. The characters are trite, self-centred, and rather irritating, particularly in O'Sullivan's case, and the incredibly annoying Veronica Doran is another detraction the film has. There's far too little incident taking place, which would be all right if this was an exercise in atmosphere building, like some of the Italian gothics from the same era, but it's not. I enjoyed looking at the colourful '60s costumes and sets, but that enjoyment only went so far – and in the end I was just sitting, waiting for something – ANYTHING – to happen. It never did, which is why this one's a dud.