Violence/Gore: No real blood to speak of, and the only on-screen gore you get are two obviously fake severed heads.

Sex/Nudity: I have two words for you - Ingrid Pitt. The voluptuous star sheds no clothing but still manages to make the final segment (and by extension, the entire movie) somewhat more bearable.

Best Line: “The one with Bela Lugosi, of course, not this new fellow.” (Jon Pertwee as horror actor Paul Henderson, poking fun at fellow HOUSE cast member Christopher Lee, Hammer Films’ Dracula, by expressing a preference for the Universal DRACULA)

Score:

I have a fondness for all these ’70s UK horror anthologies, but the actual experience of watching them usually pales in comparison to the memory or general mood of the movie. HOUSE is a perfect example of this phenomenon. It has all the ingredients for success: an amazing cast with the likes of Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Denholm Elliott and Geoffrey Bayldon; atmospheric settings; an atypical and engaging musical score; and writer Robert Bloch, the PSYCHO scribe himself. So why does it fall so flat?

These anthology films usually require only the thinnest justification for stringing together a series of goofy EC Comics-inspired vignettes, but this one is so thin it’s transparent. In fact, it simply doesn’t hold up. While we’re told that everything happens due to the influence of the “evil” house, there’s rarely any connection to the house at all. In fact, much of the malevolence takes place in town, at a wax museum, in the forest - anywhere but in the eponymous house. I know I shouldn’t be looking for logic here, but if you’re going to build to a surprise revelation, shouldn’t it have a sporting chance of actually making sense in relation to the rest of the movie?

As it is, the film’s non-sequitur conclusion is just one of many unfortunate weaknesses. The charmingly low budget production values are also a bit jarring, making it difficult to suspend disbelief long enough to be spooked by anything happening on screen. From the lousy make-up on the strangler in the first segment (yes, yes, possibly intentional if you know the twist, but still), to Ingrid Pitt’s heavy black harness wires to the terrible dummy severed heads, there are plenty of cringe-worthy production flaws on display.

Elliott plays a tormented horror writer, Charles Hillyer, in the first segment. It’s a bit early for everyone in the movie to behave like an idiot, but despite the fact that Hillyer’s wife specifically did not want to move into the house in the beginning, she apparently never hits upon the simple solution of leaving when Hillyer starts having murderous visions. The twist, such as it is, is also nonsensical and lacks punch.

In segment two, Cushing and Joss Ackland clearly think they’re in a better movie, because they act their hearts out as two old friends who share a lost love. Both drawn to a wax museum that features a figure with an uncanny similarity to the girl they left behind, the two men face a fate so obvious and trite that you’ll be wishing you could take care of business sooner than the eerie museum owner does. Wax museums are usually inherently creepy - note that I said “usually.”

Arguably the best written piece in the movie, segment three features Christopher Lee in a stern role as the father of a troubled little girl with an aversion to fire. He hires a governess to take care of the girl, and once again you’ll be about twelve steps ahead of the lackluster script. But what saves the day here are the superb performances and chilling final scene. The whole movie is virtually stolen by little Chloe Franks, who plays the daughter of Lee’s John Reid. Her performance is suitably creepy, and definitely the best part of the film.

For Doctor Who fans, this movie holds a particular fascination in that the last segment features none other than Jon Pertwee, the Third Doctor himself, in a vampire-themed story that pairs him with Pitt. The two would work together again in the 1972 Doctor Who adventure, “The Time Monster,” but here they’re a couple of hammy horror actors who find themselves in a brush with the occult. Paul Henderson is an egocentric thespian (Pertwee in a role that doesn’t exactly strain credulity) who happens into a curio shop on the hunt for an authentic bit of vampire wardrobe and acquires a cloak that has the power to transform him into a real bloodsucker. With Pertwee pulling faces and Pitt displaying her assets, this last chapter has a light-hearted quality that amuses but caps things off oddly.

This is hardly writer Robert Bloch’s finest hour. His EC-style stories are sledgehammer subtle and lazily paced, and the whole balance of the movie is strangely off kilter, with the first two stories lacking any supernatural element and playing as straightforward thrillers, while the second half of the movie definitely moves into fantasy territory. And another thing - the house never drips blood once! I feel robbed.

DVD Extras: Producer Max Rosenberg is an adorable little old man who speaks in such bewildering contradictions that you just can’t help but smile appreciatively that he’s able to speak at all. In a brief interview party filmed at a 2003 screening of the movie, Rosenberg reveals some behind the scenes anecdotes and seems to have a genuine fondness for the glory days of Amicus Productions. And why not? Even when re-evaluated years later with a more jaded eye, these movies forever remain childhood icons that burned their images into our brains and left us remembering them as far scarier and more imposing than perhaps they really were. So they did their job. But really, the house should have dripped blood at least once…

ATB