Rating: C-
Dir: Pete Walker
Star: Desi Arnaz Jr., Julie Peasgood, Vincent Price, Christopher Lee
Famous as the only film in which the three Titans of horror – Price, Lee and Peter Cushing – appeared together (in Scream and Scream Again, Cushing is separate from the other two), along with John Carradine. While it’s notable in that regard, it feels a lost opportunity, with the material not at the same level, and the performers wasted as a result. It doesn’t help that it takes thirty minutes before any of the main trio even show up. Instead, we get American writer Kenneth Magee (Arnaz), making his way to, then wandering round, a manor-house deep in the Welsh countryside. He made a bet with his agent that he could knock out a novel in 24 hours, given the right atmosphere. Naturally, it’s not as peaceful and empty as promised, being closer to King’s Cross at rush-hour.
Turns out a dinner party and “family reunion” were scheduled, the guests for it including a man who claims to be the previous owner of the manor, Lord Elijah Grisbane (Price), as well as his sons Lionel (Price) and Sebastian (Cushing). The property’s prospective buyer, Mr. Corrigan (Lee), also shows up. The place holds a dark secret, dating back almost forty years, and involving the Lord’s youngest son, Roderick. Someone starts killing the current occupants – though again, the film takes its time getting there, with the first murder over an hour and a quarter in. It’s up to Kenneth and his agent’s secretary, Mary Norton (Peasgood) to figure out the truth, dodge the killer and – just perhaps – find time to come up with the damn novel he went there to create.
This is is based on a novel, Seven Keys to Baldpate by Earl Derr Biggers, which was published on 1913. It was filmed six different times between then and just after the war, but this is the only subsequent adaptation. It makes sense, because the film feels more like a period piece than something which takes place in the current era. It’s all stumbling about in candlelit corridors, thundering storms and no cell reception. Oh, hang on: 1986. The phone is out. That was it. For much of the time, this feels more like an Agatha Christie whodunnit than genuine horror, with people dropping dead off-screen as necessary.
Few of these make much impression, though I did not have “fatally washing your face with acid” (top) on my bingo card. In tone and content, the great bulk of this – albeit not the ending – arguably has more in common with the Edgar Wallace krimi films put out in Germany during the sixties. It certainly feels hard to believe this dates from the same year as Videodrome or The Hunger. I suspect the makers may have deliberately been trying to craft a throwback to the peak era of Price, Lee and Cushing, not accepting that the horror genre had simply moved on since then. But this doesn’t explain the disappointing use of their talents, and the result ranks towards the bottom of all their filmographies.