HORROR HOUSE (1969)
The Haunted House of Horror (Michael Armstrong, 1969)
Behind its forbidden doors an evil secret hides!
So says the tagline on the one-sheet of the more streamlined title of The Haunted House of Horror - Horror House. Co-produced by UK’s Tigon and American-International Pictures, the two companies worked at chaotic cross-purposes during production with their suggestions, making the situation untenable for writer/director Michael Armstrong. Armstrong was ultimately shuffled off to the sidelines for rewrites and reshoots, which included an additional stalk-and-slash sequence and a new subplot involving an older married man (George Sewell, of Get Carter). In the latter, Sewell persistently harasses one of the younger stylish women in the cast, who has come to regret their short-lived affair. (This last exercise in padding conveniently provides yet another red herring for a mystery killer’s identity.)
At the outset, Armstrong focuses on a group of young adults and their various entanglements throughout an evening - Gary (Mark Wynter) carelessly placates his girlfriend Dorothy (Carol Dilworth) while making covert romantic arrangements with Sylvia (Gina Warwick). And for questionable 1969 marquee value, Horror House offers one-time Beach Party icon Frankie Avalon, now facing a career where teen matinee idol roles are drying up, and it won’t be too long (less than a decade) before he must trade-in on the nostalgia market. Avalon’s Chris has a girlfriend - Sheila, played by Jill Haworth, notable for being one of the Otto Preminger’s finds (for 1960’s Exodus). Madge (Veronica Doran) and Peter (Richard O’Sullivan) are the wonky, boozy, moronic den mother and father. And, almost as afterthoughts, Julian Barnes as Richard and Robin Stewart as Henry.
About midway through, this mod squad decides to knock out of their own party early to check out a spooky nearby estate and hold a seance. Armstrong, perhaps a student of Psycho (who making shock thrillers in the sixties wouldn’t be?), reshuffles our alliances early by having the first victim be Gary. But surprises end there as the movie lurches to a predictable close, the drinking and carousing ending as the group covers up the murder with the unfortunate knowledge there’s a killer in their midst. Adding to the tedium is the tired old trope of a stuffy Inspector investigating the sinister doings - he’s played by journeyman actor Dennis Price. Surprisingly, this character originated in Armstrong’s original vision.
But there are charms to be had in this latter-period swinging-London showcase - Carnaby Street shops and modish clothing are on display in the first act before the picture (as advertised) slips into familiar horror trappings of a seance and the overall psycho killer whodunit.
Except for Mark Wynter, a singer not unlike Frankie Avalon for the UK market, most of the cast continued to act in minor roles until the early 1980s: Carol Dilworth, Gina Warwick, and Veronica Doran. (The latter would appear in Michael Armstrong’s Screamtime, released in 1986.) Richard O’Sullivan, a performer who would find considerable success on TV in the 1970s, lived a hard-drinking existence, had a stroke, and has resided in an actor’s retirement home since 2003.
Music is provided by The Pretty Things, but there’s a caveat; it was done under their Electric Banana contract, a name given to work that saw them provide numerous source cues to be used in the exploitation film market. (Later on, one such track would find its way into George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead.)
Most notable, however, is the ending for what it could have been - not for who’s in it, but who might have. By some accounts, the killer was written for David Bowie, who recently worked with Armstrong on The Image, a short work. If it transpired - and this may all have been apocryphal, as some accounts claim it to be - he would have been facing off against Avalon in the close, in a sort-of post-surf rock vs. pre-glam juxtaposition. (Prefiguring a similar moment with Bowie in Into the Night, where he’s seen struggling with rock icon Carl Perkins.) Printing the legend here, it’s a lost moment for cinematic/rock music culture crossover.
