Danse Macabre #19: Film Review — "The House That Dripped Blood" (1971)
In 1981, Stephen King published Danse Macabre, a work of non-fiction wherein the author acts as a tour guide through the history of horror. He addresses the social issues and political conflicts that have influenced creators over the years, and the ways creators have influenced each other.
King closes out the volume by recommending 96 films and 113 books released during the 1950-1980 period that he feels have significantly contributed to modern genre fiction. With this Fearsome Queer column, I’ll be making my way through those titles in no particular order.
Few titles have ever gone harder than The [goddamn] House That Dripped [fucking] Blood. Amicus Productions was not messing around. Note, this is not a Hammer Film production. Yes, it looks like Hammer. Yes, it features Hammer’s usual suspects. But no, this is actually an Amicus anthology, baby!
And a pretty good one, too! Even if I don’t recall a single drop of blood…
The tie that binds the four stories together concerns a Scotland Yard inspector investigating the disappearance of a missing movie star, the horror film legend Paul Henderson. To gather information about the icon’s last known whereabouts, the inspector interviews the realtor who leased Henderson a place to stay while he filmed his latest picture nearby. But before the realtor can tell the inspector about the actor, he must first divulge the horrors that befell the three previous tenants of the titular house of evil. Because why not?
It’s damn-near impossible to watch the first segment (“Method for Murder”), in the context of Stephen King, and not consider the influence it likely had on the bare-bones premise of The Shining. A horror author and his gorgeous wife move into semi-isolated temp housing so the guy can focus on himself and get his groove back, only for horrific developments to test his sanity (and drive him to kill?) instead.
Oscar-nominated bisexual king Denhold Elliott plays Charles Hillyer, the author. If you’re a Merchant-Ivory-file like me, you recognize him from A Room with a View; others may know him better as museum curator Marcus Brody in the Indiana Jones flicks. The deeper Charles gets into his latest work-in-progress, which follows a deranged strangler, the more his vapid imagination bleeds into reality. Charles begins spotting the strangler of his dreams in reflections and in the shadows. He even sees the strangler strangling his wife Alice, who claims it was really Charles who’d choked her. But, of course, things are not what they seem.
The twist is quite smashing. Given the time period and the team involved, I have to wonder if the final reveal is a small jab at the real life “method” artists who were emerging in the industry. I know Robert Bloch was an American writer, but this is a British production, so a part of me can’t help but ponder if he and English director Peter Duffell were poking fun at the stereotypical “Actors Studio” performers of the era. A lot of the classically trained folks back then perceived artists of that ilk as too self-serious and prone to getting so swept up in their craft that they’d simply lose all control—especially when there’s an evil house goading you on.
Peter Cushing stars in the second segment (“Waxworks”) as retiree Phillip Grayson, who has just moved into the evil house. Something I love about Peter Cushing’s screen presence is that no matter what he’s in he’s always a little fruity, and it completely works for him. Very few straight male actors pull off bitchy as well. Sidebar, I’d say Jeremy Irons is our cuntiest straight actor today. Irons really should do more horror because he has the charm for the atmosphere and the right composure to rock looks like what Cushing is serving here. The house isn’t the only thing with drip! (I’m not sorry.)
Funny enough, “Waxworks” is set largely outside the house. Much of the action takes place at a wax museum.
Horror creators are obsessed with wax museums, aren’t they? From the Vincent Price version of House of Wax to Tourist Trap (1979) to Waxwork (1988) to the mid-aughts masterpiece House of Wax, audiences absolutely eat it up. It’s the uncanniness, I guess.
So, of course, Robert Bloch had a wax museum story of his own in his oeuvre.
The decor of the museum is delectable. The colors, the clutter, the vibe. The wax scenarios are rather horrific, namely the depictions of torture and execution. It’s all very, well, Hammer-esque. The expressive and overall garish nature of the museum is a fabulous visual sweetener to the previous story, which explored madness without really feeling like madness. In “Waxworks”, we at times get the impression that we’ve entered someone’s warped headspace, even though it’s more so a tale of obsession than madness. The art direction is usually my favorite aspect of British horror films from the 1960s and 70s, and this one is no exception.
Another thing I enjoy from this era is the bad seed trope. When it comes to horror anthologies in particular, it’s always smart to have a wicked kid in the mix. Anthologies that don’t feature a homicidal (or at least spiteful) child are suboptimal, in my opinion. Why? Because children are scary little psychos, that’s why! But sometimes “bad” seeds are in the right, and the subsequent segment (“Sweets to the Sweet”) delivers exactly that, a malicious kid with a score to settle.
Christopher Lee stars in the third story. He portrays a stern widower named John, who has just moved into the evil house with his young daughter Jane. John is a peculiarly domineering father. He doesn’t allow Jane to interact with other kids or play with dolls. She can’t read, either, and fire freaks her out. To help look after her, John hires a former schoolteacher, who learns in due time that John’s harshness is his way of stifling the dark propensities Jane inherited from her dead mother. Ironically and unsurprisingly, John’s severity only fuels his daughter’s supernatural aptitude, and he must face the consequences of his despotic parenting.
Chloe Franks plays Jane, and she gives an adequate performance. I wouldn’t say she falters in any way; the role merely doesn’t demand much of her, as a young actress. The storytelling and her scene partners do most of the heavy lifting. Christopher Lee is the standout, of course. It’s through his austere demeanor that we understand the supposed danger Jane poses, if her potential were to be fully unleashed. I’m not convinced that we’re meant to fear her, though, not in the same manner anyway. John’s fearfulness is patriarchal in nature. He’s afraid he (and men in general) will lose status if a girl like Jane is permitted to take after her mother (and other empowered women). Maybe it’s me being gay, but I was totally on board with Jane gaining agency and retaliating mercilessly, even if Franks herself is doing the bare minimum.
The fourth and final segment (“The Cloak”) boasts perhaps the most madcap performance in the film. Jon Pertwee, famous for portraying Doctor Who’s Third Doctor, stars as Paul Henderson, the persnickety horror icon whose disappearance sparked our story-framework inspector’s investigation.
In “The Cloak”, Henderson rents the evil house as a crash pad while he shoots a vampire film in the vicinity. From the moment Pertwee enters, it’s clear the role was scripted with Vincent Price in mind. Price must have been tied up with something else, and it’s a shame. I’ve never watched Pertwee’s tenure on Doctor Who, so I can’t speak to his overall approach to genre acting, but I found him to be a poor fit here. He seems… off. His “version” of “Vincent Price” reads to me less like a tongue-in-cheek homage and more like light derision or mockery, which doesn’t quite suit the mood.
I’m curious how Price may have played Henderson, who slowly succumbs to literal vampirism as the tale unfolds. Pertwee has a tendency to make zany faces when he’s in vampire mode, ostensibly for laughs. If it had been Price in the role, I have a feeling the performance would still be comical (I mean, Paul Henderson is a Vincent Price facsimile, so certainly there’d be a degree of comedy), but in a wryer fashion. Price, I imagine, would consciously lean into Henderson’s arrogance with a form of sincerity that I don’t get from Jon Pertwee.
The narrative concludes as agreeably as it can. With the vanished Henderson’s whereabouts being the impetus for the whole anthology, the final segment bleeds seamlessly into the wraparound. The inspector finds what he’s been searching for—and more—while traversing the dark hallways of the evil house with the biggest fucking candelabra the props department could find for him in hand. See? The humor is intentional. Some jokes are just delivered better than others.
I really need to start reading Robert Bloch… It’s clear why King admires him. I’m familiar with Bloch’s contributions to film and television, obviously, but I’ve never picked up a novel or collection of his. That must be remedied soon! Without exception, whenever Valancourt Books pops up in my feed to tempt me with their Robert Bloch titles, my procurement finger starts to twitch. So far, I’ve managed to quell the urge to buy every time, but I don’t know how much longer I can last. I’ve told myself that I have to read three books I already own before I’m allowed to purchase something new. But surely if Valancourt Books chooses, of their own volition, to gift me books for review, that would be different… right?
