The House Of Screaming Death (2017)

The people behind the 2017 British portmanteau horror film The House Of Screaming Death obviously possess boundless enthusiasm and reverence for classic BHF tradition ("DEDICATED TO SIR CHRISTOPHER LEE & PETER CUSHING OBE AND ALL WHO MADE CLASSIC BRITISH HORROR, NO LONGER WITH US"appears before the end credits) and took the laudable decision to produce a film in which a disturbing, unwholesome atmosphere prevails over gore, action and shock effects - also perhaps inevitable given the miniscule reported budget of just four thousand pounds. Also there are happily none of the 'convention guest circuit' regulars among the cast.

I always approach low budget independent features such as this with a degree of complicity and indulgence, and more so when it's evident that the makers have done their job with passion and sincerity, and shown ingenuity and imagination in overcoming their lack of resources. So I was really keen to be able, within reasonable limits, to lavish praise on this film. Unfortunately, I was disappointed. Even making allowances for the micro budget, the use of non-professional cast members and the limited locations available (which could have been used to much better effect with some decent art direction/set dressing), there were just too many shortcomings that continually undermined the few positive aspects of the production.

As usual, the major problem was down to the script. It felt like they used a first draft and improvised from there. The four stories come over as muddled and half-baked outlines of random scenes lacking internal cohesion, dramatic momentum and narrative coherence. Most of the acting is self-conciously awkward and overplayed and the editing only serves to add further confusion. It's often not clear what is happening/has happened to whom, where and why.

The praiseworthy choice to tell stories from different time periods is a refreshing departure - most small scale endeavours stick to the present for obvious budgetary reasons. Also, all credit for writing dialogues which attempt to reproduce the speech of the time, although some conversations are peppered with laughably grandiloquent but questionably constructed phrases as if processed through some 'Modern English - Nineteenth Century English' computer translation tool, eg. "He has made his begotten feelings known". Also, I rather doubt that gentlemen and scholars in 1888 England would utter lines like “I’m OK”. Or jaw dropping exchanges like “What did this fiend commit on your people?” “Ha! Murder! Death!”

The framing scenes with ‘The Architect’ (Ian McNeice, complete with Bert Large woolly hat, who obviously owed somebody a favour) exhibit further attempts at writing literate sounding musings that come across as pretentious dribble. Contemplating a candle he waxes (ho ho) lyrical - “Amazing. How the wax burns and melts, its lifeforce ebbing away slowly…even the small flames flicker around, determined to survive until the very last moment, keeping back the darkness that will inevitably take hold.”

On a slightly positive note, two of the stories do manage to generate some interest. The first, ‘The Lady In Grey’, is basically a low key, illustrated monologue which pieces together (in voiceover) a number of flashbacks and visions to tell the outline of a traditional ghost story. It’s commendably simple and fairly atmospheric, although lacking any sense of threat.

The third tale is where the love of past BHFs comes most clearly to the fore. A rural community in Victorian England is terrorised by a vampire. We have the typical tavern scene (the sign outside proclaims “The Slaughter Wolf” – obviously they were unable to choose between using a bigger board or painting smaller letters) and a mob of outraged villagers with flaming torches and pitchforks (unfortunately they actually used those stick-in-the-ground bamboo garden torches and spades). The Nosferatu inspired makeup is well done and there’s a modicum of mystery, character development and acceptable acting on display. The script is once again the weakest link. The stranger in town (village) is found bleeding copiously from a throat wound and the villagers bizzarely arrive at the conclusion that ‘he’s the monster!’and promptly hang the fellow.

The other two stories, both supposedly dealing with witchcraft and Black Magic, are total disasters – the incompetently filmed non-acting, incoherent and confusing storylines, zero pacing and unfunny attempts at ‘camp’ humour only serve to pad out the running time to a punishing 122 minutes. The final reveal of The Architect’s captive audience is both predictable and nonsensical but allows him to deliver his closing line, echoing the Amicus anthologies of yore, ‘Whose death shall I plan for next? Yours, perhaps?’

There are a number of modern, low budget, supposed ‘homage to old school British Horror’ efforts going around. Blood And Bone China (2011) is the best of the lot. With a bit more money, a better developed script and a handful of reasonably capable actors The House Of Screaming Death might have achieved its ambition with equal success.