Oh, those silly Hollywood
filmmakers—time and again, at least according to the logic of bad horror
movies, Hollywood filmmakers make the idiotic decision to shoot on locations
where murders occurred, and then keep shooting even when clues indicate the
filmmakers themselves are about to become victims. But, hey, if it weren’t for
stupid characters, there wouldn’t be very many horror movies, would there? In The House of Seven Corpses, a film crew
led by obnoxious director Eric Hartman (John Ireland) shoots a Gothic shocker
in a grand estate where several generations of residents were killed. Aiding
the crew is a cadaverous old caretaker, Edgar Price (John Carradine), who does
creepy things like critiquing the accuracy of murder reenactments, and, at
Hartman’s behest, crawling around the graveyard adjoining the estate’s main
house. Is it even worth mentioning that the crew is lodging at the estate in
addition to shooting there, or that the film being shot has parallels to the
Satan worship that inspired past killings? A low-rent American attempt to
fabricate the style of England’s Hammer Films, The House of Seven Corpses overflows with mediocre acting,
predictable jolts, and uninteresting characters. In particular, the members of
Hartman’s acting troupe represent a barrage of clichés—the dim-witted blonde
starlet, the insufferable theater-trained ham, the vain leading lady unwilling
to admit she’s passed her expiration date, and so on. Plus, of course, Hartman
is a cliché, too, since he berates his co-workers relentlessly. Thankfully,
many of these annoying characters die. For cinema buffs, the only novel part of
watching The House of Seven Corpses
is seeing the camera equipment that’s used by Hartman’s crew. Yet if glimpses of vintage
Arriflex 35mm cameras are the best things a horror flick can offer, that says a
lot.
The House of Seven Corpses: LAME
No comments:
Post a Comment