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(1970) **1/2

An inspector from Scotland Yard leaves London for the country to investigate the disappearance of a prominent actor. Much to his dismay (because he just wants FACTS), he must hear four tales of dread surrounding the house in which the actor lived.

In the first story, good old Denholm Elliott plays a writer of horror fiction who moves to the old place for inspiration. He creates a new character named Dominic, an escaped serial strangler whose story will make a lot of money. But soon he starts seeing Dominic mugging around the house and grounds (above). At his wife's behest, he seeks the help of the world's worst psychiatrist. He says things like "what's important is what you think of all this." I won't blab the ending, but it made me wonder if the house could really be held responsible.

The second story involves Peter Cushing, who moves into the house after retiring from a financial career in London. One day while walking in the village, he spots a small wax museum. He's unimpressed by the exhibits inside until he comes upon this haunting figure of Salome..

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She bears an uncanny resemblence to his lost love, or perhaps a character from Thunderbirds, and so Peter's instantly struck with raw, obsessive lust. Check it out.

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He fights and regains his self control, but soon his friend Neville arrives for a surprise visit. We learn from their brief dialogue that they were both rivals for the woman in Cushing's past, but she's dead now. When Neville sees the waxworks Cushing tries to dissuade him from going in, but soon Neville too is transfixed. This story is a lot like the Twilight Zone with the magical fortune-telling napkin dispenser, but with people's heads getting chopped off. I noted once again that the house was largely uninvolved.

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The next yarn features Christopher Lee as a single dad who keeps his daughter away from all toys and other children. He hires a live-in teacher who starts asking nosey questions about the death of his wife, to which he responds "I was glad when she died, after I found out what she was!" Whatever she was, he's afraid his daughter is one, too. And since he brought all that baggage with him, we're zip for three on the house being involved. I'll also point out there's been no blood dripped.

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Finally the inspector gets to talk to A.J. Stoker the realtor, who spins the missing actor's story before he forks over the keys. Paul Henderson is a flamboyant veteran horror actor who rents the house while shooting a movie, so he's a short drive from the set where he lords around telling everyone they're idiots. Dissatisfied with the vampire cloak supplied by the costume department (a kind-spoken, well-meaning old lady), he sets off to find a better one himself. Does he look in the attic of his creepy house, perhaps? Or maybe there's some spooky old wardrobe, you know, somewhere in the HOUSE? No, he hits a costume shop in town. This story explores the little-known method of vampire reproduction, by transferring ownership of your clothes.

I'm really on the fence with my rating of this movie. By our rating scale, three stars is our low-end cutoff point, anything below that is not really recommended viewing. This is a British horror movie from 1970, there's definitely some appeal to be had here. But as with 1933's The Ghoul, I don't feel like giving the weak story elements a pass just because it's an old movie, and I found this a bit flat. The first story is the best, with a whisp of tangible creep, but by the end it all feels silly. Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee are perfect, naturally, but those stories just don't really take off. The little girl looks the part but ruins it when she talks. Finally, after pushing the totally coincidental "evil" of the house, the realtor comes on screen and says to us "Have you guessed the house's secret? It reflected the personality of the person who lived there, and responded in kind."

I don't what movie that guy was watching, but that is a big fat LIE.

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