"The Legend of Hell House" is an influential, extremely well-regarded, haunted house classic from 1973, penned by a master of modern horror, and it absolutely deserves to be seen.
First and foremost, "Hell House" is gorgeous to look at. A British film directed by John Hough - who had made one other, quite good, horror film for Hammer by this point, the 1971 "Twins of Evil" (and would later go on to direct the "Witch Mountain" movies for Disney) - "Hell House" had a very large impact on Sam Raimi and deeply inspired the tone and cinematic style of the first "Evil Dead" film. The great Alan Hume photographed "Hell House", and if you compare the way he shoots the extraordinary exteriors of the house with the way Raimi and his DP, Tim Philo, shot the cabin in "Evil Dead", particularly when you add the interplay of the music, you can see that the intention, use of light, and style is almost identical. The same can be said for Hume's radical camera work, such as placing actors up close and center to a wide angle lens (particularly as they laugh maniacally, teetering on the precipice of madness), in his use of Dutch angles, his rotating mounted camera work, and, again, in the use of light throughout the film.
"Evil Dead" also owes a debt to this film's soundtrack. The extraordinary music by Electrophon Ltd. makes everything drip with darkness, all while sounding very modern, and the way it interacts with the images is another example of how this movie was essentially just Sam Raimi's film school.
The set work of Robert Jones in this is fantastic. And for a film watcher like me, great set-design can often be enough.
Before I dig into the bad of this film, I also want to talk about the performance of Pamela Franklin as psychic medium Florence Tanner. Franklin is so watchable in this movie. Literally, the moment she's on screen, the movie becomes more alive. It's incredible. She sells every moment of it. Even her to-the-death wrestling match with a hilariously bad stuffed black cat prop is glorious (well, it would be glorious anyway, I live for that stuff). And the simple truth is, when Franklin's not on screen, the movie just isn't as interesting.
The script is by the legendary American genre author Richard Matheson, he of "Omega Man"/"I am Legend" fame, and is based on his novel, one of the most famous of the haunted house books. But honestly, this is where things get a little shaky. The set up of this film is amazing. So much style and dread. And the ideas are big. Who are you when you're in this house? Are any of the choices you make your own? Are you always just a little possessed by the house, never fully yourself when you're inside? Four people enter as themselves, but who will come out as them self, or even just survive for that matter? Great stuff.
But two of the characters, the physicist and his wife, are written with virtually no nuance and they play their one-note characters pretty straight. Roddy Mcdowell is super watchable and interesting, until the end, when he's given too much bad dialogue to scene munch through, then even he can't really pull it off.
And that's where "Hell House" derails, the end. It places great dramatic weight on some pretty weak payoffs, and you can suddenly see through all the gorgeous gothic style and modern synthesizer darkness to the rickety half-formed structure of the script beneath. Then the credits roll and you think, "Am I supposed to care about those last reveals?"
First and foremost, "Hell House" is gorgeous to look at. A British film directed by John Hough - who had made one other, quite good, horror film for Hammer by this point, the 1971 "Twins of Evil" (and would later go on to direct the "Witch Mountain" movies for Disney) - "Hell House" had a very large impact on Sam Raimi and deeply inspired the tone and cinematic style of the first "Evil Dead" film. The great Alan Hume photographed "Hell House", and if you compare the way he shoots the extraordinary exteriors of the house with the way Raimi and his DP, Tim Philo, shot the cabin in "Evil Dead", particularly when you add the interplay of the music, you can see that the intention, use of light, and style is almost identical. The same can be said for Hume's radical camera work, such as placing actors up close and center to a wide angle lens (particularly as they laugh maniacally, teetering on the precipice of madness), in his use of Dutch angles, his rotating mounted camera work, and, again, in the use of light throughout the film.
"Evil Dead" also owes a debt to this film's soundtrack. The extraordinary music by Electrophon Ltd. makes everything drip with darkness, all while sounding very modern, and the way it interacts with the images is another example of how this movie was essentially just Sam Raimi's film school.
The set work of Robert Jones in this is fantastic. And for a film watcher like me, great set-design can often be enough.
Before I dig into the bad of this film, I also want to talk about the performance of Pamela Franklin as psychic medium Florence Tanner. Franklin is so watchable in this movie. Literally, the moment she's on screen, the movie becomes more alive. It's incredible. She sells every moment of it. Even her to-the-death wrestling match with a hilariously bad stuffed black cat prop is glorious (well, it would be glorious anyway, I live for that stuff). And the simple truth is, when Franklin's not on screen, the movie just isn't as interesting.
The script is by the legendary American genre author Richard Matheson, he of "Omega Man"/"I am Legend" fame, and is based on his novel, one of the most famous of the haunted house books. But honestly, this is where things get a little shaky. The set up of this film is amazing. So much style and dread. And the ideas are big. Who are you when you're in this house? Are any of the choices you make your own? Are you always just a little possessed by the house, never fully yourself when you're inside? Four people enter as themselves, but who will come out as them self, or even just survive for that matter? Great stuff.
But two of the characters, the physicist and his wife, are written with virtually no nuance and they play their one-note characters pretty straight. Roddy Mcdowell is super watchable and interesting, until the end, when he's given too much bad dialogue to scene munch through, then even he can't really pull it off.
And that's where "Hell House" derails, the end. It places great dramatic weight on some pretty weak payoffs, and you can suddenly see through all the gorgeous gothic style and modern synthesizer darkness to the rickety half-formed structure of the script beneath. Then the credits roll and you think, "Am I supposed to care about those last reveals?"