Okay, fellow tape travellers, let's rewind to a truly strange corner of the video store shelf, nestled somewhere between the legit slashers and the questionable comedies. Remember pulling out that box, seeing the lurid title Bloodbath at the House of Death (1984) and maybe expecting something genuinely terrifying? Then you noticed the face of British TV comedy lunatic Kenny Everett plastered on the cover, alongside the legendary Vincent Price, and realised you were in for something… different. This wasn't just another haunted house flick; it was a full-blown, kitchen-sink parody, marinated in early 80s absurdity and beamed directly from the wonderfully weird minds of Everett and his collaborators.
### Welcome to Headstone Manor
The premise itself is a glorious mess, perfectly setting the stage for the chaos to come. A busload of scientists, led by the ludicrously named Dr. Lukas Mandeville (Kenny Everett) and Dr. Barbara Coyle (Pamela Stephenson, fresh off her Not the Nine O'Clock News fame), descend upon the spooky Headstone Manor. Their mission? To investigate paranormal phenomena following a massacre years earlier. What they find is less The Amityville Horror and more Airplane! crashing into a Hammer Horror backlot sale.
Directed by Ray Cameron – who was primarily known for directing Everett’s anarchic TV shows and sadly, this was his only feature film – Bloodbath feels exactly like an extension of that small-screen mania. Cameron, co-writing with the legendary British comedy writer Barry Cryer (a man whose fingerprints are on decades of UK comedy gold), throws every conceivable gag at the wall. We get spoofs of The Exorcist, Alien, Carrie, slasher films, sci-fi tropes, and even a bizarre musical number. It’s relentless, scattershot, and utterly unashamed of its own silliness.
### Gags, Gore, and Glorious Goofiness
This isn't a film known for its sophisticated plot or deep character arcs. It exists purely as a delivery system for jokes, ranging from clever visual puns to groan-inducing slapstick. Kenny Everett, essentially playing multiple variations of his TV personas, mugs shamelessly for the camera. His energy is infectious, even if the material sometimes struggles to keep up. Pamela Stephenson holds her own admirably, playing the slightly more grounded (emphasis on slightly) scientist amidst the escalating madness.
And then there's Vincent Price. Credited as the "Sinister Man," he swans in as the head of a ridiculously inept satanic cult operating out of the manor's basement. Seeing the Master of Macabre gamely participate in such broad, often juvenile humour is a joy in itself. Reportedly, Price enjoyed the absurdity and the chance to send up his own image. He delivers lines about cosmic entities and ancient rituals with that trademark velvety menace, even when the context is utterly preposterous. Wasn't it just fantastic seeing him clearly having a ball, even in something this off-the-wall?
The "action," such as it is, comes in the form of chaotic set pieces and deliberately over-the-top practical effects. Forget CGI smoothing things over; this is the era of exploding dummies, unconvincing rubber monsters, and projectile vomit gags that look exactly like pea soup being fired from a hose. There’s a certain charm to the handmade quality – the obvious wires, the slightly clunky creature suits. It feels tactile, real in its fakeness, like a haunted house attraction built by enthusiastic amateurs. Remember how those moments, like the infamous exploding head sequence, felt simultaneously shocking and hilarious precisely because they weren't seamlessly digital?
### A Cult Oddity Born of British TV
Filmed partly at the iconic Knebworth House (a location familiar from many other films, adding another layer of slightly knowing parody), Bloodbath unfortunately didn't find its audience initially. It was a box office flop, perhaps too bizarre and specifically British for mainstream tastes at the time, even with Price's name attached. Critics were largely baffled or dismissive. Yet, like so many strange cinematic artefacts of the VHS era, it found a second life on home video. Renting this tape, often based purely on the title or Price’s involvement, became a rite of passage for a certain kind of film fan – someone who appreciated the weird, the wonderful, and the downright inexplicable.
The humour hasn't all aged gracefully, naturally. Some gags land with a thud, and the pacing can feel uneven, lurching between moments of inspired lunacy and stretches where the jokes wear thin. It’s very much a product of its time – loud, colourful, and occasionally baffling. But there’s an undeniable energy, a sense of anarchic fun being had by everyone involved, especially Everett, that pulls you through. The soundtrack, featuring contributions from Queen's Brian May, adds another layer of quirky 80s flavour.
Rating: 6/10
Justification: This score reflects the film's undeniable status as a cult oddity and its sheer, unadulterated weirdness, which holds a certain nostalgic charm. Kenny Everett's manic energy and Vincent Price's game participation are highlights. However, the hit-or-miss gag rate, uneven pacing, and extremely dated humour prevent it from reaching higher. It's not traditionally "good," but it's memorable and entertaining in its own bizarre way, especially for fans of British comedy and 80s cheese.
Final Thought: Bloodbath at the House of Death is the movie equivalent of finding a novelty exploding cigar in your grandpa's old joke shop bag – baffling, slightly dangerous-looking, but ultimately designed for a specific, silly kind of fun that feels utterly unique to its time. Approach with caution, abandon all expectations of sense, and you might just find yourself chuckling at the glorious, messy, very British carnage.