D: Pete Walker. S: Michael Armstrong. Novel: “Seven Keys to Baldpate” by Earl Derr Biggers. P: Menahem Golan, Yoram Globus. Cast: Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, John Carradine, Desi Arnaz Jr, Sheila Keith, Richard Todd, Julie Peasgood, Louise English. UK dist (DVD): Final Cut.

This all-star tribute to the Gothics of Hammer, Amicus, AIP et al slipped out almost unnoticed into cinemas back in 1983, promptly winding up on the VHS rental market – there to be discovered by a small but doggedly loyal fanbase. At the time, the Go-Go Boys of the Cannon Group (a.k.a. Israeli wheeler-dealers Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus) were still going strong, their Random Movie Generator spewing out everything from Chuck Norris actioners to Jean-Luc Godard ego-trips (King Lear, anyone?). [The lunatic truth behind their rise and fall is documented in Mark Hartley’s unmissable Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films (2014). Prepare to be astounded.] Their announcement of House of the Long Shadows – born, apparently, of Golan’s love for old-school horror – worked the genre press into a tizzy of anticipation; small wonder, I suppose, that the finished product didn’t quite match the hype. Back in the day, with my Hammer obsession approaching its peak, I recall watching the film with mounting disappointment: thrilled by the assemblage of talent, but dismayed by the curiously enervated mood. Purporting to be a satire of Old Dark Houses, it seemed paradoxically more dated than the films it sought to spoof.

Seen today, HOTLS remains an oddly-stilted viewing experience, ploddingly unimaginative in its direction and visual design – and seemingly shot with an array of unattractive dark brown filters, on sixty-year-old film stock salvaged from the tip – yet still, against all reason, somehow managing to supply a fair dose of good old-fashioned entertainment. The plot’s as old as the hills: arrogant Yank author (Desi Arnaz Jr) bets his Brit publisher (Richard Todd) that he can write a horror bestseller over the weekend – after all, how hard can it be? Todd accepts, and to foster the right vibes gives him the keys to Baldpate Manor, a storm-lashed pile in the Welsh wilderness. The place is meant to be empty; but Arnaz’s attempts to knuckle down to his task are repeatedly interrupted by a steady flow of Baldpate’s former tenants – including steely-eyed housekeeper Sheila Keith, paterfamilias John Carradine, two eccentric sons (Vincent Price and Peter Cushing), plus the family solicitor (Christopher Lee), Todd’s PA (Julie Peasgood) and a brace of stranded backpackers. Events become even more bizarre when an unknown maniac begins to pick them off, one by one, in a variety of grisly ways. Can Arnaz survive the weekend – and still win his bet…?

Mark of the Devil director Michael Armstrong’s script isn’t great, exactly, but it’s not bad either; one or two lines evince a smidgen of wit. But the main attraction, of course, is the once-in-a-lifetime lineup of Horror Greats: Price, Cushing, Lee and Carradine. Securing them all was an amazing coup (though presumably, by this stage of their careers, they weren’t exactly deluged with offers), and watching them spark off each other is an undeniable delight. Armstrong is smart enough to play to their strengths, making Price all swaggering braggadocio, Lee a pompous blowhard (with a nicely sinister twist), Cushing meekly loveable (with a speech impediment to boot) and Carradine(as the thousand-year-old patriarch) an irascible boor. Each gets a fair bite of the scenery.

The stars are so good,one can almost forgive the weakness of the supporting cast. Arnaz is okay, I suppose, as the wisecracking Yank hero, but nice Julie Peasgood (oh-so-superly nice as the superly-nice female lead) is, unfortunately, terrible – bad enough to set your teeth on edge, in fact. What the role badly needed was an actress with some bite, someone who could supply a bit more oomph to what was always going to be a thankless part – but Peasgood ain’t it. As a presenter of Play School, say, she might be perfectly adequate; as a film star, quite the reverse. She’s so superly-nice that I feel quite the heel in lambasting her so roundly, but there’s no point mincing words. She can’t act, and there’s an end to it. (The bickering hitch-hikers aren’t much better, though at least the wife [Louise English] is feisty.) The direction – from former enfant terrible Pete Walker, a long way from his House of Whipcord days – is efficient but unremarkable, with only a few brief flashes of Sadean glee here and there; this would be his last film, before moving into the more lucrative field of property development. The twist ending (Lee’s the maniac!), and the one after that (no he isn’t!), work pretty well, though hard-hearted viewers will chafe at the jokey wrap-up. Still, we get to see Price camping it up something rotten, so one can’t complain too loudly. All in all, an unexpectedly fun trip down memory lane.

The UK DVD from Final Cut contains another (mostly) pleasant surprise: a feature-length Making Of, no less, featuring interviews with all the main surviving participants (plus, IIRC, a bit of archive interview footage with Price, charming as ever). Director Pete Walker walks us round the house location with DP Norman Langley and, yes, the superly-nice Julie Peasgood (who is, you’ve guessed it, superly-nice). Michael Armstrong offers candid anecdotes about his time with Cannon (where he worked as an uncredited script doctor); Desi Arnaz (much older and balder) supplies his own wry take on the production, via interview material seemingly culled from a convention appearance. Even the hitchers get a look-in (guilelessly bland, but sweet enough). The piece is fairly good, overall, but quite obviously the work of an amateur fanboy – and consequently suffers all the problems you’d expect. For one thing, it’s agonisingly overlong. Nobody has that much to say of any great value, yet their interviews are allowed to ramble on and on, repeating points already made by other subjects. Second, the amateur fanboy in question (one Derek Pykett: author, filmmaker and movie extra – sorry, background artiste) cannot resist the lure of the spotlight, inserting himself frequently – and quite alarmingly – into his own film. While his voiceover is okay, it’s his bits delivered direct-to-camera that definitively peg him as an out-and-out loon. Long-haired, long-faced, there’s more than something of the night about Pykett. Maybe it’s the fixed, unblinking stare, the steely monotone voice, or the air of the stone-cold psychopath that hovers around him? Whatever, Pykett’s presence makes the documentary a decidedly unnerving experience, making it hard to recommend to any but the most hardcore of horror buffs. The doc’s certainly worth a look, but it’s best to be prepared. (The disc also includes a feature-length commentary with Walker and Pykett, likely covering much the same ground.)