If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if a horror movie forgot to bring the horror, Maury Dexter’s House of the Damned has the answer: not much. Filmed in glorious CinemaScope and stuffed with about as much suspense as a lukewarm cup of tea, this 63-minute thriller is less a movie and more a haunted open house where the ghosts are napping and the gags are missing.
Despite having the bones of a decent Gothic mystery—an isolated mansion, a mysterious disappearance, freakish figures lurking in shadows—this movie plays out like someone dropped a Scooby-Doo script into a paper shredder and then taped it back together with bland dialogue and long shots of Ron Foster wandering around in khakis.
🏚️ Plot: Less Haunted, More Haphazard
Architect Scott Campbell (Ron Foster, valiantly trying to project emotion with all the intensity of beige wallpaper) brings his wife Nancy (Merry Anders, also trying) to an abandoned mansion in the Hollywood Hills to “survey” it. What he really means is “spend our anniversary in the creepiest Airbnb imaginable.”
Strange things happen: keys vanish, doors creak, lights flicker. But instead of tension building, we get a low-stakes parade of mildly spooky occurrences that feel like they’re being filtered through an episode of Leave It to Beaver.
When Scott’s boss Joseph (Richard Crane) and his wife show up, things briefly threaten to get interesting—but don’t worry, that suspense is quickly neutralized. Even when Loy, the boss’s wife, disappears (aka the only thing close to a plot twist), the film reacts with all the urgency of a misplaced umbrella.
By the time we meet the so-called “damned,” it’s not with terror or awe but a whimper. There’s a giant (Richard Kiel, pre-Jaws), a legless man and woman, a “fat lady,” and a couple others who look like they wandered off the backlot of Carnival of Souls. Instead of being part of a menacing secret or supernatural conspiracy, these characters are simply… living there. Hiding out. Because society didn’t accept them after the circus closed. That’s it. That’s the twist.
💀 Horror? What Horror?
The film’s central conceit, inspired by Freaks, had potential for psychological horror, moral tension, and even commentary on exploitation. Instead, House of the Damned dodges all of that and delivers an ending that’s both bewildering and limp: the “monsters” aren’t evil, just misunderstood. While that’s noble in theory, the reveal plays like the last 30 seconds of an episode of Dragnet where everything is explained away in a shrug.
For a film that sells itself as a “thriller,” there is zero menace and no payoff. The “scares” consist of:
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Footsteps in the hallway
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A shadow in the mirror
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Doors opening by themselves
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One (1) missing person
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A light bulb moment that “Oh, they’re just circus folk”
It’s as if the filmmakers got halfway through the setup and just… lost interest.
🎭 Acting: Fearless… in Their Commitment to Melodrama
Ron Foster gives a sturdy but wooden performance. He plays the lead like he’s measuring countertops, not confronting paranormal threats. Merry Anders is trapped in a role that gives her little to do except scream softly and wander after her husband like a confused mall shopper.
Richard Crane and Erika Peters show up to provide exposition and disappear just as quickly. Even Richard Kiel, normally a towering presence, is barely used here—he’s just tall and… present.
None of the actors are given enough substance to work with. The dialogue is laughably dry, and the pacing leaves even the cast looking bored.
📸 Cinemascope Wasteland
Shot in CinemaScope, the movie has the illusion of grandeur—but this is like putting marble countertops in a cardboard kitchen. The camera frequently lingers on empty hallways, static rooms, and the same three exterior shots of the mansion. It’s atmospheric only if your idea of tension involves waiting in line at the DMV.
Even the exteriors, filmed at the infamous Bugsy Siegel mansion, are underutilized. What could’ve been a glorious showcase of decay and haunted excess ends up looking like a low-budget TV pilot set that never made it past rehearsal.
🎟️ A Gimmick With No Grip
Harry Spalding, who wrote the film, was inspired by Freaks and the idea of where former circus performers go after the spotlight fades. That’s genuinely compelling stuff. But instead of plumbing the pathos, House of the Damned uses it as a weak twist and excuses itself from building any real story. The so-called “damned” characters are trotted out for a final act that’s more sad than scary.
It’s a bait-and-switch: you came for horror, you got a PSA about compassion for outcasts—delivered with the dramatic finesse of a potato sack race.
🧟♂️ Final Verdict: More “House of the Dull” Than “Damned”
★☆☆☆☆ (1 out of 5 missing keys)
House of the Damned is a horror film in genre only. There’s no blood, no real danger, no suspense—just a tepid setup leading to a message that might’ve worked if the filmmakers had committed to either tone: eerie or empathetic. Instead, it floats somewhere in the middle, doing neither well.
Recommended only for completists, insomnia sufferers, or those fascinated by early-career Richard Kiel cameos. Everyone else? Lock the door and leave this house unrented.
