Edgar Allan Poe probably rolled in his grave so violently after seeing this 1989 adaptation of The Fall of the House of Usher that he tunneled straight into another cemetery. On paper, this film had potential: you’ve got gothic source material, Oliver Reed drunkenly wandering through sets, Donald Pleasence cashing a paycheck, and an old manor that could’ve at least looked spooky if someone had bothered to dust it. Instead, we get a limp, melodramatic mess that feels less like horror and more like a low-budget episode of Days of Our Lives filmed in a condemned Airbnb.
A Plot So Thin It Could Slip Under the Door
The “story,” such as it is, begins with Molly and her fiancé Ryan heading to visit his family estate. Ryan is part of the Usher clan, which should be your first red flag. (If there’s one rule of horror: don’t marry into a family whose house is the title of the story. Bad things will happen.)
On the way, they crash their car after swerving to avoid two ghostly children. That sounds creepy, right? Wrong. The “ghost children” look like they were recruited from a middle-school nativity play, standing stiffly in the road like they’re waiting for someone to call “cut.” The crash itself has all the cinematic energy of a bumper car ride at a county fair.
From there, Molly wanders into the Usher estate, which looks less like a cursed ancestral mansion and more like an abandoned B&B with a fog machine. Inside, she discovers Ryan’s uncle Roderick (Oliver Reed) who has the hots for her. Because of course he does—apparently every creepy old man in horror films assumes women just love being courted by someone who smells like whiskey and mothballs.
Meanwhile, Roderick’s brother Walter (Donald Pleasence) is locked in a room upstairs because, well, the Usher family motto seems to be: If your relatives annoy you, just imprison them and hope they don’t kill the help. Spoiler: Walter immediately escapes, murders the maid, murders the maid’s daughter, and then spends the rest of the movie lumbering around like he’s auditioning for the role of “confused drunk uncle” at Thanksgiving dinner.
The Usher Boys: Dysfunctional and Boring
Let’s talk about the family drama. Poe’s original tale was about generational rot, madness, and decay. This film, however, plays more like an awkward holiday gathering that escalates into a knife fight. Roderick wants to seduce Molly because… reasons? Walter wants to end the Usher bloodline by murdering everyone, but somehow he’s too incompetent to finish the job until Roderick throws him down the stairs like yesterday’s laundry.
Donald Pleasence, bless him, gives us “eccentric uncle at a cocktail party” energy throughout, glaring with his big watery eyes as though he’s trying to remember where he left his car keys. Oliver Reed, meanwhile, just looks perpetually hungover, which—let’s be real—may not have been acting.
Ryan, our supposed leading man, spends half the movie drugged inside a sarcophagus. Yes, a literal sarcophagus. His contribution to the story is essentially: “lie there quietly while everyone else overacts.” Molly, on the other hand, screams, runs, and stumbles around the house as though she’s lost her way to the bathroom. She’s our Final Girl, but only in the sense that she survived purely by accident.
Horror? What Horror?
This movie allegedly belongs to the horror genre, but you’d be hard-pressed to find anything remotely frightening. Ghostly children? Laughable. Murder scenes? Shot with all the intensity of an afternoon soap opera. Creepy mansion? About as scary as a Holiday Inn lobby with the lights turned low.
The “haunting” atmosphere Poe created with words is replaced here by endless scenes of people pacing in dimly lit hallways. The scariest thing about this film is the wallpaper.
And when the violence does happen, it’s either off-screen or so awkwardly staged it feels like rehearsal footage. Walter strangling the maid looks less like murder and more like a half-hearted shoulder massage gone wrong.
Fire, Staircases, and Other Clichés
The climax is where the movie really unravels, if that’s even possible. The Usher brothers fight, the house catches on fire (because every gothic mansion must burst into flames on cue), and Molly escapes while Ryan somehow shakes off his sarcophagus-induced nap.
The grand finale ends not with a bang but with a confused whimper. After everything burns, we’re treated to a “twist” ending: the opening scene plays again, with Molly suggesting they turn back instead of continuing to the Usher estate. So… what? Was it all a dream? Was it a time loop? Was it the director realizing too late he didn’t know how to end the movie? None of the above matter, because by this point, the audience has already mentally left the theater.
Performances: A Rogue’s Gallery of Overacting
-
Oliver Reed as Roderick: Looks like he wandered onto set after a three-day bender and decided to mutter his lines into a beard full of cigarette ash.
-
Donald Pleasence as Walter: Somehow manages to be simultaneously terrifying and pitiful, like a grandpa who wandered away from bingo night.
-
Romy Walthall as Molly: Spends the movie screaming and fainting, like a parody of every bad horror heroine rolled into one.
-
Rufus Swart as Ryan: Truly excels at lying still in a coffin. Academy Award for “Best Performance as a Sedated Corpse.”
Poe Deserved Better
Poe’s original Fall of the House of Usher is about crumbling aristocracy, psychological terror, and the blurring of reality and madness. This film is about Oliver Reed wanting to sleep with his nephew’s fiancée and Donald Pleasence lurching around like he forgot where the bathroom is. It’s less gothic horror, more awkward family reunion hosted by lunatics.
Even the titular house is wasted. Instead of an oppressive, decaying labyrinth, it’s just a collection of drafty rooms, each lit with exactly one flickering candle that looks suspiciously like it came from a local hardware store clearance bin.
Final Thoughts
The House of Usher (1989) isn’t just a bad adaptation—it’s a bad movie, period. It takes one of the greatest gothic stories ever written and turns it into a half-baked soap opera where people yell, stumble, and set things on fire for no clear reason.
If you want to watch Oliver Reed slur through lines and Donald Pleasence look perpetually confused while a woman screams her way through hallways, this is the film for you. But if you want actual horror, atmosphere, or anything resembling coherence, read the original story—or honestly, just stare at an old house for two hours. It’ll be scarier, and you won’t feel like you’ve wasted part of your life.
