Imagine buying a postcard‑perfect Gothic mansion only to discover it’s cursed—not by demons, but by a script that’s convinced jump‑scares and severed hands are enough to pass for storytelling. And Now the Screaming Starts! is Amicus’s full‑length foray into Hammer‑style Gothic—but sadly, it’s haunted more by lazy plotting than genuine terror. It’s like ordering beef Wellington and getting frozen Salisbury steak: technically still meat, but where’s the flavor?
🏰 Setup: Gothic Cookie Cutter with Expired Flavor
Newlyweds Catherine (Stephanie Beacham) and Charles Fengriffen (Ian Ogilvy) move into his ancestral manor—cue creepy portraits, cold winds, and chandeliers that rattle like they’re auditioning for a horror podcast. Almost immediately: a severed hand pops through a painting. On their wedding night, Catherine is raped by an invisible ghost hand. Sensational headline, poor execution—no context, no buildup, just “Boo! Now cry!” Sadly, writer Roger Marshall zaps any chance of emotional resonance, turning horror into shock without structure
🧟 Characters: Mansion Dolls Without Depth
Catherine weeps hard enough to fill half the mansion—Beacham’s screams earn eyebrow raises, but she’s short on development, creating more exhaustion than empathy . Charles is the Debate Team Captain of Doom: he’s forever calling Catherine “delusional” and hiding truths with the fervor of a politician avoiding taxes. No charm, no heart, no logic—just plot convenience.
Support is provided by Patrick Magee’s Dr. Whittle (who enters to explain things… and promptly gets strangled by the titular severed hand), and Peter Cushing’s Dr. Pope—who shows up halfway through, delivers exposition like a substitute teacher reading off cue cards, then fumbles off the script . Cushing deserves better—and a bigger role.
👐 The Ignore‑It‑Till‑We‑Kill Plot
This film unfolds like a haunted house tour for the sleep‑deprived:
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Paintings rustle.
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Windows open themselves (often—but never explained).
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Ghost hand kills everyone who tries helping Catherine (housekeeper, lawyer, doctor—gone).
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Spectral Rottweiler roams uncaged (seriously).
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Finally, flashback to reveal why the curse exists—a rape, dismemberment, and generational revenge.
It’s spooky, but also thin. The viewers gasp less, and wonder more about why the hand randomly attacks lawyers
💀 Gore & Effects: B‑Movie Budget Meets Gothic Aspirations
There’s actual violence—axe swings, strangulations, decapitations. Sadly, the gore doesn’t really land. The severed hand … flops. It ambles like a drunk puppet. When it throttles characters, there’s no tension, just rubber‑limb slapstick. The ghost? It’s a leftover Halloween mask someone forgot to throw out. Amicus clearly spent cash on set design, but not on effects—so the scares feel aged before the credits roll
😤 Exposition vs. Atmosphere: Soul‑Crushing Mute Button
Cinematographer Denys Coop gives us glorious Oakley Court shots—fog‑draped corridors, ominous portraits, and shadow‑streaked hallways that remind us this could’ve been good. But Marshall’s screenplay sucks that atmosphere dry. Instead of letting dread swell in silence, the film opts for dialogue-heavy reveals, repetitive ghost sequences, and extended sequences where Catherine just looks for clues while moaning. Gothic horror—or Gothic yawn?
🧱 Plot Logic: Battered by Doors That Lock Themselves
The curse: a servant named Silas, wronged by Sir Henry Fengriffen, curses future virgin brides. Ghost attacks, severed hand revenge, etc. Fine. But why do windows constantly open to usher the ghost in? Why are only certain characters informed of the family secret? Why does everyone except Catherine and Cushing die mysteriously? These threadbare mysteries feel less like narrative wrinkles and more like construction zone warnings: “Plot not found.”
The big reveal—a flashback with Herbert Lom—deserves applause for antipathy, but it arrives too late to restore belief in the tale
😂 Dark Humor Highlights (Unintentional but Welcome)
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Catherine is verbally gaslit so often, she rings herself into the neighborhood’s malignant therapy hotline.
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Dr. Whittle gets killed right after giving a cliff‑notes summary; talk about dead air.
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The ghost hand kills with alarming inconsistency—legal advocate? Gone. Lady-in-waiting? Also gone. Charles? Barely scratched.
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Dr. Pope arrives like Sherlock Holmes, only to read exposition then disappear. He’s the ghostbuster nobody needs.
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Family curse = victim of misogyny + generational shame = deliciously chaotic brew—but the film serves it like flat tea.
⚠️ The Verdict: Gothic Worth Visiting—but You Might Want to Stay Home
And Now the Screaming Starts! is technically competent—the sets, lighting, and cast show promise—but is undone by pacing issues, uneven plotting, and shallow dialogue. Critics agreed: good build‑up, weak payoff; Cushing is strong, others less so . It’s haunted-house fare with no haunting—more exercises in dread feelings than actual dread.
⭐ Final Rating: 2 out of 5 Severed Hands
A dull glove puppet of Gothic horror; occasionally fun to watch die, but never fully alive. If you crave haunted houses, may we suggest The Haunting (1963)? This one is… haunted by clichés instead of ghosts.
Bottom Line:
This film is a haunted castle with locked doors—but the only thing driving you crazy is how unscary it is. If you like living-room Gothic with rubber limbs and fog machine nostalgia, give it a watch. But if you want real chills, better doors open elsewhere.
