There are bad horror movies, and then there’s Necromancy — a film so sluggish, so narratively confused, it feels like it was shot on NyQuil in a basement with a Ouija board made from leftover deli meat. You’d expect a film about occult rituals and resurrecting the dead to at least try to be spooky. But Necromancy doesn’t just fail to scare — it barely manages to stay conscious.
And then there’s Orson Welles, who spends the entire film looking like he got lost on his way to a Paul Massoncommercial shoot and just went with it.
Plot (Or: A Puzzle Missing Half Its Pieces)
The story follows Lori Brandon (Pamela Franklin), a woman recovering from a tragic miscarriage who moves with her husband to the creepy little town of Lilith. Everyone in town acts like they just wandered off a cursed soap opera set. Lilith, it turns out, is run by necromancers trying to use Lori’s latent psychic powers to bring the dead back to life.
Sounds decent, right? Well, buckle up. Because the film takes that premise and buries it under a landfill of incoherent dream sequences, awkward dialogue, and scenes that drag on longer than Orson Welles’ sandwich order.
Orson Welles: Necromancer or Disinterested Grandpa?
Welles plays Mr. Cato, the town’s cult leader. Or, more accurately, he appears in the film — “acting” might be too generous. He looks like he just wandered in off the street, muttered some lines about “the great beyond,” and cashed a check big enough to buy half a cow and a crate of cognac.
His performance is lethargic, but hey, he’s wearing a black robe and mumbles cryptically, so it must be creepy… right? Wrong. It’s like watching Shakespeare be recited by someone trying not to fall asleep.
Welles gives off strong tenured professor trapped in a community theater play energy. You can practically see the existential regret behind his eyes — possibly because the film’s title was changed multiple times (A Life for a Life, The Toy Factory, and eventually Necromancy, which sounds like a metal band that only plays coffee shops).
Pacing: A Bold Experiment in Temporal Torture
This film moves with all the urgency of a cat in a sunbeam. You keep waiting for something — anything — to happen. A door creaks. A phone rings. Someone stares into the middle distance while the soundtrack moans like a dying accordion. That’s the horror.
Scenes are stitched together with all the finesse of a ransom note. Characters speak in hushed tones for minutes on end, and just when you think you’ve reached the climax, the movie keeps going, like a guest who doesn’t know when to leave.
You could leave, come back with a sandwich, and not miss a thing — except maybe a blurry dream montage that somehow both explains and confuses the plot at the same time.
Visuals: 1970s Beige Occult Aesthetic
There’s something impressive about a movie that manages to make witchcraft, death, and black magic look like a mid-level HR seminar. The sets are dimly lit in that murky, Vaseline-on-the-lens way that screams “we’re going for atmosphere” but delivers “please clean your screen.”
You’ll see candles. Hooded figures. An altar. But it all looks like it was borrowed from the local Unitarian church’s Halloween closet.
Pamela Franklin: Final Girl in a Movie with No Climax
Pamela Franklin gives it her all, bless her heart. She’s trying. She’s genuinely trying. But she’s surrounded by wooden acting, glue-sniffed pacing, and a script that seems to have been written by a Magic 8-Ball.
Her character stumbles through an escalating series of psychic visions and half-baked hallucinations that would make David Lynch squint in confusion. You’re never quite sure if she’s in a dream, being manipulated, or just really jet-lagged.
Soundtrack: Satan’s Windchime Collection
The score is pure ’70s horror cheese: synths that wobble like a wounded theremin and strings that shriek for help. It’s like the music is trying to warn you to get out while you still can.
Final Act: Resurrection or Regret?
By the time we reach the climax (if you can call it that), there’s a ritual, some candles, a corpse or two, and maybe some kind of twist? It’s hard to tell. The final “reveal” is both predictable and incoherent — a neat trick, really.
The movie wants to say something about grief, or the danger of trying to bring back what’s lost, but it ends up just saying, “We couldn’t afford a second draft.”
Final Verdict: Burn the Book, Not the Time
Necromancy is a film that should’ve been a lean, mean slice of supernatural schlock. Instead, it’s a limp, confused, beige slog through fog machines and stilted monologues.
If you’re into cult films where literally nothing happens for extended periods of time, followed by cryptic nonsense and a visibly bored Orson Welles, then congratulations: you’ve found your Halloween tradition.
Everyone else? Run. Or better yet — fake your own death and tell people you were possessed by a better movie.
Rating: 3 out of 10 Reanimated Orson Welleses
Minus 1 if you’re sober. Add 2 if you enjoy watching celluloid shrivel like an old banana under a heat lamp.