In the world of made-for-TV horror, there’s a special breed of movie that makes you wonder if they only hired the actors because they were the only ones desperate enough to accept the roles. “Scream, Pretty Peggy,” directed by Gordon Hessler and aired on ABC in 1973, is one such film. And while the plot seems ripe for tension and terror, it mostly delivers a dull, predictable ride through a house full of delusional family members and shockingly uninspired performances.
The story, wrapped in a deliciously campy premise, begins with Peggy Johns, a bright-eyed college student (played by Sian Barbara Allen), who stumbles upon a job listing for a housekeeper at the Elliott mansion, located somewhere near the Sunset Strip. Apparently, the locals don’t notice the oddities around this decaying mansion, probably because they’re too busy fighting for parking spaces on the Strip. Peggy’s about to make the mistake of her life, not realizing that the house she’s walking into is more dangerous than the line at the DMV.
This is where we meet the bizarre family dynamic of the Elliott household. The reclusive Mrs. Elliott (Bette Davis) is the epitome of a mother whose love has crossed the line into “creepy obsession.” Her sculptor son, Jeffrey Elliott (Ted Bessell), is the artistically troubled type. And of course, Peggy, the naive young woman, immediately senses something’s off, which, by the way, isn’t exactly a bold move considering the entire house feels like a poorly lit taxidermy shop.
We’re supposed to buy into this suspenseful drama about a housekeeper who’s unknowingly walking into a world of death, deceit, and psychosis. Unfortunately, the film’s execution is more “after-school special” than spine-chilling thriller. Peggy, with the intellectual curiosity of a cheese sandwich, begins to uncover that things aren’t as they seem in the mansion. One of the key twists of the film is that the young, blonde Jennifer, whom Peggy believes to be living abroad, is actually living a stone’s throw away, in the mansion’s hidden apartment. But who needs intrigue when the audience can guess the secret after about 20 minutes of squirming in their seat?
The psychological unraveling that follows relies heavily on the mystery of Jennifer’s fate. Peggy learns that Jennifer is not in Europe as claimed, but is, in fact, locked away in a secret apartment in the mansion, cared for by Jeffrey and his increasingly overbearing mother. It’s here that the plot takes a deliciously melodramatic turn, as Jeffrey reveals that his sister Jennifer is “psychotic,” which could explain why the film’s writers decided to make the most tragic mistake of all — letting the audience in on the mystery far too early.
Let’s talk about the “suspense” here, though. The filmmakers try to turn the mansion into a labyrinth of madness, but the only thing really spiraling out of control is the movie’s pacing. We’re treated to an endless loop of Peggy wandering around a dark house, trying to connect the dots. This wouldn’t be so bad if the film had any discernible tension, but instead, we’re left with crickets. Imagine a horror movie where the scariest part is waiting for the next infuriatingly slow scene transition.
And let’s not forget the plot’s pièce de résistance: the reveal that Jennifer isn’t just living in the mansion, but that Jeffrey may have had a hand in her untimely demise. To be fair, the film does a decent job building up to this conclusion, but by the time the twist is revealed, you’re left feeling less “shocked” and more “I saw this coming 40 minutes ago.” Even Bette Davis, a legendary actress, seems to be coasting on autopilot in her portrayal of the increasingly unhinged mother, Mrs. Elliott. Her performance lacks the gravitas that you’d expect from such an icon, instead falling into a tiresome routine of wringing her hands and muttering ominously.
The film climaxes in a final confrontation that should have been a high point but is instead a monotonous sequence of predictable plot devices: the troubled son, dressed in his sister’s clothes, wielding a knife, and a mother who shoots him dead after explaining the whole sordid family secret. At this point, the viewer may be asking themselves, “Why did I sign up for this?”
What really drags “Scream, Pretty Peggy” into the gutter, however, is its complete lack of emotional investment. The film wants you to care about Peggy’s plight, but you won’t. Her motivations, like the entire cast, are sketchy at best, and you’re left wondering why she’s still hanging around this creepy mansion with a rapidly rising body count. Meanwhile, the film tries to pass off a half-hearted love story between Peggy and Jeffrey, which feels more like an afterthought than anything that adds to the emotional stakes of the film.
And then, of course, there’s the twist about Jeffrey’s psychosis — the idea that he’s been living with his dead sister’s body encased in one of his sculptures, reimagining her as a ghostly vision in his mind. It sounds like it could be a plotline in a serious thriller, but it ends up more in the realm of “What’s the next crazy thing that’s going to happen?” than “I need to process that emotionally.” It’s both fascinating and tragic, but here, it’s simply absurd.
To sum it all up: “Scream, Pretty Peggy” is the kind of film where you find yourself waiting for something to happen while simultaneously hoping it doesn’t. The performances feel phoned in, the pacing sluggish, and the plot as transparent as the plastic cover on a TV dinner. If you’re looking for a horror movie that actually scares you, look elsewhere. If you’re in the mood for an unintentionally hilarious time capsule from the ‘70s, then by all means, give this one a go. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
In the end, this film’s attempt to terrify is about as successful as trying to scare someone with a lamp that’s already been turned off. It’s a ghost story without the chill, a mystery without the thrills, and a psychological drama that’s more about missed opportunities than missed victims. Call it what it is: a scream that’s far too pretty and far too boring.
