There are thrillers that earn their suspense through artistry, pacing, and wit. And then there’s See No Evil, which believes suspense can be achieved by showing Mia Farrow bumping into furniture for ninety minutes while a killer in boots wanders around like he’s auditioning for a Levi’s commercial.
Directed by Richard Fleischer — a man who once helmed genuine classics like 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Compulsion — this film feels less like “sheer entertainment,” as Fleischer promised, and more like a cruel practical joke: Let’s blind Mia Farrow, drop her into a mansion full of corpses, and see how long it takes her to notice.
The Premise: Blinded by the Obvious
Farrow plays Sarah, a young woman blinded in a riding accident. She retreats to her uncle’s countryside estate, unaware that a killer has slaughtered her relatives and left their bodies scattered about the house like bad set dressing. The audience sees it all. Sarah doesn’t. What follows is a drawn-out exercise in dramatic irony, though the irony is less dramatic than it is tedious.
The camera lovingly lingers on corpses while Sarah strolls past them in blissful ignorance. It’s not suspenseful, it’s just mean. By the time she finally stumbles upon the bodies, most viewers are less scared than relieved — “Thank God, she finally found one!”
Mia Farrow: Blind, but Not to the Script’s Weaknesses
Farrow gives it her all. She’s delicate, vulnerable, and convincing as a blind woman. But the script forces her into absurd situations that border on parody. She runs her hands along walls, she steps within inches of carnage, she rides a horse through the woods like she’s in a shampoo commercial — and the killer just… waits.
If horror thrives on tension, See No Evil is a slack rope. It’s the cinematic equivalent of watching someone hunt for their glasses for two hours while you’re holding them.
The Killer in Boots
The villain is presented from the knees down, his leather boots clomping ominously across the floorboards. We don’t see his face until the end, and by then the reveal carries all the impact of discovering your Uber driver is the murderer. His name? Jacko. Yes, the killer in this “serious thriller” is named Jacko, a name better suited for a circus clown or an underwhelming sidekick in a Hanna-Barbera cartoon.
The Supporting Cast: A Murder of Clichés
The rest of the cast doesn’t fare much better. Sarah’s relatives, who exist solely to be dispatched in the opening reel, have all the depth of mannequins in a Sears catalog. Barker the gardener survives long enough to dump exposition into Sarah’s lap before expiring like an overworked butler.
The gypsy family subplot feels like it wandered in from another movie entirely — one of those earnest BBC dramas about rural hardship — until it pivots into a framing device for a killer named Jacko. It’s padding masquerading as plot.
Fleischer’s Direction: Blinded by Style
Fleischer claimed the film was designed to “scare the hell out of audiences.” Instead, it startles them with how often he repeats the same visual trick: bodies in the background, Mia in the foreground, oblivious. It’s the cinematic equivalent of tapping someone on the shoulder from behind again and again, then expecting them to faint.
Shot in the English countryside, the film does look good. Berkshire has never appeared more ominous. But atmosphere can only do so much when the narrative plods along like a blind horse in mud.
The Bath Scene: Hitchcock This Ain’t
The climax takes place during Sarah’s bath, with the killer pawing through her clothes and nearly drowning her. It should be terrifying. Instead, it’s unintentionally hilarious: Mia Farrow, in the tub, suddenly grabbing the killer’s hand like she’s just reached for a loofah.
When her boyfriend Steve bursts in to save her, it feels less like a rescue and more like an impatient audience member finally storming the stage.
Reception: The Critics Tried to Be Polite
The film was a box-office flop in America, though some critics praised Farrow’s performance. She deserved better. Brian Clemens even received an Edgar nomination for the screenplay — proof that sometimes awards juries are just as blind as Sarah.
For most viewers, however, the film was a chore. There are only so many times you can watch a heroine narrowly miss tripping over a corpse before the tension deflates and gallows laughter sets in.
Dark Humor in the Shadows
To give the film some credit, it does accidentally invent its own brand of black comedy. The killer, visible only from the knees down, stalks Sarah like an irate mall walker. Farrow’s Sarah, meanwhile, spends half the runtime in a mansion full of rotting relatives and somehow manages to sleep peacefully through the night. If she’s not terrified, why should we be?
Final Verdict
See No Evil wants to be a nerve-shredding thriller in the tradition of Wait Until Dark. Instead, it’s a sluggish parade of cheap tricks, corpses treated as set décor, and a villain so bland he might as well have been replaced by a pair of boots on a string.
Leonard Maltin might have written: See No Evil (1971). Blind woman (Farrow) stalked by killer. Well-shot but predictable thriller wastes good premise on endless repetition. Farrow effective; script not. *½ out of ***.
And the dark humor kicker: If blindness is supposed to heighten your other senses, then watching this movie will convince you that boredom can be smelled, tasted, and touched.
