Let’s get something straight: Terror in the Wax Museum (1973) is the kind of movie that will make you feel every minute of its existence, and not in any good way. It’s the kind of film that falls so flat, you wonder if someone injected a healthy dose of confusion into its bloodstream. Set in the Victorian era, it feels like a forced attempt at gothic horror that somehow got lost in a haze of bad direction and even worse pacing. If you’ve ever been trapped in an awkward conversation with an old relative about a story they can’t quite remember, well, congratulations, you’ve just experienced Terror in the Wax Museum.
The plot itself should’ve been enough to intrigue: a wax museum, complete with a killer on the loose, suspects running around like chickens without heads, and the looming possibility that Jack the Ripper himself may have returned from the dead for a little late-night slashing. Sounds juicy, right? Wrong. Instead of crafting an atmospheric mystery or embracing the horror potential of its premise, director Georg Fenady delivers a limp, half-baked tale of confusion. You’d think a wax museum filled with creepy mannequins and a hint of Jack the Ripper would be the perfect breeding ground for some genuine suspense, but instead, Terror in the Wax Museum drags its feet like a dead corpse being dragged across the floor, desperate for a reason to exist.
Sure, the film does have a stellar cast—Ray Milland, Elsa Lanchester, Maurice Evans, John Carradine, and Broderick Crawford all make appearances—but their collective talent is wasted in a script that meanders like a drunken sailor trying to find the dock. Ray Milland as Harry Flexner? You could practically see him shrugging at the chance to be in this, and honestly, who could blame him? Elsa Lanchester plays Julia Hawthorn, and while she’s always a pleasure to watch (who doesn’t love The Bride of Frankenstein?), here she’s just a tired relic of better days. As for Maurice Evans as Inspector Daniels? He spends most of his time looking like he’s wondering how he ended up in this mess. It’s a parade of wasted potential, and the worst part is that it’s hard to feel any sense of tension or unease because the performances are as stilted as the wax figures themselves.
Then there’s the murder mystery aspect. Is the killer a disgruntled museum employee, a bloodthirsty ghost, or could it possibly be Jack the Ripper’s return to terrorize London? You’d think the film would build on this premise with chilling twists and turns, but instead, you’re left trying to remember who exactly the victims were by the time the credits roll. The plot is so muddy that by the time you reach the reveal, it feels like the filmmakers themselves lost interest halfway through. It’s a mystery that’s more meh than mysterious, and you’ll find yourself too bored to even care about the eventual resolution.
The problem isn’t just the story—it’s everything. The direction is lackluster, like someone trying to draw a straight line while holding a wobbly pencil. The pacing is so slow, you’ll think it’s trying to teach you the art of patience, but all it really teaches is how to zone out in front of a screen. The wax figures themselves are more laughable than chilling, and not in the way they’re supposed to be. Instead of feeling unnerved by their eeriness, you’ll find yourself more distracted by how poorly they’ve been staged. Jack the Ripper as a wax figure? It’s hard to take seriously when the figure looks like it came from a discount Halloween shop. The whole thing feels like a cheap gimmick that doesn’t quite land.
But let’s give credit where it’s due: the film does manage to pull off a few fun cameos from historical figures—Jack the Ripper, Lizzie Borden, Marie Antoinette, and Attila the Hun. It’s a fun idea on paper, but in execution, it just feels like a half-hearted attempt to inject some historical gravitas into an otherwise tired concept. It’s as if the filmmakers realized they had to do something to make the audience feel like they were watching something remotely clever. Spoiler alert: they failed.
By the end of the film, you’ll have a nagging question in the back of your mind: Who was this made for? Horror fans will be disappointed by the lack of gore or true suspense. Fans of mysteries will roll their eyes at the lackluster reveal. And if you’re just in it for the historical horror? Well, you might find yourself checking the time every five minutes, hoping for something—anything—to make the next 30 minutes worth it.
In conclusion, Terror in the Wax Museum is a film that belongs in a wax museum itself: forgotten, unmoved, gathering dust. It’s got the trappings of a good movie—an intriguing setting, a murder mystery, a cast of classic actors—but somehow it still manages to be a complete bore. If you’ve got an hour and a half to kill and you’re desperate for something to watch, you could do worse. But trust me, you could also do much, much better. It’s an exercise in wasted potential, a film that leaves you with one thought after it’s over: What the hell did I just watch?
