Ah, Christopher Lee. The man could read the phone book and make it terrifying. Unfortunately, in Theatre of Death(a.k.a. Blood Fiend), he’s stuck in a movie where the phone book would’ve been a better script. This British stab at blending Grand Guignol stage horror with a murder mystery ends up being less “shocking gore” and more “murder-by-boredom.”
The Plot (Or Something Like It)
Christopher Lee plays Philippe Darvas, a theatre director who’s basically Vincent Price on a budget. His Parisian Grand Guignol troupe specializes in fake blood and stage murders—so naturally, when real murders happen, everyone thinks, “Yep, must be the drama guy.”
And that’s it. That’s the plot. It’s like someone took Phantom of the Opera, wrung out all the gothic atmosphere, and replaced it with Christopher Lee sighing heavily at actors who couldn’t emote their way out of a paper bag.
The “Horror”
The murders are supposed to be gruesome, but they play out like bad community theater auditions. One woman is stabbed in an alley in such slow motion it looks like she’s politely waiting for her killer to finish tying his shoe. Another victim looks less murdered and more mildly inconvenienced, as if someone spilled soup on her lap.
And the stage scenes—oh boy. Watching papier-mâché knives wobble under the hot stage lights is about as scary as a Punch and Judy show. Except Punch and Judy have better pacing.
The Performances
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Christopher Lee (Darvas): Does his best, but you can tell even he’s wondering if Hammer has a script he can sneak off to instead.
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Lelia Goldoni: As Dani, she stares wide-eyed through the whole movie like she’s just realized she took the wrong turn at Peeping Tom and ended up here.
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Julian Glover: Looks suspicious the whole time, probably because he’s plotting how to escape to a real set with actual lighting.
Why It Fails (Gloriously)
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The murders are bloodless in a movie literally marketed as Blood Fiend. That’s like buying Fast & Furious and discovering it’s just Vin Diesel filing his taxes.
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The “Grand Guignol” angle is wasted. Instead of reveling in lurid stage horror, we get long shots of people sitting in cafés, smoking, and looking vaguely guilty.
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The police investigation scenes drag on so long you start rooting for the inspector to arrest you just to end it.
Final Verdict
Theatre of Death promises decadent Parisian horror and Christopher Lee in full sinister glory. What it delivers is a tepid whodunnit that makes Murder, She Wrote look like Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
It’s called Theatre of Death, but the only thing that dies is your will to keep watching.
Final Thought: Christopher Lee once said he took roles to pay the bills. Judging by this one, the gas company must’ve been hounding him hard in ’67.
