Frankie Avalon can’t save this creaky, confused slasher from itself.

Michael Armstrong’s The Haunted House of Horror promises much with its lurid title and mod-era setup, but the final product is a disappointingly tepid affair that never quite knows what it wants to be. Part swinging ’60s youth flick, part slasher prototype, and part drawing-room whodunit, the film struggles under the weight of its own confused identity—and the results are more boring than chilling.

The plot is familiar: a group of hip London teenagers (or at least actors playing them) decide to explore an abandoned mansion on a lark, only to be picked off one by one by an unseen killer. There’s potential here for either taut horror or campy fun, but The Haunted House of Horror commits to neither. The pacing is glacial, the tension limp, and the atmosphere undercut by odd tonal shifts and clunky dialogue.

The film seems content to coast on the marquee name of American teen idol Frankie Avalon, whose presence feels oddly out of place amidst the otherwise British cast. While he’s given the most screen time, his performance is stiff, and the script never gives him much to work with beyond furrowed brows and blank stares. Whatever youthful edge the film tries to evoke is lost in a fog of awkward character dynamics and wooden delivery.

What might have redeemed this clunky murder mystery is a satisfying twist or a killer finale—but The Haunted House of Horror fumbles that too. Its ambiguous ending, instead of offering intrigue or open-ended interpretation, feels more like a shrug. Who did it? Why? What does it mean? The film doesn’t seem all that interested in answering.

The Prognosis:

Despite a few stylish flourishes and some decent cinematography in its haunted corridors, The Haunted House of Horror lacks the bite or blood to stand out among its late-’60s horror contemporaries. It’s a curiosity piece at best—a relic trying to cash in on both the horror boom and the youth market and succeeding at neither.

• 1960s Retrospective review by Saul Muerte