I've never been fond of hospitals. Even if I'm visiting someone and I'm fortunate enough to be sitting next to a gurney (as opposed to lying in it), the deceptively sterile environment blights my nerves. The needles, the tubes, the hot nurses I'm never allowed to victimize...it's a dour, off-putting scene. My recent stay at an Aesculapian* institution has only compounded these feelings. It's only natural that "medical horror" flicks hit below the belt. 1976's Mansion of the Doomed is one such flick. I charged into it expecting liberal nips of cheese. Charles Band owns a producer's credit, after all. But while Doomed is lined with junky Grindhouse features (the poster tells you everything you need to know), it functions as a grim, gory sliver of entertainment.
Dr. Chaney is a respected ophthalmologist. He looks like a cross between Tom Atkins and Klaus Kinski, which I suspect contributes to his prosperity in the field. Anyhow, a car accident claims his daughter's vision. He doesn't seem to appreciate the irony. Go figure. Given the fact that Chaney is a mad scientist, he immediately begins to abduct hapless candidates for ocular transplants. He obsesses over the procedure, resorting to crude experiments that create a small army of eyeless terrors in his basement. Halfway through the film, he has an epiphany. "I know; I'll just rip out their fucking eyeballs!" I'm paraphrasing, but Christ in a shopping cart, it took him years of research to come to the realization that he could simply hollow out an eye socket???
Chaney is an awkward dude, and now that I think about it, all of the players are arranged in a clunky manner. Nancy - the daughter in question - is more naïve than an ostrich that was born yesterday (give it time...it still won't make any sense). The immortal Lance Henriksen is privy to the best material. He portrays Dan, the stoic boyfriend who loses his sight to Chaney's wicked forceps. Blindness doesn't stop him from kicking ass, though. The supporting cast is serviceable. To be perfectly honest, you're not going to watch Doomed for nuanced character interaction. This thing is about atmosphere, loads and loads of atmosphere. To that end, the title is most appropriate.
A young Stan Winston manned the special effects unit. The make-up is genuinely disturbing, so I must tip my typing wand to Stanley's handiwork. Director Michael Pataki wrings striking imagery out of fairly simplistic locations. Again, typing wand tipped. I'm surprised that he didn't continue to peg away in our beloved genre. His only other feature? Guess. Go ahead. Fucking Cinderella! Apparently, it's a chintzy R-rated version of the fairy tale. And I have no earthly idea how to end this review. Mansion of the Doomed is rock solid...no, that's a shitty closer. Oh, I've got it. How will I end my roaming twaddle? Guess. Go ahead.
*Medical. Why I had to use that flippin' word...er, learning is fun?
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