THE MURDER MANSION (1972)
I've never been a giallo type of guy. Ironic, seeing as how I'm one-fourth Italian (my true genealogy is probably more on the pallid side, but that's neither here nor there). I mention it because Shudder decided to upload a tidy spate of the spaghetti slashers, and while no one held a water pistol to my head, I took the plunge with one of the lurid titles. Good heavens, where do I begin? How about I start with the stuff I enjoyed? The score is killer, the sets are divine (that's precisely how an unearthly, mist-wreathed cemetery should look), and when the horror hits, the pace accelerates to the point where you can feel the victims' collective pulse pound through your streaming device of choice.
Regrettably, we are left with a murder mystery as convoluted as...um, my similes are failing me. I'll just be forthright and admit that I couldn't follow the damn plot. There is a document that needs to be signed, a seemingly sebaceous inheritance waiting to be collected, a randy motorist, a phantom chauffeur, a covey of vixens (whose naughty bits remain veiled from sight), a blinking eye (don't ask), and worst of all, an ending that ruins any chances of supernatural horseplay from happening. That's right; The Murder Mystery is a 90-minute episode of Scooby-Doo. Lame. But as I admonished you, I'm not the target demographic. I swear that I'm part-Italian, though. You should see me raze a bowl of rigatoni.
No comments:
Post a Comment