Rather tame, tepid screamer from American International, one with a PG rating and a cast full of weary oldsters and bland female murder victims. Vincent Price would seem to be snugly cast as the star of the "Dr. Death" horror movie series, coaxed back to the role after a 12-year hiatus following the unsolved slaying of his fiancée at a Hollywood party, who may be blacking out and killing people for real. But Price can barely summon up the energy to get through this leaden picture, and--what with clammy British locations and plodding set-ups--viewers can hardly blame him. Director Jim Clark can't seem to get anything right, not the scenes utilizing old movie clips nor the unravelling of Price's sanity. Showing us the actor's back teeth as he screams in shock, Clark is exploiting Price (just as he exploits Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff in the clips), feasting on the star's sagging, hairy face in unflattering close-ups. It's a hack job, made by hacks and actors in need of their paychecks, with a quasi-campy tone that is never acknowledged and shoddy cinematography worse than any television series of the era. *1/2 from ****
Review of Madhouse
