Robert Bloch's most terrifying entry, "Waxworks" is the eerie setting for a series of murders seemingly perpetrated by the wax figures of famous killers throughout history. At least that is the belief of Colonel Andre Bertroux (Martin Kosleck), formerly of the French Surete, who has followed its bloody trail of death all over Europe since the end of WW2. The chilling proprietor is Pierre Jacquelin (Oscar Homolka), assisted by his attractive daughter Annette (Antoinette Bower, previously in "The Return of Andrew Bentley"), who, strangely enough, are not under suspicion by the Colonel. The story received a complete makeover in 1970 as the second of four Bloch stories in the British anthology film "The House That Dripped Blood." In this Amicus feature directed by longtime genre fan Peter Duffell, the focus is not on the waxworks proprietor played by Wolfe Morris, but on the lonely existence of the never-married patron played by Peter Cushing (actually, a far more faithful adaptation of the original short story). Like episode 41 "The Weird Tailor," another sterling THRILLER that wound up remade as the second story in 1972's "Asylum," time constraints meant that neither remake could hold a candle to the small screen versions, although both features were certainly among the best anthologies to come from Amicus. The sterling cast in episode 53 includes Alan Baxter, previously seen as another lawman in "The Watcher," Booth Colman, previously seen as a suspicious hotel desk clerk in "Man in the Cage," playing the investigating lieutenant, a scene-stealing turn from J. Pat O'Malley as the morgue attendant, and also the young Ron Ely, future Tarzan of the TV airwaves, as the amorous detective who gets more than he bargained for. Blink and you might miss the silent bit from Harry Wilson (from the title role in 1958's "Frankenstein's Daughter"), later seen in another silent part in "The Innocent Bystanders," standing in as the very first wax figure murderer, complete with upraised knife. Martin Kosleck, of course, was an old genre veteran from the 1940's, who gained a measure of everlasting stardom playing one of the most despicable, cold-blooded villains in cinema history in the 1962 cult classic "The Flesh Eaters," an exquisitely made example of imaginative filmmakers overcoming the limitations of a low budget production. To the end of his life, Kosleck's phone number remained listed in the Los Angeles directory.