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House That Dripped Blood, The

Amicus commenced their anthological heyday with this four-piece affair in which over half the male cast wear cravats. The first story is the most effective, with Denholm Elliot stalked by his own literary creation – it genuinely makes you want to board up all your windows. Jon Pertwee hams things up tremendously in the final segment as a horror actor with a magic cloak (a vampiric Ingrid Pitt flapping up to Pertwee instead of using the stairs is unforgettable). In between, Christopher Lee fumbles with a witchy daughter in a well-shot tale, but Peter Cushing, alas, is frittered away in a rather dull waxworks affair that is most notable for its fish-eye dream sequences.

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