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5.2/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 5.2/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. The House of a Thousand Candles remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you have a soft spot for 1930s black-and-white mysteries that move at the pace of a slow-moving turtle, maybe. If you want something that actually makes sense by the third act, stay far away. It’s for the folks who like old-timey hats and people whispering in corners.
Honestly, the whole thing feels like a stage play where they forgot to build more than one set. It’s just people walking into rooms, looking surprised, and then walking out again.
Phillips Holmes looks like he's constantly trying to remember if he left the stove on at home. He's supposed to be a diplomat, but he mostly just reacts to things Mae Clarke does. She’s fine, I guess, but they have the chemistry of two people waiting for a bus that's already twenty minutes late.
There is this one scene—I think it’s halfway through—where someone is talking about a coded message. I swear they talk for ten minutes without actually saying anything useful. It’s just exposition vomit. You can almost see the actors looking for the nearest exit.
It reminded me a bit of the suffocating tension in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, but without the cool slanted walls or the nightmare fuel. Here, everything is just… beige. Even the suspense.
There’s a part where a door creaks, and I actually laughed out loud. It was so stereotypical I thought I was watching a parody. But no, they were playing it totally straight. That’s the real tragedy here.
Is it better than When London Sleeps? Hard to say. Both feel like they were made during a nap. I think I preferred the hats in this one, though.
Don't look for deep meaning. It isn't here. It’s just a bunch of people moving props around a room until the credits finally roll. 🕯️