Alan Birkinshaw enjoys the distinction of directing two Edgar Allan Poe adaptations in South Africa in 1989: Masque of the Red Death and The House of Usher. But only one dared put Frank Stallone’s name atop its poster!
It wasn’t this one.
Set in the present day, Birkinshaw’s House opens with Ryan Usher (Rufus Swart, River of Death) and his fiancée, Molly (Romy Windsor, Howling IV: The Original Nightmare), being invited to the titular, palatial estate by his enigmatic uncle, Roderick Usher (Oliver Reed, Burnt Offerings). Despite never having met the guy, Ryan and Molly go anyway.
Ulterior motive alert: Being the last of his lineage, Ol’ Roderick feels an urgent need to seed, and views Molly as his perfect bride/birthing vessel. Like Olive Garden, Roderick operates from the mindset of “When you’re here, you’re family,” assuming Olive Garden still performs mandatory pelvic floor exams at the table.
That’s just the start of the craziness under this House’s roof. A visiting physician loses his penis to a gnawing rat. Living in a hidden room, a sooty Donald Pleasence (Nothing Underneath) has an electric drill bolted to his forearm. Going so hammy that Jewish and Muslim populations may be forbidden from viewing, Reed’s Roderick humps Molly in the shower with pained thrusts that suggest he’s struggling to move a divan up a flight of stairs.
The travails of a Harry Alan Towers budget are apparent, with the Usher estate’s interior rather cramped, dressed and blocked like a sitcom set. (Somehow, the place looked more spacious in Masque.) Elsewhere, in the family crypt, stone tombs are clearly Styrofoam. More gaudy than Gothic, this House of Usher falls in on itself in credibility, especially with one of those “JK!” cheat endings. —Sir Roderick Lott