As many glamorous models do, Valerie (Andrea Allen, Old Dracula) exhibits terrible taste in men; her boyfriend, Terry (Alex Leppard, Crowley), is a two-bit thief whose idea of a date is taking Valerie with him to a remote mansion in the woods … and ordering her to stay in the car while he goes for a little B&E. Bored, she disobeys and joins him. Inside the house, the two have to hide in a closet upon realizing they’re not alone. From their vantage point, they watch in terror as a busty prostitute (Barbara Meale, Sex and the Other Woman) is brutally murdered by a man they cannot see, beyond the genre-appropriate black leather gloves covering his grabby, stabby hands.
A horrified Valerie hightails it outta there. The next day, Terry’s car shows up, but Terry himself does not. Nor does he later, and given the circumstances, it’s not exactly the kind of disappearance she can report to the police. In an attempt to locate him, friends accompany Valerie to the scene of the crime … if only she could find it. Why, it’s as if they’re looking for The House That Vanished.
That title is a bit of a ruse, as House does not reside in the realm of the supernatural, where so many of director José Ramón Larraz’s best-known works do, including Black Candles and Vampyres, to name only two. That’s not to say he’s out of his element, but with the Spanish filmmaker shooting British actors in British locations, one could make the case that screenwriter Derek Ford (Don’t Open Till Christmas) possesses a greater claim of authorship. In Larraz’s favor, The House That Vanished noticeably bears a dominant stamp of suspense, although hardly “in the great Hitchcock tradition” shouted by its ad campaign.
However, if you want to talk Hitchcock blondes, Allen is as functional as Tippi Hedren and as gorgeous as Kim Novak. Vanished (also released under the nonsensical and overly punctuated title of Scream — and Die!) gives her nearly every frame to fill, which she does with considerable allure and enough aplomb. Her Grace — er, grace — makes up for deficiencies elsewhere, such as a herring so red, it’s sunburned. —Rod Lott
Any vampire film carrying the tagline “In space, the sun never rises” should be approached with considerable caution. After all, the sun doesn’t need to rise, because where but space does that flaming ball of gas sit? 
We’re not playing the game, it’s playing us! A harmless game of “Truth or Dare” among friends turns deadly when someone — or something — begins to punish those who tell a lie–or refuse the dare. Blumhouse’s Truth or Dare, starring Lucy Hale (Pretty Little Liars) and Tyler Posey (Teen Wolf) opens in theaters Friday the 13th! 
Many a 1980s teen comedy chronicled the wacky lengths to which horny teens would go on their quest to lose their virginity. Today, those boys and girls — and the real-life boys and girls who viewed those movies on HBO and VHS, often surreptitiously — are adults and have become parents of their own sex-crazed children, so it makes sense for 21st-century Hollywood to turn the well-worn trope on its, um, head. In fact, Blockers may be the first film to focus on Mom and Dad’s efforts to rein in the young ones’ genitalia.
Intercepting the girls’ emoji-laden group text of penetration plans, their respective parents (