When it comes to dead bodies, The House of Seven Corpses plays home to 993 fewer than Rob Zombie’s House of 1000 Corpses. This is an argument against the axiom of “less is more.”

In the first and only turn in the director’s chair from H.R. Pufnstuf writer Paul Harrison, the wonderful old manse of the title has remained in the Beal family for generations, despite so many members of the Beal family experiencing tragic death within its walls. The opening credits demonstrate how they came to leave this mortal coil by drowning, gunshot, hanging and other methods nefarious and felonious.

The premise isn’t very imaginative: When a crew comes to shoot a movie there about the Beals, and stays there instead of at a hotel, they befall the same fates as the family members did long ago. This comes after the discovery of such residential amenities as an on-site cemetery and secret passages, one of which leads to a room containing the Tibetian Book of the Dead and various volumes of witchcraft.

None of this comes as a surprise to Edgar Price (genre mainstay John Carradine), the grounds’ longtime caretaker and clan defender, nor should any of it come as a surprise to you. The House of Seven Corpses operates by the numbers, yet sometimes that’s okay. This is one of those cases: an average, harmless horror movie served up as comfort food. For such a promising title, it should hold more panache, more atmosphere, more thrills. That it doesn’t, however, hardly marks it for automatic write-off; the stay is pleasant enough. —Rod Lott

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Cruise ship Capt. Ashland (George Kennedy, The Naked Gun series) stands a mere three days from retirement, so you know what that means: There will be no woodworking and around-the-house puttering in his future. Not when there’s a Death Ship on the horizon!

Void of passengers but supposedly steered by ghosts, the rusty ship deliberately puts itself in harm’s way of Ashland’s party boat, ensuring a collision. The accident occurs via stock footage from at least two sources — one a third-rate Titanic TV-movie — that don’t come close to matching up with one another. The handful of survivors includes Ashland; his replacement, Marshall (Richard Crenna, Leviathan); Marshall’s wife and two kids, one of whom precociously possesses a small bladder; the band leader (Saul Rubinek, True Romance); an old lady; and a hot woman so someone can take a shower in blood later, after they all board the mysterious vessel.

See, as the title would have it, the Death Ship has a mind of its own, and has one thing on its mind: death, natch. It wastes no time in proceeding to knock off the cast members, because that’s what Nazis would do. (Oh, sorry — spoiler: The ship belonged to Nazis.)

Largely a television director, Alvin Rakoff (1979’s City on Fire) doesn’t bother with subtlety, hitting viewers on the head over and over with the Nazi angle. (We get it, Al!) When he lets up, he’s able to get some effective scenes out of his characters’ demise, particularly those that play upon the universal fears of drowning and seeing one’s face become covered in an ugly crust.

Having an old pro like Kennedy in command helps when the plot veers into turns the script makes no real effort to explain. Death Ship is a lot like Ghost Ship, the 2002 Dark Castle Entetainment picture that stole this film’s terrific poster art, but without the studio gloss — in other words, one of those cheap, haunted-house spookfests that works in spite of itself. —Rod Lott

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