I assume the real estate listing for this film’s titular abode would go something like this: “Spacious Rochester Castle, private drive, lakeside view, 50 doors, basement dungeons, built-in elevator and black cat. Full disclosure: is damned.”
In the hourlong House of the Damned, architect Scott Campbell (Ron Foster, Private Lessons) has been hired to do a survey of the California place, abandoned without notice by a crazy old heiress. It’s a weekend of work, so Scott brings along not only its ring of 13 keys, but his wife, Nancy (Merry Anders, Legacy of Blood).
“Isn’t this something?” Scott says upon crossing the threshold, to which Nancy replies, “If you like Early Dracula!”
Vampires are nowhere to be seen, but while the Campbells snooze, some … thing hobbles into the bedroom. I won’t reveal the castle’s altogether-ooky secrets; I’ll only say that although 7-foot-2 Richard Kiel (007’s Jaws) is among the cast, he is not among its strangest.
The black-and-white B picture generates a great deal of good-natured fun from its unusual take on the haunted-house premise and William Castle-esque sensibilities. Directed by Maury Dexter (Raiders from Beneath the Sea) and written by Harry Spalding (Curse of the Fly), it makes for a slight, but efficient sleeper from the separate-beds era. —Rod Lott
Legend has it — at least within the realm of Surrender Cinema/Full Moon’s ultra-cheap skin flicks — that deep in the wild exists a strange yet voluptuous creature named 
The team finds and snares the mute Shandra (Lisa Throw, aka Neena Quiroz, 
It’s also not without a multitude of problems, leading one to wonder things like:
Here’s a textbook example of a true exploitation film: an on-the-cheap word of warning on any given “social ill” (in this case, racism) that engages in the very subject it claims to decry. The opening three minutes of 
Together, they hold hands, laugh hysterically at nothing, express their love in voice-over and have lots of unprotected sex. They don’t have conversations per se; they speak in despair-drenched soliloquies so serious, you’d think they’re aching to set them to iambic pentameter.