Leave it to William Castle to turn a triple homicide into the basis for a comedy. The result is The Spirit Is Willing, a dispiriting effort from the usually reliable director. In fact, of all his films since Castle became a name brand with 1958’s Macabre, this is the only one I’ve seen that wasn’t at least mildly fun to watch. Even taking his minor works into account, from Zots! to Shanks, I didn’t think such an un-feat were possible.

At the same time, I wish it no ill will, because it’s entirely harmless and full of the good-naturedness that made Castle a matinee hero. Its focus is on a lovely, coastal, 19th-century home haunted by the ghosts of Ebenezer, Felicity and Jenny — a love triangle between a greedy man, his ugly wife and their attractive maid, all of whom kill one another in the jaunty, played-for-laughs prologue.

The trio of mute spirits has scared away residents for ages — depicted in a crudely drawn credit sequence — and the latest arrival is the Powell family, on an extended vacation: worrisome magazine editor Ben (Sid Caesar); his subservient wife, Kate (Vera Miles, Psycho); and their temperamental teenage son, Steve (Barry Gordon, The Girl Can’t Help It). As soon as the Powells move in, the ghosts get to work wreaking havoc, and Steve angrily shoulders the blame for all the damaged antiques and even sinking his uncle’s yacht.

With guest turns from John Astin, Harvey Lembeck and Doodles Weaver, Spirit offers nothing that merits more than the rare, occasional smile. In fact, from today’s perspective, Steve’s outbursts are so violent, they provoked stress and discomfort in this viewer. For ghosts swirling around the heads of befuddled characters, Castle offered 13 of ’em in a far superior spookshow. This one’s just a rare misfire for the man. —Rod Lott

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Looking like Reese Witherspoon with actual breasts, Lindsay Bloom (TV’s The New Mike Hammer) fronts the sexy, saucy and supremely silly hick pic Sixpack Annie. The young filly drives a beat-up Ford pickup truck whose seat she often shares with pull-tab cans of Miller nestled snugly in a dirty Styrofoam cooler. And she’s so hot, I’ll forgive the title’s error of not self-hyphenating.

The AIP cornpone comedy focuses on Annie’s attempts to save her aunt’s diner, where Annie waitresses in short shorts, from bank foreclosure. Her solution is simple: Just find a “sugar daddy.” In the small town of — ahem — Titwillow where she lives, works, drinks, trespasses, skinny-dips and speeds, the pickings are as slim as her waist, although everyone wants to bed her. That includes the guy they call Long John, whose license plate reads “9 INCHES.”

So Annie and her BFF Mary Lou (Jana Bellan, American Graffiti) head to Miami Beach to land a rich man, and take tips from Annie’s sister (Louisa Moritz, Death Race 2000), who works there as a flatulent, busty hooker. The jokes wrung out of every situation are goofy, sometimes stooping to the level of literally banana-peel humor. But damned if Bloom doesn’t go at it whole-hog, injecting the white-trash shenanigans with as much bubbly effervescence as the periodic bottle of Dr Pepper. The soda giant must’ve paid for the product placement, because it’s practically a supporting character.

Plus, Sixpack Annie boasts the best ending in motion-picture history, when the Titwillow sheriff (Joe Higgins, Flipper) puts on his hat and doesn’t realize Mary Lou has filled it with milk! And then he walks into a midget (Billy Barty) carrying a tray of cream pies, causing the desserts to smash in the little guy’s face! And then the angry dwarf gets revenge by smashing a pie into the sheriff’s face! And the sheriff is so mad that steam practically shoots out his ears! (Should I have added “spoiler alert” before all that?)

Also, there’s a song called “Them Red Hot Nuts.” —Rod Lott

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