Review: The House That Screamed

Text © Richard Gary / Indie Horror Films, 2023
Images from the Internet

The House That Screamed (aka La Residencia; The Finishing School; House of Evil)
Directed by Narciso Ibáñez Serrador
J.F. Films de Distribución S.A.; Regia-Arturo González Rodríguez;
American International Pictures (AIP); Arrow Video; MVD Visual
94 / 105 minutes, 1969 / 1971 / 2023
www.ArrowVideo.com 
www.MVDVisual.com

Spanish horror films from the mid-1960 until the early 1980s tended to be a bit goofy as is their Mexican cousins (see the Santos series), but sometimes they shined like this one, being a cross between a British Hammer Film, an Italian giallo, and a bit of the gruesomeness of Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS (1975); funny thing is, many of these came out after this release.

There are two versions of this film on the Blu-ray: the theatrical release (94 minutes), and an extended one called The Finishing School. I chose to watch the longer one (105 minutes). As with many giallos, this has an international cast, such as Prussia-born Lili Palmer (d. 1986), so some people seem to be speaking English and others Spanish, but all are dubbed or redubbed into English. This gives all the speaking parts a flat sound (rather than 3D), so people in front of the camera sound the same as those further away. Unfortunately, there is a Spanish option (again, dubbed and redubbed).

Mary Maude, Lili Palmer

Taking place in the Victorian late 1800s in France, Mme. Fourneau (Palmer) strictly runs a boarding school for girls in a huge, isolated, and chained-up mansion, which seems to specialize in discipline and corporeal punishment. The feeling of this all has the vibes of Suspira (1977) and Phenomena (1985), again, both of which proceeded this film. Despite the size of the place, all the students sleep barrack-style in one room. This gives the opportunity for the viewer to see them all in underlaces, and even a corset.

Into this nearly prison comes comely Térèsa (Cristina Galbó) – pronounced Teh-RAY-sah – who is met excitedly by Fourneau’s student underling, thin and statuesque Irènée (Mary Maude, in her first yet defining film) – pronounced I-rhe-NAY) who is the school’s bully and has a killer smirk, among other traits that one might expect in this kind of film. She has a thing for Térèsa and is not afraid to hold her power over her as much as the rest of the girls (they are supposed to be teens, so I will use the term “girls” freely).

Cristina Galbó

To add to the weirdness, Fourneau’s teenage son, Luis (John Moulder-Brown) is sequestered in an upstairs room (though sneaking out to peek on the students, but then again, who would not?), though he has a budding relationship with student Isabelle (Maribel Martin).

And now, on occasion, there is the stabbing deaths. And yet, this double-dips and is also a psychological thriller, between the bullying, the discipline, and the occasional romps. Speaking of which, while there is no real nudity, there is a group shower scene where the students wear white gowns under the water, making them nearly translucent. I am assuming this has to do with the time period this was filmed, and possibly different censorship laws in España.

Palmer, John Moulder-Brown

There are a few surprises in here with the shifting of unexpected power dynamics and, naturally, murders. The body count is not high, and there is blood but no gore yet very ahead of its time, and yet the tension is usually held at quite an elevated level.

Honestly, I am not sure how much of this was filmed in a real location or studio, but it is stunning to look at the architecture and décor. Also noteworthy are the cinematography and editing. Even the lighting has a personality of its own. But just as noteworthy is the orchestral score by Waldo de los Rios.

The smirk

The technical side of the bonus material contains a brand new 2K restoration from the original negative, a High Definition (1080p). The official extras start with an English commentary by Spain-born film historian Anna Bogutaskaya. She explains the importance and influence of this film in both Spain (the first to be created specifically for worldwide distribution) and the international market, for example. What is also interesting, the discussion is about the film and its meaning, especially regarding specific scenes, with few anecdotes about, say, the actors involved. She talks about the director, and his effect on both Spanish and wider filmmaking.

There are a few new interviews. Starting off is “This Boy’s Innocence,” (24 min; in English) with actor John Moulder-Brown, discussing his character, what he brought to it, and about working with the director, Palmer, and Galbó. “All About My Mamá” (9 min; in Spanish with subtitles) features Juan Tébar, who wrote the original novella (Serrador wrote the screenplay), discussing the relationship between Luis and Fourneau. Surprisingly, as he mentions his influences, he does not mention Robert Bloch.

“The Legacy of Terror” (14 min; in Spanish with subtitles), with the director's son, Alejandro Ibáñez (Serrador died in 2019). Despite being born more than a decade after the film, Alejandro gives some nice insights on the director, and the Spanish political environment into which it was released. Then there is “Screaming the House Down” (20 min; in English), with Spanish horror expert Dr Antonio Lázaro-Reboll, discussing the history of the film and its director. Most of this has been covered by previous material. Also included is archive footage with Mary Maud (12 min; in English) from the Festival of Fantastic Films in 2012, interviewed on stage by Adrian James, giving stories about the director, how she got the role, and retells the entire plot.

With title cards to explain what the viewer is watching, there are some alternative footage (6 min) from the original Spanish theatrical version, some changed due to Spanish censorship. But even more fascinating is seeing the difference between the pre-restoration footage and this Arrow version. Along with five of the original trailers, TV and radio spots, and an Image gallery, the Blu-ray has a reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Colin Murdoch.

Despite the red herrings, I figured out the killer about halfway through, but that did not stop my enjoyment of the piece because of the “why” of the murders, which was exceedingly creepy and effective. Sure, it borrows a lot from the gothic Hammer milieu, but it also helped inspire so much more that would come later, especially from European cinema. It is just luscious.

IMDB listing HERE