There were several small companies that tried to emulate the magic of the Hammer studios. One such company was Tyburn, the backers of this 1975 Psycho clone. However, The Ghoul is an extremely disappointing horror entry in which the performances of Peter Cushing and John Hurt are the only noteworthy factors. The story is drearily predictable and stupid; the shocks are infrequent and ineffective; the gore is funny rather than frightening; the solution to the mystery is laughable. Much of the problem is that The Ghoul is trying to maintain an old-school approach to the horror genre whilst existing in an exploitation-hungry, post-Exorcist climate. It's an approach which simply doesn't work.
A group of young partying socialites in the 1920s decide to challenge each other to a late night car race to Land's End. They speed off into the foggy moorlands on their foolhardy journey, but it is not long before one lot of car passengers find themselves stranded after running out of fuel. The lost ones seek refuge in a spooky-looking mansion, but are warned by the gardener Rawlings (John Hurt) to keep away. Not listening to the advice of the unbalanced gardener, the travellers soon find themselves in the company of the seemingly harmless ex-clergyman Dr. Lawrence (Peter Cushing). Mayhem ensues however as the youngsters are bloodily murdered, forcing Lawrence to admit that he has been keeping a terrible secret. It seems that years ago in India, his son was corrupted by cultists and is now a cannibalistic monster kept hidden in the mansion's attic. It is this cannibal - the "ghoul" of the title - who is behind the gory slayings.
The Ghoul is poor fare indeed, though Cushing fans should watch it for one scene alone. It is well-documented that Cushing was in real life suicidally depressed following the death of his wife Helen in the early '70s - in the scene where Dr. Lawrence looks at a photograph and says "my wife is dead..." the photo used is actually of Helen, and the anguish on his face and in his voice is very real. Cushing always maintained that one of his fondest memories of working on The Ghoul was the fact that, in a strange and posthumous sort of way, it gave him the chance to finally star alongside his beloved wife. It is a touching and powerful moment in a film largely filled with dross. Freddie Francis directs it all rather morosely, struggling to do anything with the derivative script and boring situations. The music by Harry Robinson is dull too, and the whole enterprise has an uninvolving, uninspired gloom hanging over it. For genre addicts only!
A group of young partying socialites in the 1920s decide to challenge each other to a late night car race to Land's End. They speed off into the foggy moorlands on their foolhardy journey, but it is not long before one lot of car passengers find themselves stranded after running out of fuel. The lost ones seek refuge in a spooky-looking mansion, but are warned by the gardener Rawlings (John Hurt) to keep away. Not listening to the advice of the unbalanced gardener, the travellers soon find themselves in the company of the seemingly harmless ex-clergyman Dr. Lawrence (Peter Cushing). Mayhem ensues however as the youngsters are bloodily murdered, forcing Lawrence to admit that he has been keeping a terrible secret. It seems that years ago in India, his son was corrupted by cultists and is now a cannibalistic monster kept hidden in the mansion's attic. It is this cannibal - the "ghoul" of the title - who is behind the gory slayings.
The Ghoul is poor fare indeed, though Cushing fans should watch it for one scene alone. It is well-documented that Cushing was in real life suicidally depressed following the death of his wife Helen in the early '70s - in the scene where Dr. Lawrence looks at a photograph and says "my wife is dead..." the photo used is actually of Helen, and the anguish on his face and in his voice is very real. Cushing always maintained that one of his fondest memories of working on The Ghoul was the fact that, in a strange and posthumous sort of way, it gave him the chance to finally star alongside his beloved wife. It is a touching and powerful moment in a film largely filled with dross. Freddie Francis directs it all rather morosely, struggling to do anything with the derivative script and boring situations. The music by Harry Robinson is dull too, and the whole enterprise has an uninvolving, uninspired gloom hanging over it. For genre addicts only!