Oh, don't be such a sissy!

The Haunted House of Horror (Michael Armstrong)

What sounded like camp, spooky fun actually does start well - looking rather pretty in it's very dated 60s way: lots of boutiques, big hair'd skinny girls and even girlier (but not always) pretty boys. Granted, the acting is a bit laboured but we shouldn't expect too much from a 'Tigon' production - apart from giving us such classic (and somewhat undervalued) chillers as Witchfinder General and Blood on Satan's Claw, it's really not too unkind to say 'Tigon' was a poor cousin to 'Hammer' and 'Amicus'.
But all hope of some fun or chills is lost when you realise no-one bothered to make any effort at all. Zero screenplay/plot/direction/logic! Lazy and pointless doesn't even cover it.
The gist of the story beggars belief: their 'groovy' party gets boring so they decide to move on to an old derelict house that's reputed to be haunted (of course). A seance is suggested (it was either that or an orgy). More accurately, they hold hands and stare at each other until a door creaks. They split up to investigate the noise, when one of them is hacked to death. Much hysterics (by the girls) and face-slapping (by the girly boys) ensues. Instead of leaving the house and calling the police they decide to bury the corpse of the man who was previously their friend. And not tell anyone... for absolutely no reason at all. Well, except that one of them convinces the others that it just has to be one of them that did the deed (well of course it is). So now it all makes sense...?? Ahem...
For the rest of the flic the players carry on bumping into each other, aimlessly wandering about; all with no conceivable purpose beyond being hysterical, or looking nervous, or bored (managing a combination of all three would have been far too much to ask for I imagine). Along the way, poor Denis Price pops up. Hoorah! Then, for a handful of scenes, he sleepwalks in an utterly redundant part and then promptly disappears again (in search of his agent I don't doubt).
It all climaxes with Frankie Avalon getting stabbed in the cock (I kid you not) when the least scariest killer in the history of cinema is revealed - who is then stopped in his limp-wristed rampage when the lights go out, causing him to run off in hysterics, screeching into the night... because he's terrified of the dark (?!).
I would have wondered here that maybe someone was overcompensating for an ambivalent audience with a bit of a joke ("last one to the exits is a rotten bit-part in a stinker of a film") but I was already nodding off and wondering how many people did the makers seriously think would have been left in the theatre at this point.
Where's Terence Fisher when you need him?

The trailer promises an "orgy of horror". The liars!