The Ghastly Ones is the kind of film that makes you appreciate the subtle artistry of a malfunctioning smoke alarm. Directed by Andy Milligan, a man whose camera skills rival the steadiness of a caffeine-addicted squirrel, this 1968 “Video Nasty” is a masterclass in stretching a micro budget until it screams for mercy.
Three sisters and their husbands are summoned to a decrepit mansion on a remote island to hear their late father’s will, which, in a stroke of legal genius, requires them to spend three days “in sexual harmony” to inherit his fortune. This premise alone makes you question the entire property law concept, not just the script. As the couple attempt to fulfil this bizarre clause, a mysterious killer begins picking them off, marking victims with a bloody X and unleashing a parade of bargain basement gore.
The performances range from wooden to plywood, with the cast delivering lines as if reading IKEA instructions in a blackout. The characters are so insipid that even their deaths struggle to evoke emotion unless you count the laughter that erupts when a Sno Ball pastry stands in for an eyeball. Neil Flanagan, caked in talcum powder to play an “old” lawyer, deserves a special mention for his commitment to unintentional comedy.
Ever the Renaissance man, Milligan supplied the costumes himself, courtesy of his clothing shop, Raffine. The result? A period piece where 1800s dresses are swapped for see-through nylon teddies at the first whiff of frisky business. The set looks like it was decorated by someone who’s only seen haunted houses on children’s television, and the camera work is so erratic you’ll wonder if the cinematographer was being chased by the killer, too.
What truly earned The Ghastly Ones its infamous “video nasty” badge was its unapologetic, if sporadic, bursts of mutilation and sadism. The gore is both liberal and laughable, the infamous leg slicing scene and when someone is “sawn in half” are executed (pun intended) with such ineptitude that they’re almost endearing. You’ll miss the violence but have plenty of time to nap during the endless dialogue.
The film is peppered with moments of accidental hilarity; the hunchbacked Colin, who is so obviously the red herring that you expect him to start twirling a moustache. Not to mention, the killer’s big reveal, which is both nonsensical and interminable. Plus, dialogue exchanges so awkward they could be used as torture devices. At one point, you can even hear Milligan himself yelling “Get down!” during a fire stunt, proving that breaking the fourth wall can be a survival tactic.
While The Ghastly Ones is narratively sluggish, technically inept, and visually shambolic, it’s oddly lovable. It’s a film made by friends who clearly had more enthusiasm than talent, and that spirit shines through the fog of poor decisions and fake blood. Its place in censorship history is secure, not because it’s genuinely shocking, but because it’s a fascinating relic of a time when VHS artwork could get you banned faster than actual content. Claimed as being the “work of morons with cameras” in Stephen King’s Danse Macabre book.
The Ghastly Ones is a must-see for connoisseurs of cinematic calamity. It’s a slog that occasionally rewards your patience with moments of accidental brilliance laced with no small amount of jaw-dropping incompetence. If you’re looking for genuine scares, look elsewhere. But if you want to experience the kind of movie that makes you grateful for the invention of the fast-forward button, this is your golden ticket.
