The early 1980s saw Britain gripped by a wave of moral panic similar to the hysteria that shook 1950s America concerning the content of EC's horror comics. Only this time, it was a batch of gruesome B-movies from the 1970s that were aggravating the blue-nosed guardians of public decency as well as the government and certain over-zealous members of the police force. These were the days of the 'video nasty', when the likes of Wes Craven's Last House on the Left, Meir Zarchi's I Spit On Your Grave and Sam Raimi's the Evil Dead were available to rent, uncut and uncensored, from your local friendly video library. The tabloid press had a field day, comparing video dealers to drug pushers, whipping up a good old-fashioned frenzy of moral panic among their readers and (naturally) offering blow-by-blow descriptions of the goriest, sleaziest scenes from these oh-so-shocking films in case anyone was left wondering what all the fuss was about.
This was the climate into which the 'controversial' (in so far as he ignored politically correct concerns, enjoyed the company of scantily-clad women on his programmes and thought no joke was too tasteless or too obvious to pass up - and often made use of pantomime blood and gore effects that even Monty Python would have balked at) comedian Kenny Everett released his one and only feature film, Bloodbath at the House of Death. Yes, the legendary 'Ev' chose to release a gory, smutty, lip-smackingly excessive horror spoof - just as the genuine articles were being impounded, banned and burned, lest they fall into the hands of impressionable tots. That, along with the ever-cautious British Board of Film Censors' decision to award it an 18 certificate (meaning Everett's fan-base of school-kids and young teens couldn't get into the cinemas to see it), an almost unanimous critical mauling (Kim Newman's excellent reference work, Nightmare Movies, describes Bloodbath as "excruciating") and the simple fact that none of Everett's best-known characters (Gizzard Puke, Sid Snot, Cupid Stunt etc) don't get so much as a look-in, meant that Bloodbath was a monumental flop - and Everett's film career was as short-lived as some of the characters herein.
The disconcerting thing about Bloodbath is that it doesn't really know what it wants to be. There's none of the fast-paced, joke-a-second, semi-hysterical mayhem that marked the best of Everett's television work, and (surprisingly for a film scripted by Barry Cryer) there are very few actual jokes - indeed, when director Ray Cameron presents the viewer (in the opening moments) with a barrage of shockingly violent murders, shot and staged in a bizarrely straight-faced manner, one has to wonder what on earth is going on. And the remainder of the film doesn't offer a great deal of laughs either.
Outside of some amusing set-pieces, like the much-discussed Carrie-inspired decapitation by can-opener, Everett's short-tempered surgeon yanking the innards out of his patient to hurl at his derisive colleagues, the use of John Williams' ominous theme from Jaws (the punchline to this bit is best left to the adventurous viewer) and virtually every moment spent in the company of a deliriously hammy Vincent Price, Bloodbath is a dour and po-faced affair indeed, saddled with rather too much genuine tastelessness (Pamela Stephenson rapidly coming to enjoy being raped by a poltergeist, for example) and the most feeble of finales to make much of an impact. The plot - what there is of it - is simply forgotten halfway, and Everett isn't given nearly enough screen time, which is a real shame given the talent for (admittedly broad) characterisation his best television work displayed.
For the record, the executive producer Laurence Myers was also responsible for the nerve-shreddingly awful Gary Glitter vehicle 'Remember Me This Way', the low-budget glam-rock ragbag 'Never Too Young To Rock' and the oddly entertaining seventies time capsule 'Side By Side'. Not exactly an impressive track record, but at least he was well used to backing losers by the time Bloodbath came out.