American pop singer Nick Cooper returns to England to resurrect his singing career, after being in a six-years relationship that just ended. His recording manager gets him a quiet old vacation house run by two elderly folks, so he can concentrate on his musical comeback and sweet talk his manager's secretary. However every night he spends there he's plagued by horrifying screaming, and a rotten corpse that looks like his former misses, and it only gets more stranger and unnerving until he finally cracks under the anxiety. Unknowingly to Nick, just after he left to England his ex-wife is brutally murdered and left to rot in his play house.
My first taste of director Pete Walker's exploitation/horror forays almost didn't eventuate. My luck the tape I had of "The Comeback" was that of bad quality, as the sound was hissing and the screen was rolling. After twenty minutes of that distraction, I was about give up and in the bin it would go. However it came through, and I could finally watch it
clearly.
Now the movie itself is a grim, unpleasant little mysterious psycho-shocker presentation with very little in the way of surprises and even jolts, as it goes about things in a conservative manner. Walker's direction is dry, subdued with only small moments of fast outbursts. There was potential within, but the kitsch-like premise can stumble into silliness and become convoluted, while the red herrings aren't particularly useful, but Walker springs up few imaginative images and effectively creepy and inspired set pieces that do rally up some mindless fun. The death scenes are minor, but still they pack a punch due to the fact they are gruesome, sudden and jarring in detail. Even the setting of house comes off eerie, and a Gothic atmospheric tenor is released with good use of foreboding sound FXs. The music score trickles with an understated chilliness, but still has a sting in its tail and agile cinematography feels like it's on a leash as it follows the figure with different angles and framings. The pacing can stall too often, with a stop and go approach. The talky material plays the usual "Am I going insane" trump with clichéd predictability, but that dozy of a climax is one over-the-top revelation that you don't see coming. Suspense has no say and it never draws upon building any, because everything is mostly telegraphed. The characters are an odd bunch and the acting comes off admirably well. A likable Jack Jones is sound enough and the ravishing Pamela Stevenson is satisfyingly good. David Doyle is enjoyable as the recording manager and Shelia Keith's glassy turn is professionally convincing.
Odd, ghastly British horror fable that can't escape its plain and ponderous style.
