If Anna Thomas is anxious to establish a reputation as a filmmaker separate from that achieved by her authorship of vegetarian cookbooks, it might be perceived as unwise to start off her first film with shots of vegetables. One is inclined to extend to her the charity normally reserved for all shoestring independent filmmakers, and to take out one's irritation on critic Roger Ebert and the relentless horn-tooting he has done for a movie that scarcely approaches professional standards (proposed title change: The Amateurville Horror). The turn-of-the-century trappings seem an unreasonable burden to place on actors of questionable credentials who are inserted like dressmaker's dummies into tableaux vivants and given extremely meager dialogue to play with. The editing, even more than the writing, lacks rhythm. There is something mechanical (if that word can be used without connotations of precision and regularity) about Thomas's breaking-up of static compositions with unmotivated closeups of this face or that face, this object or that object. And this sputtering rhythm is fatal in a genre as frail as the ghost story. (1980) — Duncan Shepherd
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