Apart from a few of the more elementary text- book frissons, there is really nothing here to write home about.

"Don't Go in the House" is a decent entry in the serial killer genre, although it never reaches real originality, Grimaldi's performance and that one 'burned alive' death scene raises it to a semi-memorable status.

Looks at a man damaged by the psychopathy of his mother, and also encapsulates the '70s fading in the rear-view while 1980 reared its head.

The violence it depicts is not nearly as off-putting as the perfunctory misogyny the film evinces, and even that isn't half so obscene as the ridiculously shabby quality of the whole thing.