If anyone takes this film seriously they need to question their reality. If you take it instead as a half-scary, half-humorous dream where a painting talks a woman to death and a death bed drinks Pepto Bismol, there are images and atmosphere to reward your experience.
It's hard to fathom just what the hell they were thinking when they cobbled together this $30,000 disaster. The absurdity of it all feels a lot like one of those episode-long Monty Python's Flying Circus sketches, only they were serious. This is like the Samurai Cop of horror movies... outrageous and hilarious.
This was such a perfect combination of everything I love about stupid 70s movies that I almost can't believe it. A constant delight tbh, from the weirdly earnest undertones (mostly provided by a consumptive Fauxbrey Beardsley trapped behind a painting forever?) to the weirdly mythical (and yet only 19th century) backstory, to the dream sequences and obv the fact that a freaking bed eats people. Bless this movie