By Ray Walton

Released in 1940, The House of Seven Gables adapts Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel into a studio-era gothic melodrama shaped more by inheritance and resentment than by overt supernatural horror. Produced during a period when Hollywood gothic leaned toward atmosphere and moral decay, the film emphasizes family legacy, generational grievance, and the psychological weight of place.

While often grouped with horror due to its cursed-house premise and shadowed aesthetics, the film operates primarily as a drama of bloodlines and unresolved history. Its supernatural elements function less as terror and more as symbolic punctuation, reflecting a studio approach that favored mood and performance over sustained fright.

I love Twice-Told Tales, especially its final segment, which presents a highly condensed adaptation of this novel. While I question why that anthology chose to compress a full-length story when Hawthorne wrote so many short works, its quirky charm works well within that low-budget but endearing trilogy. Comparing that segment to this film feels like comparing apples and oranges. The only real connection between the two is Vincent Price.

This version focuses far more on the family feud than on horror. When supernatural moments do appear, they feel almost like undercooked afterthoughts, occasionally edging into unintended comedy. As much as I love Vincent Price, the strongest performance here belongs to Margaret Lindsay. Her portrayal of Hepzibah is genuinely impressive, charting a transformation from hopeful eccentric to hardened, bitter woman through subtle shifts in posture, wardrobe, and tone.

George Sanders is unmistakably George Sanders. He delivers exactly what one expects, which works well enough for the role, though it does little to surprise. Ultimately, the film succeeds more as a story about inheritance and resentment than as a tale of curses. The idea of the curse itself feels underdeveloped, and with stronger execution, it could have carried far more weight.

Why tonight?

Because this is a film about inherited bitterness, and winter nights have a way of making old grievances echo.

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