At a high-society London party, the beautiful French model Anne-Marie (Penny Irving) finds herself humiliated when her boyfriend unveils a large photograph of her being arrested for exposing her breasts in public. Among the guests is Mark E. Desade (Robert Tayman), who notices her embarrassment and seizes the opportunity with some smooth talk. Soon, he convinces Anne-Marie to accompany him to the countryside, where his parents live. But his intentions are far from what one might expect. Upon arrival, Anne-Marie is trapped by a group of religious moralists who believe in punishing and whipping young women to ensure they never commit indecency again.
The 1960s and 1970s were golden years for British horror cinema, primarily led by Hammer Horror starting in 1958. However, other studios like Amicus and Tigon also joined the wave. One of the more independent outliers was Peter Walker (Heritage) Ltd., the production company through which Pete Walker released his films. While Walker’s style shares some similarities with Hammer, his films were cheaper to produce and often contained more sexual content. Many critics categorize his work as low-budget sexploitation films.
Given this, it’s no surprise that Norwegian censors banned House of Whipcord. The combination of sex and violence was one of the biggest taboos for Norwegian moralists at the time. This makes the film’s opening text all the more amusing:
“This film is dedicated to those who are disturbed by today’s lax moral codes and who eagerly await the return of corporal and capital punishment.”
A clear jab at those who impose their own morality onto others, it serves as a deliberately ironic statement. However, Pete Walker was never a political filmmaker—for him, films were simply entertainment, not a vehicle for social messages. Yet, despite his lack of political ambition, House of Whipcord still feels like a direct slap in the face to Christian moral crusaders who take their judgment too far.
Many of Pete Walker’s films feature sadistic authority figures, such as priests, judges, and politicians, who abuse their power over their victims. It’s no wonder his films alarmed Norwegian censors at the time. Perhaps they felt personally attacked? Even in Sweden, the VHS release carried the humorous title Tukthuset (which translates to “The Reformatory”) and included the following tagline:
“This film would never be allowed to be shown in Sweden due to Swedish censorship.”
Clearly, I’m not the first to have such thoughts. The VHS edition even had a 20-year age restriction in Sweden.
Despite its provocative title, which suggests sadomasochistic themes, and its sleazy reputation, House of Whipcord is far tamer than expected. Especially when compared to American exploitation films of the late 1970s, it’s surprisingly restrained. Watching it today, one might even be taken aback by how much emphasis is placed on atmosphere and suspense rather than nudity and sleaze. In fact, this is a genuinely eerie horror film filled with tension and dread.
House of Whipcord is among Pete Walker’s most famous films and one of his best works. While it’s certainly not a masterpiece, it is a well-crafted film that manages to entertain and surprise with its small plot twists and unexpected turns. Walker’s direction is solid, Stanley Myers’ score is atmospheric, and the acting is decent. Notably, Ann Michelle, who plays one of the victims, is the scantily clad sister of Vicki Michelle, later known for ‘Allo ‘Allo. Meanwhile, Stanley Myers would go on to achieve fame in 1978 with the song Cavatina from The Deer Hunter—a melody you’ll instantly recognize when you hear it.
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