Tis the season of horror, as it’s Halloween, which we celebrate in this house by turning off all the lights and pretending not to be in. (We look forward to it every year. It’s nice occasionally to go bed at around 5 p.m. and pretend not to be in.) But I thought I’d show willing by at least reviewing a horror film so it’s Doctor Jekyll, starring Eddie Izzard. It’s the latest from Hammer, which you didn’t know was still around, but is.

I have a fondness for these films as they were always on TV during my teenage years, with Peter Cushing creeping around some crypt, hammy and campy – ‘Good heavens, man! The lady you saw has been dead for 300 years!’ – rather than terrifying. Doctor Jekyll, however, is so basic and plodding that even I, squeamish as I am, was hoping a bludgeoning would happen soon.

Hammer has changed hands quite a few times since its Vincent Price/Peter Cushing/Christopher Lee heyday – ‘I won’t be back…but something will!’ – and is now owned by the suitably named theatre impresario John Gore. Directed by Joe Stephenson, the film stars Scott Chambers as Rob, an ex-junkie who has just done time for a burglary. He has a baby daughter whom he has never seen, as she was born when he was in prison, and is sick in hospital, perhaps terminally.

You think the penal system is too soft in this country? Get this: one of the conditions of his parole is that even though his daughter may well be dying (leukaemia), he can’t visit her unless he has a stable job. This is why he is desperate to find work and hang on to it, and ends up as a carer for Dr Nina Jekyll. This promises to offer ‘a new twist’ to the tale, which, I suppose, amounts to Jekyll now being a woman, as played by Izzard who is ‘gender fluid’. Yet as this doesn’t feed into the story in any way, or bring any depth – I don’t want much depth; just a hint – it feels random rather than meaningful.

This Dr Jekyll is a reclusive pharmaceutical billionaire who lives in an isolated mansion where, in this instance, the (bad) paintings are of greyhounds with bloodied rabbits at their feet. Rob’s first encounter is with the stern, ice-cold housekeeper, played by Lindsay Duncan, who has now reached the stern, ice-cold housekeeper stage of her career. (Happens to us all; Mrs Danvers awaits every woman.)

Dr Jekyll has a blonde ponytail and walks with a limp and speaks obtusely and, gawd, it’s slow. The running time is only 90 minutes but for the first hour it’s just Rob pootling around the house and a few non-scary jump scares as drums drum and cellos thrum. If not a bludgeoning, could someone at least stub a toe?

Dr Jekyll does, eventually, finally, reveal her murderous alter ego, Rachel Hyde, who appears when she smokes a cigarette that burns green at the end, but we’re also told she inherited this condition from her grandfather, the original Henry Jekyll, so which is it? Inherited, or some drug in the funny cigarette? I couldn’t make head or tail of it.

Towards the end it becomes a home-invasion yarn, as well as a body-possession one, and someone’s innards do splatter up a window pane – at last! – but by then I was in a bit of a coma. The dialogue is mostly rudimentary, and doesn’t mine any nostalgia beyond the retro titles. Chambers’ performance isn’t bad exactly, but his character is so damp and hapless you’ll want to bludgeon him to death yourself, while Izzard often favours the panto route. You’re better off staying at home while pretending not to be in. It’s a lot more fun.