To dismiss the sensitive and masterful Jay Lind as a mere "auteur" is the grossest form of insult. He is a god. TO DANCE WITH DEATH has to be the most well-crafted (or shall we say Lovecrafted?) cinema outing since "Man with the Motion Picture Camera" or "Dead Men Walk." Naturally, perennial beauty Brinke Stevens is the centerpiece of interest, and anything she does deserves reverence. But when surrounded by such inventive, Kubrick-esque touches such as lighting the entire film by candlelight (think THE SHINING meets BARRY LYNDON), she literally glows. Hang the critiques elsewhere which carp about stupid technical things like over-gain and pixilization. This is art, true horror art. This is very possibly the best film in the world to watch repeatedly and to study for its uses of location, subtlety of performance, and juxtaposition between image and sound (particularly the music. It rocks! Well, yeah, it's rock music.) And even the "bad" performance by Miles Coverdale fits in with the milieu of pervasive gloom, despair, and longing for a lunch break. PS. I win the bet.