When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth (1970) & Creatures the World Forgot (1971)

          Never willing to let a viable franchise go fallow, UK’s Hammer Films generated three successors to its ridiculous hit One Million Years B.C. (1966), otherwise known as “that movie with Raquel Welch in a fur bikini.” First came Slave Girls a/k/a Prehistoric Women (1967), a sexed-up jungle adventure, and then came When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth. (Like One Million Years B.C., this film pretends dinosaurs and humans once coexisted.) In When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, cavewoman Sanna (Victoria Vetri) escapes a murderous sun-worshipping tribe. Rescued by members of a fishing tribe, she gets caught in the middle as the two tribes battle each other. Amid the primitive-human drama are several episodes of violent dinosaur action, plus a cutesy subplot in which Sanna befriends and tames a dinosaur. Despite the inherently stupid premise, an issue plaguing nearly all of Hammer’s cave-babe pictures, the script for When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth aspires to literary qualities. Among other things, the filmmakers created a new language so characters could communicate consistently instead of just grunting.

          For the most part, the plot is easy to follow, no small achievement given the absence of English except for a bit of narration. Additionally, the monster scenes look pretty good. Although the great stop-motion animator Ray Harryhausen only worked on the first picture in this cycle, those who continued his work did him proud, so the creature design in When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth is credible and the monsters’ movements are fairly smooth. (One scene uses the old trick of pasting fins onto real lizards.) Naturally, the performances are not the strong point, since most of the actors were cast for physical beauty, and of course it’s absurd that all the women have perfect grooming—a more appropriate title would have been When Estheticians Ruled the Earth. Nonetheless, solid craftsmanship makes the lurid costuming and nostalgic stop-motion effects more or less palatable.

          Unexpectedly, Hammer’s fourth and final cave-babe saga is a respectable movie, in some ways a precursor to the acclaimed Quest for Fire (1981). Like that picture, Creatures the World Forgot imagines the daily lives of prehistoric humans in a relatively grounded way. Although the picture still has plenty of titillation, the primary focus is on the difficulties early man faced while trying to master communication and socialization. One suspects the picture sprang from writer/producer Michael Carreras’ imagination rather than extensive research, but nothing in the film is overtly silly—a huge change from earlier films in the cycle. Telling a complex story sprawling over two generations, and presented without any English-language dialogue or narration, the movie tracks the ascension of Mak (Brian O’Shaughnessy) to leadership of his tribe, and later the adventures of his adopted son when a fresh battle for leadership arises. Shooting mostly on real locations, lots of parched deserts and rocky hills, Carreras and director Don Chaffey do a tidy job of world-building, sketching a culture rooted in mysticism and patriarchy. Men battle for dominance, women suffer the lusts of savages, and noble souls earn loyalty even as craven types gather supporters through fear.

           The myriad fight scenes are exciting, with thrilling stunt work performed by half-naked actors, and the romantic bonds that form between characters are fairly convincing. Interestingly, even though Hammer elected to quit teasing audiences with sexy costumes by actually featuring topless cavewomen in Creatures the World Forgot, the company avoided casting its usual buxom starlets, so the presence of exposed skin is less distracting than the cleavage in earlier cave-babe flicks. Creatures the World Forgot is far from perfect, thanks to bumps including the terrible bear suit a stunt performer wears during an animal attack inside a cave, and the plot is ultimately a classier riff on the same hokum that permeated the other movies in the cycle. But if it’s possible to imagine a Hammer cave-babe picture that one can watch without feeling ashamed, this is the one—a noble swan song for an ignoble franchise.

When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth: FUNKY

Creatures the World Forgot: FUNKY

Vampire Circus (1972)

          Among the last period pieces that England’s Hammer Film Productions made during their celebrated original run of Gothic-horror flicks, Vampire Circus offers a humorless onslaught of nudity, sex, and violence. However, the best Hammer pictures have a little something extra, whether it's the swashbuckling energy of the early Lee-Cushing adventures or the brazen sexiness of, say, the so-called “Karnstein Trilogy.” To be clear, Vampire Circus has energy to burn, thanks to a veritable explosion of frenetic onscreen activity—this lurid film has everything from acrobatics to erotic dancing to outrageous gore. What it doesn’t have is distinctive characters or a memorable storyline. By stuffing in so many different elements, up to and including people who shape-shift into various animals, Vampire Circus ends up being tiresome. Voracious horror fans may enjoy consuming this picture like the fare at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but mere mortals will get their fill quickly.
          Set in 19th-century Austria, the movie starts in an appropriately sensational fashion. Villagers storm the castle where an aristocratic bloodsucker has taken a sexy local girl for a lover. With his dying breath, the vampire curses the villagers. Fifteen years later, a circus comes to town, and mayhem ensues, because the gypsies operating the circus are supernatural monsters and their mortal thralls. It’s the count’s curse coming true. Some scenes in Vampire Circus are almost hypnotically weird, notably the vignette of a sexy dance involving a bald woman who is nude except for tiger-stripe body paint. Other scenes are almost comically grotesque, including one bit with dead children and another during which various animals are slaughtered. None of it adds up to much, although fans craving lizard-brain stimulation can savor lengthy views at nubile female flesh as well as lingering looks at blood and viscera. And while the cast lacks big names, the actor playing the circus strongman is David Prowse, best known for appearing onscreen in A Clockwork Orange (1971) and for inhabiting Darth Vader’s costume in the first three Star Wars movies.

Vampire Circus: FUNKY

Straight on Till Morning (1972)

          More unpleasant than unsettling, Straight on Till Morning is an atypical offering from UK’s Hammer Films, because even though it has gruesome elements, the picture is a slowly paced psychological thriller rather than an outright horror show. Straight on Till Morning is not the only movie Hammer made in this vein, but it compares poorly to, say, Crescendo (1970), which packs a sexy punch. It’s also hard to defend the way this film utilizes iconography associated with J.M. Barrie’s classic Peter Pan character, since the various allusions that are made to Barrie’s work seem arbitrary and perverse. Linking fairy-tale storytelling to horrific subject matter has worked well in other contexts, but here, the device merely seems distasteful and opportunistic. Anyway, the plot begins when plain-looking twentysomething Brenda (Rita Tushingham) leaves her working-class mom in Liverpool to seek adventure and romance in London. Hopelessly naïve, Brenda talks quite a bit about wanting a baby, and her interest in motherhood, combined with her suffocating loneliness, makes her easy prey for predatory men. Sure enough, Brenda falls into a twisted relationship with Peter (Shane Briant), a fair-haired psychopath who insists on calling each of his lovers “Wendy.” (Pushing the Peter Pan allusion even further, he calls his yappy little dog “Tinker.”)

          The suspense of the piece, such as it is, stems from the question of whether Brenda will realize she’s in danger before falling victim to Peter’s weapon of choice, a retractable utility knife. On the plus side, writer John Peacock and director Peter Collinson take their time with scenes that straddle the line between character development and mood-building; although the filmmakers fail to properly illuminate the psychology of the people within the movie, a strong sense of the characters’ everyday lives comes across, so we get the context if not the substance. For instance, the filmmakers take lingering looks at Brenda’s job in a clothing store, her problematic acquaintance with a beautiful blonde gal pal, and Brenda’s generalized anxiety about life. Tushingham engages her role earnestly, wringing a bit of pathos from the malnourished script, and Briant is acceptable as the far-eyed, poetic murderer. Yet there’s a big so-what factor here, and the arty, fragmented editing style that renders the movie’s first half-hour borderline incoherent does not add to the overall appeal of Straight on Till Morning.

Straight on Till Morning: FUNKY

Demons of the Mind (1972)

          Featuring plot elements culled from the historical era just prior to Sigmund Freud’s ascension, a time when the study of the human psyche carried associations of heresy and mysticism, the Hammer production Demons of the Mind has some highly commendable elements, such as a grim depiction of savage medical techniques and a sincere attempt at sketching a complex psychological profile for a family plagued by hereditary mental illness. Unfortunately, these strong attributes are married to lurid and sluggish storytelling, problems made worse by leading actors who attack their roles like hungry dogs ravaging pieces of raw meat. What might have been one of Hammer’s most sophisticated movies devolves somewhat, but not completely, into dull sensationalism. Those gravitating toward the picture’s intelligent aspects will be disappointed by all the gore and nudity, while those seeking only cheap thrills will likely get bored with long dialogue scenes.

          In Europe circa the early 19th century, Baron Zorn (Robert Hardy) keeps his two adult children captive in their rooms because he’s terrified they will manifest the problems that drove their mother to suicide. Although the Baron is not without reason for worrying about Elizabeth (Gillian Hills) and Emil (Shane Briant), seeing as how they have demonstrated incestuous desires for each other, the cure is worse than the disease. Captivity pushes the siblings to emotional and mental extremes, and their aunt/caretaker practices such gruesome rituals as bloodletting to control their symptoms. Once controversial mental-health specialist Dr. Falkenberg (Patrick Magee) arrives to experiment with potions and transfusions and other macabre techniques, things spiral out of control because a series of murders in the neighboring village leads superstitious locals to suspect that someone at the baron’s castle is the culprit. Meanwhile, a crazed priest (Michael Hordern) stalks the local forests, inciting people with religious fearmongering.

          Despite being presented with Hammer’s usual high style (atmospheric sets, lush costumes, sexy starlets), Demons of the Mind is neither as clear nor as original as it should be. Sometimes the film gets stuck in the mud of its own convoluted plotting, because director Peter Sykes and his collaborators try to cloud the identity of the killer for as long as they can. Sometimes the film is simply boring, especially when Hardy and Magee share scenes in which they try to out-scream each other, veins pulsing on their foreheads as they fabricate overly theatrical intensity. (Hordern does a fair amount of yelling, too.) At its least imaginative, Demons of the Mind summons that trusty old cliché, the image of angry villagers storming toward a castle with pitchforks and torches, and at its most grotesque, the picture concludes with one of the bloodiest murders in the entire Hammer canon. 

Demons of the Mind: FUNKY

Fear in the Night (1972)

          Among the softer offerings from Britain’s Hammer Film Productions—although still quite gruesome in parts—Fear in the Night is an old-fashioned psychological thriller about a young woman who worries that she’s going mad because she repeatedly experiences assaults but cannot convince others that the assaults have occurred. The situation drives her to a paranoid frenzy, leading her to commit violence, so the film’s major narrative question is whether the circumstances are the result of malicious attackers, an odious conspiracy, or something supernatural. Unfortunately, not many viewers will feel invested in solving the central mystery of Fear in the Night, because the movie is far-fetched, repetitive, and slow-moving, problems accentuated by the overly polite and reserved performances of the actors comprising the small cast. As with most of Hammer’s pictures, Fear in the Night is an attractive film thanks to colorful photography and intricate set design, and the film also benefits from a supporting turn by Hammer regular Peter Cushing. Nonetheless, the picture is disposable.

          In contemporary England, 22-year-old Peggy (Judy Geeson) leaves her job as a caregiver in a mental-health facility—where she once received treatment for a nervous breakdown—in order to join her new husband, Robert (Ralph Bates), at the remote boarding school where he teaches. Upon arrival, Peggy meets the school’s kindly old headmaster, Michael (Cuashing), and his sexy younger wife, Molly (Joan Collins), quickly deducing that all is not right. One rather large clue: Despite Michael acting as if school is in session, no students are present. All the while, Peggy suffers assaults—or delusions of assaults—during which she’s grabbed by a one-armed man. Cowritten, produced, and directed by Hammer stalwart Jimmy Sangster, Fear in the Night strives for complexity, instead delivering underwhelming results thanks to silly contrivances and thin characterizations. Still, the movie has a couple of adequate jolts, some imaginative imagery, and an enjoyably overwrought finale during which everything that came before is explained in almost laughable detail.

Fear in the Night: FUNKY

Shatter (1974)

          Even though it’s not particularly entertaining or memorable, the violent thriller Shatter ticks a few interesting boxes in terms of film-history trivia. The only action movie released by UK’s Hammer Film Productions in the ’70s, Shatter was the second of two projects that Hammer coproduced with Hong Kong’s Shaw Brothers Productions, the reigning champions of martial-arts cinema during that era. The other Hammer/Shaw picture was the very strange Dracula flick The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, which mixes bloodsuckers and martial artists to bewildering effect. Somewhat similarly, Shatter is a straightforward pursuit/revenge story that simply happens to include lots of martial-arts scenes because the narrative unfolds primarily in Hong Kong. Additionally, Shatter was the final Hammer project to feature the great Peter Cushing, a staple in the company’s monster and sci-fi offerings since the 1950s. A final bit of trivia worth mentioning is that Shatter was the last film directed by Michael Carreras, a second-generation Hammer executive who occasionally helmed films for the company. Carreras took over production of Shatter after the project’s original director, American low-budget filmmaker Monte Hellman, was fired.

          Given this rich context, it would be pleasurable to report that Shatter is a zippy shot of escapism. Alas, it’s forgettable and turgid, with anemic performances and interchangeable supporting characters. A grumpy and tired-looking Stuart Whitman stars as Shatter, an assassin hired by mysterious entities to kill an African dictator. This first event is presented with a certain amount of kicky style, because Shatter uses a gun disguised as a camera. Traveling from Africa to Hong Kong in order to collect payment, Shatter soon learns that he’s been double-crossed by international power broker Hans Leber (Anton Diffring). Shatter also gets into a hassle with UK government operative Paul Rattwood (Cushing). Hiding in dingy hotels and scouring nightclubs for clues about the conspiracy in which he’s become entwined, Shatter eventually joins forces with martial artist Tai Pah (Ti Lung), which occasions scenes in which Shatter throws punches while Tai throws kicks. Innumerable other movies explore similar material more effectively, such as the Joe Don Baker romp Golden Needles and the Robert Mitchum thriller The Yakuza (both released, like Shatter, in 1974). Therefore, Shatter represents a weak attempt at entering the post-Enter the Dragon chop-socky sweepstakes—as well as an odd and disappointing chapter in the Hammer saga. 

Shatter: FUNKY

Moon Zero Two (1970)

          Produced in the UK and released there in 1969, this leaden thriller represented a rare return to the realm of science fiction for British production company Hammer Films, which spent most of the ’60s and ’70s making horror pictures. Aside from the company’s usual tropes of elaborate costumes and set design, however, Moon Zero Two bears no obvious Hammer trademarks. Quite to the contrary, it’s dull, flat, and turgid, whereas Hammer’s other pictures of the same vintage are generally lusty and violent. Starring American actor James Olson, the movie was released in the U.S. in 1970, presumably to piggyback on the success of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Any viewers snookered by the promise of another sci-fi head trip were sorely disappointed, because Moon Zero Two runs the gamut from numbingly pedestrian to painfully stupid. Set in the future, when man has built a group of cities on the surface of the moon, the picture starts with an absurd animated title sequence suggesting the story will be about Cold War tensions. Yet once the narrative begins, Moon Zero Two becomes a tepid crime thriller about land rights.

          Olson stars as Bill Kemp, a space pilot who operates a salvage ship. He makes his living recovering broken satellites and selling the parts. Eventually, Bill is recruited by Clementine Taplin (Catherine Schell) to help find her missing brother, whom she fears was the victim of foul play because he owned the rights to potentially profitable land. A convoluted adventure ensues, during which Bill and Clementine match wits with an unethical entrepreneur, J.J. Hubbard (Warren Mitchell), who wants to seize all the land rights he can get.

          None of the characters is interesting, and the performances are lifeless. Worse, the style of the picture is consistently goofy. The immaculate space suits look like holdovers from bad ’50s movies, and the less said about the dancing girls who perform during innumerable scenes taking place in a moon lounge, the better. Long stretches of time pass without spaceship action, and this movie’s idea of a wild action scene is a zero-gravity bar brawl that the lazy filmmakers merely stage as a reduced-gravity bar brawl. (Picture lots of slow-motion leaping.) For devoted ’70s sci-fi nerds, the most interesting aspect of Moon Zero Two is the presence of leading lady Schell, who later played a shape-shifting alien on the cult-fave UK TV series Space: 1999 (1975-1977). Although hidden behind animalistic makeup on the series, Schell appears in all of her unadorned loveliness here.

Moon Zero Two: LAME

The Vampire Lovers (1970) & Lust for a Vampire (1971) & Twins of Evil (1971)

          J. Sheridan le Fanu’s 1872 novel Carmilla, which predated Bram Stoker’s Dracula by a quarter-century, is credited with originating the popular lesbian-vampire archetype. Accordingly, the various film adaptations of Carmilla are filled with Sapphic eroticism. To date, the most noteworthy adaptations is The Vampire Lovers, a co-production of U.S. drive-in supplier American International Pictures and UK horror house Hammer Films. Starring the lovely European actress Ingrid Pitt, the sleek and titillating movie depicts the adventures of Mircalla Karnstein (Pitt), an Austrian vampire who drifts from one noble household to the next, using aliases to cover her tracks as she seduces nubile women and drains them of their blood. Meanwhile, heroes including the bereaved father (Peter Cushing) of one of Mircalla’s victims try to stop her killing spree.

          Directed by Hammer stalwart Roy Ward Baker, The Vampire Lovers tries to be equal parts horror show and romance. At one extreme, the movie features gory neck wounds and an onscreen decapitation. At the other extreme, The Vampire Lovers includes tender scenes of Mircalla cuddling and kissing her sexy paramours. Thanks to Pitt’s elegant presence, it’s possible to read the movie as a character study of a woman torn between animalistic urges and emotional desires—but whenever Baker cuts to leering scenes of topless women kissing, it becomes difficult to attribute The Vampire Lovers with lofty aspirations. After all, the picture includes such raunchy details as a dream sequence in which a young woman imagines a giant cat pressing its mouth to her nether regions. (Paging Dr. Freud!) Worse, the narrative runs out of gas about halfway through, and the acting is highly inconsistent, with pretty starlet Madeline Smith giving an especially vacuous performance.

          Nonetheless, the combination of blood and boobs proved attractive to audiences, so Vampire Lovers screenwriter Tudor Gates was hired to write a pair of follow-up features that are known among Hammer aficionados as the “Karnstein Trilogy.” The first sequel, Lust for a Vampire, is a simple romantic adventure revolving around the reincarnated Mircalla (played this time by Yutte Stensgaard). After being raised from the dead by cultish followers, Mircalla takes up residence at an exclusive finishing school for young women, catching the eye of author Richard Lestrange (Michael Johnson). Yet Mircalla hasn’t lost her taste for the ladies, because she also sleeps with one of her sexy classmates. Alas, her other appetites remain just as strong, so bodies start piling up in the countryside around the school. Despite the presence of several beautiful starlets and a generally salacious storyline, Lust for a Vampire is exceedingly dull, since the audience can’t play along with the narrative’s whodunit structure. Even the sexy stuff feels overly familiar, although Gates has fun with a key scene—Mircalla, who finds unholy pleasure in biting people, climaxes when her mortal lover goes down on her. (Oral-fixation alert!) Nothing in Lust for a Vampire feels frightening or new or urgent, so all that’s left to admire are the nubile ladies and the usual slick Hammer production values.

          Surprisingly, the series’ signature element of lesbian erotica is nearly absent from the final film, Twins of Evil, which is “noteworthy” for featuring real-life siblings Madeleine and Mary Collinson, the first identical twins to be named co-Playmates of the Month in Playboy, circa late 1970. Representing a slight improvement over Lust for a Vampire, the third “Karnstein” movie reintroduces Peter Cushing to the series, albeit playing a different role than the one he essayed in The Vampire Lovers. Here, he’s a devout puritan who becomes guardian to a pair of nieces (played by the Collinsons) when they are orphaned. One of the sisters falls victim to the charms of a male vampire, Count Karnstein (Damien Thomas)., which triggers the usual drill of townsfolk hunting for vampires as the corpses accrue. The shortest of the “Karnstein” movies, Twins of Evil has the least to do with le Fanu’s source material. Cushing’s presence helps tremendously, as does the vigorous musical scoring by Henry Robertson, so Twins of Evil is mildly watchable despite long stretches of tedium. And of course, like all three of the “Karnstein” films, Twins of Evil relies on nudity as heavily as it relies on gore, so fans craving skin will find plenty to ogle.

The Vampire Lovers: FUNKY

Lust for a Vampire: LAME

Twins of Evil: FUNKY

Hands of the Ripper (1971)

          A lesser effort from Hammer Films featuring the company’s usual posh production values but lacking a lively storyline, this UK thriller imagines that Jack the Ripper’s young daughter was traumatized by seeing the Ripper commit a murder, then grew up to become a psycho just like Daddy. As lurid premises go, this one isn’t bad, but the execution of Hands of the Ripper is so predictable and sleepy that not much excitement in generated. Set in Victorian England, naturally, the movie begins with a prologue during which Jack murders his missus in front of preteen Anna, then skips ahead several years. Now a young woman, Anna (Angharad Rees) lives with a con-artist medium who treats Anna like a slave. One evening, Dr. John Pritchard (Eric Porter), an aristocrat with an interest in the burgeoning science of psychiatry, visits the medium and meets Anna. Soon, kindly “Dr. John” takes Anna into his home because he’s curious about her fragile mental state—and because he knows that she might have committed murder. As the film drags on, Anna’s homicidal impulses produce a succession of corpses, so even as Dr. John seeks to diagnose Anna’s sickness, he becomes complicit by hiding a criminal from law-enforcement officials.

          It’s unclear why director Peter Sasdy and his collaborators shunned the most obvious narrative opportunity—the idea of Anna and her caretaker falling in love—but since that element is not present, it’s difficult to understand why Dr. John keeps mum. Similarly, the main gimmick of Anna’s characterization—the notion that her murderous rages are triggered by seeing light reflected off jewels—feels arbitrary and convenient. Had the script by L.W. Davidson and Edward Spencer Shew plugged some of these plot holes, Hands of the Ripper might have joined the ranks of the most imaginative Hammer releases. Instead, the movie is a slog featuring relatively anonymous actors, and the most laudatory element is probably the rich musical score by Christopher Gunning. On the plus side, the film contains most of the requisite elements for a killer-on-the-loose thriller, such as various parties conspiring to capture and/or expose Anna, and the violent scenes are sufficiently gruesome. Nontheless, the strongest reaction that Hands of the Ripper inspires is disappointment at unrealized potential.

Hands of the Ripper: FUNKY

Countess Dracula (1971)

          English horror-movie factory Hammer Films earned its reputation by blending sensationalism with sophistication, because the company’s signature girls-and-gore formula was generally delivered by way of credible acting, intelligent writing, and lush production design. The lurid aspects are dominant in most Hammer pictures, but in Countess Dracula, the sleazy stuff is subordinate to a well-constructed narrative based on a notorious historical figure. Furthermore, Countess Dracula is arguably the best-looking movie Hammer ever produced, with cinematographer Kenneth Talbot using painterly lighting effects and soft lens filters to create romantic imagery. So even though Countess Dracula has abundant bloodshed and nudity, it’s one of the rare Hammer movies that a serious-minded cinephile can watch without much guilt.
          Inspired by the legend of Elizabeth Bàthory, a Renaisssance-era Hungarian countess who reputedly bathed in the blood of young women whom she ordered killed—believing this practice maintained her beauty—Countess Dracula imagines what might have happened if a character like Bathory truly discovered a magical formula for recapturing her youth. Ingrid Pitt, the glamorous European star of Hammer’s salacious hit The Vampire Lovers (1970), stars as Countess Elisabeth Nàdasdy. At the beginning of the movie, Elisabeth is an aged but elegant noblewoman whose husband recently died. During the reading of her husband’s will, Elisabeth becomes fascinated by Lt. Imre Toth (Sandor Elès), who inherits part of the Nàdasdy estate because his father was a friend of Elisabeth’s husband. Concurrently, Elisabeth awaits the homecoming of her daughter, Ilona (Lesley-Anne Down), who is now of marriageable age after many years away at school. Through circumstance, Elisabeth accidentally gets the blood of a young woman on her cheek, and is shocked to see the skin of her cheek magically restored to a youthful sheen. Then Elisabeth conspires with her put-upon lover, estate functionary Captain Dobi (Nigel Green), to gain a steady supply of women so she can restore her entire body to youth and thereby court Imre while pretending to be Ilona.
          As should be apparent, the plot of Countess Dracula gets a little convoluted, but writer Jeremy Paul does a great job of keeping motivations straight and predicating everything on the desire that craven people have for increased social position and wealth. In this way, Elisabeth’s monstrous plan becomes a metaphor representing both unchecked ambition and the villainous abuse of power. In fact, only the supernatural element of Elisabeth’s physical changes really tips the movie into the realm of fantasy. Director Peter Sasdy generates a number of memorable images, including the scandalous shot of a nude Pitt washing herself with a blood-soaked sponge, and he ensures that performances are consistently rational and restrained. Like most Hammer movies, Countess Dracula suffers from humorlessness, so some stretches get monotonous and stilted. But in the mean, Countess Dracula is among the best things the company made in its heyday—sexy, sinister, and smart.

Countess Dracula: GROOVY

Crescendo (1970)

          Though primarily known for sexualized creature features set in the 19th century (or earlier), UK horror/thriller factory Hammer Films generated different types of films, as well. Take Crescendo. Not only does the picture tell a contemporary story bereft of supernatural elements, it stars a primarily American cast. And while the movie has plenty of flaws, such as a predictable climax and a slow pace, the whole thing is so sexy, sinister, and stylish that it’s worth a casual viewing.
          In many ways, Crescendo resembles a lost Hitchcock movie, although Hitchcock would have cast an icy blonde in the lead instead of a sexy redhead. The movie concerns Susan Roberts (Stefanie Powers), a graduate student who visits an estate in southern France in order to research a thesis on a deceased composer. Currently residing in the estate are the composer’s widow, Danielle (Margaretta Scott), the composer’s wheelchair-bound adult son, Georges (James Olson), and two servants. At first, Susan regards her new temporary home as a sort of paradise, enjoying elegant meals and refreshing dips in the estate’s massive pool. But the more time she spends with the Ryman family, the more Susan realizes she’s been recruited by Danielle to replace a woman named Catherine, who was George’s lover until he became paralyzed. Meanwhile, audiences learn lurid facts to which Susan is not privy, such as the twisted nature of Georges’ relationship with the estate’s nubile maid, Lillianne (Jane Lapotaire).

          As written by reliable Hammer scribe Jimmy Sangster (who reconfigured an earlier script by Alfred Shaughnessy), Crescendo eschews the jolts and murder scenes one normally associates with Hammer, opting instead for the slow burn of psychological terror. There’s no question that Crescendo would have been more effective if an actress of subtler gifts had been cast in the leading role, but Powers is sufficiently alluring and likeable to avoid completely undercutting the movie’s efficacy. Plus, the fact that she spends much of her screen time in bikinis and negligees adds considerably to the film’s appeal.

          Yet don’t let the showcasing of a pretty starlet give the impression that Crescendo is a lowbrow endeavor. Director Alan Gibson and cinematographer Paul Beeson give the picture a truly elegant look, with artful lighting, graceful camera moves, and meticulous compositions. Shooting almost entirely on soundstages (even for the pool scenes), the filmmakers amplify artifice to bolster the lead character’s sense of having been trapped in some weird netherworld. As for the acting, it’s mostly serviceable, with Olson and Powers contributing blandly professional work—although costars Lapotaire and Scott seize on the perverse aspects of their roles, giving the movie extra heat. Crescendo might not linger in the memory too long after a viewing, but it’s a glamorous distraction that adds a surprising twist to the story of Hammer Films.

Crescendo: GROOVY

Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter (1974)

On paper, this sounds like tons of fun, at least for genre-movie fans. Seriously, an action-packed horror movie about a dashing soldier who travels around pre-19th-century Europe killing vampires with a samurai sword, accompanied by a hunchbacked scientist and a voluptuous female companion? And it’s from UK-based Hammer Films, the kingpins of Gothic shockers? What’s not to like? Well, for one thing, Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter is woefully devoid of the one thing it should have in abundance, which is entertainment value. Yes, the picture is handsomely produced (within the parameters of a humble budget), and the filmmakers don’t skimp on stylish violence. But where’s the joie de vivre? The picture isn’t as grim as some Hammer pictures, which is a relief, but it’s still unnecessarily sober. Did the world really need something called Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter played straight? Anyway, at least viewers who dig Hammer’s formula of dastardly deeds conducted in crypt-like castles and murky forests will find much to savor here. The picture begins when a village physician, Dr. Marcus (John Carson), encounters a series of strange deaths—young women drained of blood fall dead, their bodies inexplicably aged. Marcus summons his old Army pal, Captain Kronos (Horst Janson), who happens to be a professional vampire hunter. Convenient! Kronos travels with a deformed scientist, Professor Grost (John Cater), and a sexy peasant girl named Carla (Caroline Munro). As the movie unfolds, Kronos and his allies set traps for the bloodsucker—or bloodsuckers—preying upon Marcus’ village, but not all goes according to plan. Written, directed, and co-produced by Brian Clemens, Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter moves at a sluggish pace. Once in a while, Clemens lands a nice line of dialogue, as when Kronos describes Grost’s expertise: “What he doesn’t know about vampirism couldn’t fill a fly’s codpiece.” And periodically, Clemens nails a groovy visual: At one point, Kronos holds the blade of his sword before his eyes in order to reflect back the gaze of a ghoul who is trying to hypnotize him. Unfortunately, the actors all deliver highly generic work. Janson is an attractive physical specimen—as is Munro, who later became a Bond girl—but neither radiates much in the way of charisma. And the less said about the various anticlimactic scenes in which Kronos effortlessly vanquishes hordes of attackers with ridiculously skillful swordplay, the better.

Captain Kronos—Vampire Hunter: FUNKY

To the Devil . . . a Daughter (1976)

It was probably inevitable that the folks at Hammer Films would produce a movie in the vein of Rosemary’s Baby (1968), because nothing screams Hammer like the lurid intersection of sex and supernatural thrills. Unfortunately, To the Devil . . . A Daughter lacks the comic-book fun of the best Hammer flicks—it’s a ploddingly serious psychodrama hampered by indifferent leading performances. And because certain scenes push the boundaries of good taste in terms of displaying nubile flesh, the whole endeavor feels needlessly sleazy. Therefore, even though director Peter Sykes mounts a generally handsome production, with sleek camerawork by the great David Watkin and several atmospheric locations, the cons outweigh the pros. Richard Widmark stars as John Verney, a supernatural expert recruited by worried dad Henry Beddows (Denholm Elliot) to look after Henry’s teenaged daughter, Catherine (Nastassja Kinski), who has spent years cloistered with a mysterious religious organization in Europe. Long story short, it turns out the head of the organization, Father Michael Rayner (Christopher Lee), is a Satanist grooming Catherine for some sort of unholy union with a demon. Verney attempts to save Catherine. The saucy plot could have worked, but Widmark seems so bored that he sucks the life out of every scene he’s in, while Lee—as always, more interesting as a physical presence than as an actor—merely glowers like he’s making one of his interchangeable Dracula movies. In the absence of dynamic leading performances, all eyes turn to Kinski’s exotic beauty. Had she been cast as an innocent whose sexual power was merely implied, Kinski could have justified the movie’s existence with her innately beguiling qualities. Instead, the filmmakers went too far and displayed the actress fully nude, despite the fact that she was a minor at the time of filming. Toying with the erotic implications of a provocative story is one thing, but brazenly showcasing a child as a sex object is putrid.

To the Devil . . . a Daughter: LAME

The Horror of Frankenstein (1970)

          Even though Hammer Films’ long-running horror series were never big on continuity, it was a bummer whenever series entries were missing their regular stars. Thus, one of the many reasons The Horror of Frankenstein is so disposable is that Ralph Bates plays the titular mad scientist instead of Peter Cushing. It’s not that Bates is bad in the movie—quite to the contrary, he’s got a light touch for deranged perversity that suits Hammer’s campy style. However, the presence of Cushing in Hammer’s other Frankenstein pictures creates the illusion of a series that’s progressing forward, even though the movies are highly repetitive, simply because Cushing’s performance gets more intense in each successive film.

          Conversely, The Horror of Frankenstein represents pure narrative backsliding, because it’s a retread of the series’ first entry, The Curse of Frankenstein (1957); as in that picture, brilliant but reckless young doctor Victor Frankenstein tests his theories about the nature of human life by building a monster from pieces of corpses, only to see the monster escape the confines of Castle Frankenstein and murder unsuspecting villagers in the generic European countryside. Yes, it’s once more into the origin-story breach of Gothic production design, grubby henchmen, heaving bosoms, and over-the-top Technicolor gore.

          The specifics of the plot don’t merit recounting, since the storyline is just a mishmash of things you’ve seen a zillion times before, so only the movie’s few novel touches are worth mentioning. As directed and co-written by Hammer stalwart Jimmy Sangster, The Horror of Frankenstein tries to send up the series at the same time it delivers monster-movie thrills, so Bates gets to riff on the idea of doctor-as-deviant, and his grave robbers of choice are an amiable husband-and-wife team (he cuts up the bodies, she does all the digging). The movie’s monster is a big letdown, however, because he looks more silly than scary. As played by Darth Vader himself, British bodybuilder David Prowse, the monster looks like a Muscle Beach escapee in a Halloween costume, with a cheesy rubber skullcap and gauze-bandage bike shorts. So, while The Horror of Frankenstein has some meager redeeming values, the movie itself is like the monster—a patchwork of used parts artificially animated to something that fleetingly resembles life.

The Horror of Frankenstein: LAME

Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971)

          Go figure that this gender-flipping take on Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic novel Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde is one of the best movies the British horror company Hammer made during the ’70s. Although the cheesy title suggests that a sexploitation romp might be in store, the movie is instead a creepy meditation on twisted psychology. The sex-switching premise is also a provocative (and appropriate) elaboration of Stevenson’s theme of the duality in man; really, is the idea of a scientist using chemicals to alter his gender any more preposterous than that of a scientist using chemicals to release the monster within?

          In screenwriter Brian Clemens’ clever narrative, Victorian-era genius Dr. Jekyll (Ralph Bates) experiments with female hormones because of their youth-extending qualities. Unfortunately, he needs dead female bodies from which to extract the hormones, so he enlists the aid of infamous real-life murderers Burke and Hare; furthermore, the killings that provide Jekyll his raw materials get labeled by newspapers as the so-called “Whitechapel Murders.” In other words, this inventive take on Stevenson identifies Jekyll as not only as a scientific madman but also as Jack the Ripper.

          Clemens’ script is imaginative and playful right from the beginning, even if it takes a while for the sci-fi/horror stuff to get going (the first transformation occurs around the 25-minute mark, and the movie’s only 97 minutes long). The fluid staging provided by stalwart Hammer director Roy Ward Baker adds muscle to the storytelling, however, so there’s not only tension throughout the movie but also a sense of narrative purpose.

          Eventually, the storyline contrives a perverse romantic quadrangle involving Jekyll, his chemically created female self (whom he introduces as a widow named “Mrs. Hyde”), and the siblings who live upstairs from the good doctor in a boardinghouse. Watching the filmmakers blur the lines of the quadrangle is delicious, particularly during the scene in which Jekyll flirts with the man who’s been courting him while he’s in Hyde mode.

        Bates is a fine standard-issue Hammer leading man, all uptight repression and latent psychosis, and Martine Beswick is darkly alluring as Mrs. Hyde; for once, Hammer casts a striking beauty for a better reason than mere visual appeal, because Jekyll is weirdly attracted to/fascinated by the lissome creature he becomes when under the influence. Better still, the filmmakers do terrific job of moving all the pieces in place for a rousing climax, complete with a great final image that underscores the movie’s transgressive themes. As are Hammer’s best Frankenstein movies, this monster show is as much about ravaged souls as it is about ravaged flesh.

Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde: GROOVY

Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell (1974)

Hammer Films’ long-running Frankenstein series reached its ignoble conclusion with this gruesome entry. Leading man Peter Cushing had last played Baron Victor Frankenstein in the terrific Frankenstein Must be Destroyed (1969), and by the time he returned to the role, he had aged considerably—he musters some of his old perverse glee, but his trademark intensity is diminished. The script boasts an interesting contrivance, because the Baron has become the in-house physician of the asylum where he’s incarcerated. He’s also up to his old tricks, pillaging body parts from inmates for the hodgepodge creature he’s building in his laboratory. That’s all well and good, but the inexplicably ape-like creature design is a buzz kill: Actor David Prowse (who later played Darth Vader) shuffles around in a clunky body suit and goofy makeup, preventing any suspension of disbelief and giving the movie an awkwardly campy quality. The picture also goes way overboard with blood and guts, even by Hammer’s lurid standards: A lengthy brain-transplant scene lingers on the Baron and his accomplice sawing open a skull, cutting tendons, and yanking out gray matter. Furthermore, because the movie is photographed with bright lighting and long takes, the focus throughout the story is less on atmosphere than on grotesquery, which makes it hard to appreciate the script’s fun character touches, like the scene in which organ fetishist Frankenstein opens a pot and smells his dinner: “Ah, kidneys—delicious!” While not the worst of the Cushing Frankenstein pictures (that would be 1964’s godawful The Evil of Frankenstein), Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell suggests the series was headed in such a grisly direction that pulling the plug was a form of cinematic euthanasia.

Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell: FUNKY

Blood from the Mummy’s Tomb (1971)

Though nominally the last entry in Hammer’s mummy series, this turgid thriller doesn’t feature the series’ usual imagery—instead of a fellow shuffling along in head-to-toe bandages, this one’s about an ancient Egyptian princess whose spirit possesses a modern-day Englishwoman. Adapted from a Bram Stoker novel called The Jewel of the Seven Stars, the picture has atmosphere to spare but very little narrative momentum. Most of the characters are bewitched or conspirators, so nobody does much of anything to stop a series of murders; as a result, bad things happen without noticeable dramatic impact. The filmmaking team also insists upon visually consistent deaths even when the visuals don’t suit the circumstances—all the murder victims die by having their throats ripped open, including the unfortunate gentleman who falls backward through glass doors. Um, his throat got cut how? Logic and physics were never of paramount importance in Hammer productions, of course, and the movie delivers the requisite elements: heaving bosoms, supernatural claptrap, Technicolor gore. But it’s all rather tedious, because none of the performers attack their roles with the vigor one gets in better Hammer flicks. (Peter Cushing, who left the production when his wife died and was replaced with journeyman actor Andrew Keir, is sorely missed.) Long-limbed leading lady Valerie Leon is striking, especially when prancing about in low-cut nightgowns, but she’s utterly vapid, and among the supporting cast only peripheral freakazoids register. A pervy-looking doctor who wears gigantic Marcello Mastroianni sunglasses at night appears in a few scenes, and toward the end of the picture an effeminate man with painted nails shows up briefly without explanation. One keeps hoping for moments as gruesome as the opening, which features a disembodied hand crawling through the Egyptian desert, but by the time this discombobulated movie cuts to the same static shot of a glistening sarcophagus for the umpteenth time, the whole enterprise has become thoroughly dull.

Blood from the Mummy’s Tomb: LAME

Taste the Blood of Dracula (1970) & Scars of Dracula (1970) & Dracula AD 1972 (1972) & The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973) & The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974)

          By the mid-’60s, a dreary formula was in place for Hammer Films’ long-running Dracula series: Each movie contrived a laborious new mechanism for resurrecting the titular bloodsucker (Christopher Lee), and each movie ended with Drac suffering an elaborate demise. As the series progressed, Lee’s characterization became more robotic, and the filler scenes depicting various supporting characters became more tedious. By the time the ’70s arrived, even Hammer’s lush Victorian-era costumes and locations felt stale. As a result, Taste the Blood of Dracula is a routine but well-photographed entry notable only for introducing Satan worship into the series, although comic actor Roy Kinnear enlivens a few early scenes. The movie takes forever to get started (an hour passes before Drac bites his first neck), and the formula of blood, cleavage, and Gothic atmosphere is overly familiar; furthermore, Dracula’s overreliance on henchmen makes him seem more like a Bond villain than a legendary monster.
          Scars of Dracula features more of the same, but instead of Satan worship, the story pays rudimentary homage to Bram Stoker’s original Dracula novel with scenes of an unfortunate European fellow imprisoned in Drac’s castle. Reflecting how dry the creative well was at this point, the opening scene depicts a bat reviving Dracula by drooling blood onto the count’s bones. Really? Although Lee spends more time onscreen than usual in this entry, Scars of Dracula is one of Hammer’s shoddiest productions, complete with fake bats that wouldn’t pass muster in a student film.
          After a two-year hiatus, Hammer shook up the formula with Dracula AD 1972, which resurrects Dracula in present-day England, and the always-entertaining Peter Cushing returned to the series for the first time in 12 years, playing Lorimer Van Helsing, a descendant of the count’s old nemesis. The movie retains a bit of Gothic flavor by giving Dracula an abandoned old church as a lair, but most of the story takes place in the London youth scene, so lots of with-it kids party in tacky early-’70s fashions (leading lady Stephanie Beacham rocks a fierce mullet hairstyle). Campy dialogue, kitschy musical interludes, and slick camerawork make Dracula AD 1972 a guilty pleasure, and watch for raven-haired cult-favorite starlet Caroline Munro in an early role. It should also be noted that Beacham’s mesmerizing cleavage is such a focal point in Dracula AD 1972 that her breasts should’ve gotten special billing; this movie may represent the apex of Hammer leering, which is saying a lot.
          Hammer continued its new modern-day continuity with The Satanic Rites of Dracula, a Cushing-Lee romp enlivened by the presence of costar Freddie Jones, who plays a twitchy Satanist/scientist, and future Absolutely Fabulous star Joanna Lumley, taking over Beacham’s role as a Van Helsing descendant. The movie boasts an energetic score (proto-disco funk passages, lots of stabbing horns), plus slickly atmospheric wide-lens photography. There are even a couple of genuine jolts (rare in any Hammer flick), like a slo-mo attack on Lumley by several distaff vampires. The fact that the first hour of the movie plays out like an occult-themed conspiracy thriller sets the stage nicely for Lee’s dominance in the last twenty minutes; for once, Lee gets to do more than lunge at people and recoil from crosses, and he seems energized. Satanic Rites is easily the best thriller of this batch, even though it’s barely a Dracula movie in the classic sense.
          In 1974, Hammer’s Dracula series reached a bizarre conclusion with the kung fu epic The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, a joint effort from Hammer and chop-socky specialists the Shaw Brothers. In two brief scenes, John Forbes-Robertson unimpressively stands in for the absent Lee as Dracula, while a tired-looking Cushing reprises his Van Helsing shtick for the whole dreary flick. Boring nonsense about noble Chinese martial artists engaged in brawls and swordplay against decaying vampire ghouls in ornate gold masks, 7 Vampires is the series’ absolute nadir. Plus, who knew Dracula spoke fluent Chinese?

Taste the Blood of Dracula: LAME

Scars of Dracula: LAME

Dracula AD 1972: FUNKY

The Satanic Rites of Dracula: FUNKY

The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires: SQUARE