Hammer 1970 A.D.

    When offered a chance to write an article revisiting England's historic Hammer Films, I initially hesitated. Not because of any lack of interest or affection for the material itself, but because I felt it had more than adequately been visited and revisited in many other books and publications. While some of these surveys included the very first years of the studio, they basically all began the same way. We have all read time and time again how the face of horror cinema was forever changed with the high-impact combination of Terence Fisher, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee in The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) and (Horror of) Dracula (1968). No less true for the telling of course, but we all can pretty much take it from there. The established Hammer classics that we all know and love stand no chance whatsoever of losing their place in horror history.

    But I did feel that there was an area of Hammer history that had not been done justice in print. The studios releases from 1970 to 1979 (their final year of theatrical production) are usually poorly reviewed and referred to generically as “the decline of Hammer.” While it was undoubtedly the decline of Hammer's box office receipts. I simply cannot agree that it was because their films showed a decline in quality. By the early 1970's, what was considered truly shocking in a Hammer film of the 50's or 60's didn't carry the same punch anymore. That was one problem. Another problem was that 1972 and 1973 produced more horror films worldwide than ever before, providing more competition than Hammer had ever dealt with. This led to some interesting experiments with their classic formulas (which were rejected for not being the same) among the more traditional explorations of said formulas (which was rejected for being the same). In other words, I don't believe that the same audience which decried Dracula 1972 would have made a success out of, say Dracula Prince of Darkness in the 70's, either.

    This survey will, of course, focus on the Hammer horror films of the 1970's. To the best of my knowledge the only non-horror items the company produced in the decade that actually made it to America were Call Him Mr. Shatter (1974), featuring Stuart Whitman, kung-fu and a Peter Cushing cameo; and 1979's The Lady Vanishes, a "why bother" remake with Elliott Gould and Cybill Shepherd which turned out to be the last theatrical film ever released by Hammer.¹ Nobody saw any point in selling Hammer’s comedies - mostly feature versions of British TV sitcoms (no, we didn't invent that trend, either) overseas. Too bad, I'd sort of like to see Man About the House. The Hammer version of the show that served as the inspiration for America's Three's Company -imagine the possibilities! But I digress. Horror it shall be.

    Hammer set the stage for the decade with 1970's Taste the Blood of Dracula, a fascinating departure from the traditional vampire thriller which also served as a fine introduction to the late, unsung horror star Ralph Bates. As an enthusiastic, young Satanist, Bates dominates the first half of the film as he goads a group of older, outwardly respectable thrillseekers to put their desires to the ultimate test. The sequence in which Bates furiously exhorts the men to drink from chalices bubbling over with thick foamy vampire blood is unforgettable, it's all the more to director Peter Sasdy’s credit that he sustains the film after Bates' demise, with strong support from Christopher Lee, of course.

    Recognizing the potential of Ralph Bates, lead role in Horror of Frankenstein later that same year (1970), they unwisely promoted him as a successor to the inimitable Peter Cushing, this even went so far as having publicity photos of “handing” over the role to Bates. Yet this film was not a continuation of the Cushing series; nor would it have worked as a prequel, as Bates' exuberant, cheerfully amoral Frankenstein, could not very likely have grown into the Cushing character. Director Jimmy Sangster's script leaves no opportunity for black humor unexplored ("Tomorrow we will initiate a new series of experiments. Something harmless, perhaps, such as splitting the atom." Bates remarks off-handedly just before he throws the switch which will electrocute his hapless partner). The film is loaded with unique elements Frankenstein literally assembles his monsters by the numbers, and optimistically greets said creation as soon as it comes to life with "How do you do? I’m Victor Frankenstein." If you’ve seen the film, you know there's much more, and if you haven't, you don’t need me ruining it for you. Suffice it to say that I found this to be the single most unjustly-maligned film in Hammer's entire history² and it's worth writing this entire article just to make sure that it gets a good review somewhere in print.

    Horror was double-billed with the slightly better-received Scars of Dracula. Though a rather abrupt pre-credits resurrection links this to the previous entry (Taste the Blood of Dracula), Scars transforms Christopher Lee's Count from an almost-heroic avenger back into the embodiment of pure evil. The plot was a simple affair in which search for a missing brother leads a pair of innocent young newlyweds to the recently re-opened Castle Dracula, but the script itself is secondary. The best parts of the film are the long spells with no dialogue at all - particularly one that answers the question "why can't they just stake Dracula when he's sleeping" and the extended climax (with a "shock" ending).

    Roy Ward Baker's series entry was the first to receive an "R" rating in the States (as did the aforementioned Frankenstein feature), which it earns with no small amount of carnage. Extreme by the standards of the previous entries, but by no means as shocking as the American drive-in standards were gearing up to be.

    (Horror and Scars were released as a double-bill not only in theaters, but also on a highly-recommended laserdisc package from Image/HBO.)

    Baker also directed Hammer's final thriller of 1970, The Vampire Lovers, the first of what would become the "Karnstein Trilogy" Its nudity and lesbianism, smacked of the sensational but the source was just as legitimate a one as Bram Stoker's Dracula, in this case, J. Sheridan le Fanu's Carmilla. Ingrid, Pitt gained her reputation largely thanks to her role as Carmilla (or various anagrams of the name - a continuing theme in the series), whose vampiric advances run the gamut from playful seduction to nightmare visitations of the young women in the village she has come to claim. Peter Cushing is General Spielsdorf, whose no-nonsense manner makes his Van Helsing look rather easygoing. Forerunners of the PC movement tagged this film, among other vampire outings, of exhibiting an arch-conservative morality in which "deviance" (such as lesbianism) must be thoroughly squelched by Puritans if society is to survive. While that's a legitimate train of thought I don't necessarily follow it - at least not to the point where I think that Hammer sided with the Puritans. More on that later. The Vampire Lovers was reportedly trimmed for American release, as were many of the films covered in this survey. Unlike most of the others (including the other two Karnstein films), though, it has not been restored to its original form on video as far as I know. There's still plenty of nudity, but the grislier bits seem to have been softened in the US videotape.

    The immediate sequel, Lust for a Vampire, has been identified in different sources as a 1970 and a 1971 release. You say December, I say January, let's call the whole thing off. Jimmy Sangster certainly wanted to after he saw the film he had directed (but not written as all three Karnstein entries were scripted by Tudor Gates). Yutte Stensgaard stars as "Mircalla" this time out, as she and her vampire family set about taking over a proper English girls' school. As the bloodsucking patriarch, Mike Raven is suitably imposing, but has a limited role. The playful nudity (despite sinister intentions) of the original becomes a bit more obviously voyeuristic in Lust, but doesn't help the film take off. What truly hurts this entry is the absence of Peter Cushing. Ralph Bates was brought in to fill the gap, but unlike his Baron Frankenstein, his part is was written for Cushing. Bates gives it his all, but the role of a professor tempted over to the dark side, simply had to be played by an older man. However what really made Sangster want to hide under his seat was “Strange Love,” a hideous pop song imposed on the soundtrack during a key seduction scene without Sangster's prior knowledge. The film, all in all, isn't "bad" bad. It has the usual production values and atmospheric photography that one has every right to expect from Hammer, and serious students owe it at least one look. To that end, at least the video version is the restored original, not the cut US release known as To Love a Vampire. But, it is rightly regarded as the weakest link in the trilogy, cut or not.

    A much more interesting item, c. 1970-71 was Countess Dracula, which was neither a series entry nor even a vampire film. The star of The Vampire Lovers and the director of Taste the Blood of Dracula (Ingrid Pitt and Peter Sasdy, respectively) brought us the story of Elizabeth Bathory, the "Blood Countess" of infamy, who believed that bathing in the blood of virgins would maintain her youth forever. Sasdy's film translates that belief into a matter of fact.

    If Bathory doesn't keep up her treatments, she can revert from a young lady to an old hag in the blink of an eye. This possibility does not deter her from having her own daughter kidnapped in order to marry her prospective son-in-law. Countess Dracula contained blood, sex and special makeup aplenty, but none of it came off as gratuitous in the context in which it was placed. Of course, very little of these elements were actually seen in the US for when 20th Century Fox brought it to us a couple of years later, it was cut, not to an “R,” but a “PG” rating!

    The film has not been released on US video in any version so far, but an uncut print happily surfaced on British cassettes before "Video Nasty" censorship took over all of their horror titles (yes, even the established Hammer "classics").

    Peter Sasdy then brought us 1971's Hands of the Ripper. If you’ve ever fallen asleep watching this film on TV as you wondered why criminal psychologist Severn Darden kept popping up to explain and expound upon the plot (which was treated as a gigantic flashback), you should be aware that the TV version was just that: a TV version. Similar cut-and-pad treatment for the airwaves had previously been given to Hammer's The Phantom of the Opera (1962) and The Evil of Frankenstein (1964), not to mention The Kiss of the Vampire (1964), which even underwent a title change to Kiss of Evil (avoid any print with that title!). I'm glad to report that the US video releases of all four of these films are the original British versions.

    In its original cut, The Hands of the Ripper is a straightforward shocker concerning the daughter of Spring-Heeled Jack himself and the possibility that she has inherited his murderous impulses. A psychiatrist (Eric Porter) idealistically believes he can cure her, but his own emotions prevent him from reaching an effective solution and trap him in a situation he is powerless to control. Hands is the only ‘70s Hammer thriller to receive good reviews across the board, and requires no "defense" from, me, so if you’ve avoided or simply haven't gotten around to seeing it (besides on TV), seek it out. You won't be disappointed.

    Next up for Hammer was the final installment in the Karnstein saga, Twins of Evil (1971). It wasn't meant to be last one. A fourth chapter, prospectively titled Vampire Virgins, was planned but abandoned as poor audience response gradually took its toll on Hammer. It might have been interesting, but I think that it's better by far that the series came to an end on a high note, which it most certainly did with this John Hough offering.

    Peter Cushing returned to the series, this time as witch-hunter Gustav Weil. Though ferociously dedicated to purging the land of evil, he does not comprehend its true nature any more than the rich and bored Count Karnstein (Damien Thomas). As Weil goes about his duties by burning innocent women at the stake, Karnstein, sick of the mock-Satanic spectacles arranged for his amusement, summons his ancestor, Mircalla, who stays long enough to seduce and vampirize him. These events coincide with the arrival in town of Weil’s twin nieces (Madeleine and Mary Collinson), one of whom is lured into the world of the undead by the Count - but which one? It hardly matters to the Puritanical Weil as he would be perfectly willing to sacrifice both of them if it meant getting rid of the "bad" twin. Though future Lucio Fulci regular David Warbeck is the romantic lead, the powers of "good" in this film are headed by Weil, who leaves just as horrific a trail of-death behind him as any vampire in the story, at least in the theatrical version available on tape.

    The TV print is yet another "soft" cut that improves Weil's image somewhat. If your print's opening credits play over Weil and his men riding their horses, forget it. The titles of the real thing play over a "witch" screaming as she burns at the stake. No, I don't think Hammer wanted us to sympathize with the Puritans in their vampire films. I feel that the critics err by confusing a display of arch-conservatism in these and other horror films with an arch-conservative attitude on the part of their filmmakers themselves. A perfect example of this can be found right here. Director Hough did a fine job with the elements of drama and horror in Twins of Evil, but not quite as well with the required eroticism (the film could have done very well without a truly embarrassing shot in which Mircalla, in an incestuous encounter with. her curious descendant, awkwardly stretches out her arm in order to fondle a candle sitting on a nearby table!). All things considered, though Twins of Evil adds up to be the best of the Karnstein series and more than worthy of any horror fan's attention.

    1971s Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde, another offering from Roy Ward Baker was the first film to use a premise that is nowadays played for laughs (i.e. 1995s Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde).

    Remarkably, Baker treats the concept of Ralph Bates' mental and physical transformation into Martine Beswicke absolutely seriously, and pulls it off without a single sniggering joke. In this Robert Louis Stevenson variant it is experiments with female hormones while searching for a "fountain of youth'' serum that lead to the split personality. The plot becomes rather cluttered as it brings grave-robbers Burke and Hare into play and suggests that Jekyll's search for an antidote causes him to become Jack the Ripper in the meantime, as well. But Bates and Beswike complement each others performances equally well and Bakers refusal to make fun of the material comes through as absolutely the right decision. Production values are as high as ever -but you may have to take my word for that, as the US HBO Video cassette is almost unwatchably dark. On the plus side it is the uncut British version, not the "PG" cut distributed in the US by American-International. If we could only turn up the lights a bit on this title, I'd have no complaints at all.

    Blood From the Mummy's Tomb (1971) was the final film by Seth Holt, director of two of Hammer's best psychothrillers: Scream of Fear (1961) and The Nanny (1965). Appropriately enough, though it has supernatural elements, Blood fits in very nicely along the lines established in those previous films. Indeed, there is no cloth-wrapped figure shambling around any part of this item. Andrew Keir plays an archeologist who discovers the tomb of the Egyptian princess Tera. At the moment he does, his wife dies in childbirth and Tera's spirit takes possession of the newborn girl who grows up to be Valerie Leon.

    If this story sounds familiar to you, you must have managed to stay awake through The Awakening (1981) with Charlton Heston in the Keir role. Though the Heston film was not acknowledged as a remake of Holt's work (which was completed by Michael Carreras when Holt died with one week's work left to be done) both were based on the Bram Stoker novel Jewel of the Seven Stars. The Awakening tried to pep things up with supernatural murders taking place Omen-style, but Blood, despite its lack of graphic gore, is superior in its study of possession and the mental stability of those affected by it. This is one of Hammer's more obscure outings, I saw it exactly once on American TV, and it has yet to be released on video in this country. The British tape version contains no surprising sensationalism, but is uncut to the best of my knowledge and is worth the trouble it takes to get ahold
of.

    But if you're taking the trouble to seek out the original British editions of any Hammer films at all, whatever you do, don't pass up Vampire Circus (1971-72). Forget you ever saw the US version, which was cut to a “PG” and double-billed with the equally censored Countess Dracula by Twentieth Century Fox. Not that it was completely worthless. I remember going out of my way to catch it on TV every time it came on, but who couldn't have noticed how choppy some of it seemed? What a shame it was, as this is one of the most original and exciting thrillers Hammer ever produced. If you've never seen it, I'll give you the premise, but no particulars. Count Mitterhaus (Robert Tayrman) swears revenge on village of the men who staked him (including familiar face Thorley Walters). Years later, during an outbreak of plague, said revenge arrives in the form of a gypsy circus (featuring Adrienne Corri, Skip Martin, David Prowse and Lalla Ward, among others). That's all you need, to know for now. Get a hold of the British video print (uncut, and the only game in town, as no version of this film has come out on tape in America as yet). If you have seen it, and you're wondering what the British version has that you’ve been missing... Well, there's nudity where you probably figured it would have gone, and the bit with the gun features what you'd expect (albeit in a rather graphic form for Hammer). On the other hand, the crossbow scene might surprise you! This was the feature debut of director Robert Young (unrelated not only to the Marcus Welby actor, but to fellow directors Robert E. and Robert W. Young, as well), and it frustratingly remains his only horror film. Our loss. Vampire Circus features strong performances, superb atmosphere and genuine intensity, as well as some startling special effects among the more traditional ones (I’m still studying the transformation scene that takes place on a staircase for example). I've said enough, your move.

    Hammer's final 1971-72 horror outing was a blend of their Gothic and psychothriller themes known as Demons of the Mind. The debut feature of director Peter Sykes, it starred Gillian Hills and Shane Briant as the children of a tyrannical baron (Robert Hardy) who believes they have inherited a family, curse namely, insanity. While Hardy does his best to keep his children prisoner, Hill nonetheless finds outside love in romantic lead Paul Jones. In the meantime, the 19th century village housing these characters is being terrorized by a mysterious killer. Only the family doctor (Patrick Magee) has a chance to find out the truth. Although Demons features no supernatural elements, the superstitions of the villagers and the concert of a family curse generate as much traditional atmosphere as any of Hammer's Dracula or Frankenstein features. But this is not escapist fare, and as such, it failed to reach an audience. No more! It happens to be a truly gripping horror film, as it's available uncut under three different titles on domestic video (Blood Evil and A Nightmare of Terror, the latter title derived from the first blurb in the trailer of the the film!), it might be easier to find than some of the other titles described here.

    After appearing in a role identified with Peter Cushing and then playing a role actually written for Peter Cushing, Ralph Bates finally appeared in a film with Peter Cushing in 1972. Bates' final Hammer film, Fear in the Night, again co-written and directed by Jimmy Sangster, also featured Judy Geesor, and Joan Collins. This was a psychothriller in the "who's-doing- what-to-whom- and-when" school, and "school" is the correct term, as a deserted academy serves as the setting. Bates is Geeson's husband, Collins is Cushing's wife, and Cushing is the one-armed man (yes, really). Honestly, it doesn't take a genius to see where the story's headed, but it's still enjoyable (more so if someone doesn't spell it out for you ahead of time, hence my brevity). Viewing tip: seek out the version with the original title. This film has also been released on US video as Honeymoon of Fear and (to hype Joan Collins) as Dynasty of Fear but the mood-setting opening credit sequence plays much better without video generated intrusions designed to give Collins top billing.

    We have now arrived at the hot corner. When the detractors finish sharpening their knives in preparation for their attack on '70s Hammer horror, this is where they stab first. You guessed it, Alan Gibson' s Dracula A.D. 1972 (gee, I forget what year it came out...). What, ask the critics, possessed Hammer to move Christopher Lee's Count from his traditional trappings and place him among the "mod" youths of contemporary London. I lost count of the number of "reviews" I've read of this film that spent so much time attacking the apparently blasphemous concept behind the film that they never got around to evaluating the film itself! Well, over twenty, years have passed, and the smoke must have cleared by now, so let's take a fresh look.

    As noted, Hammer was competing for an audience like never before at this time. Their traditional Gothic thrillers, though handled with no less professional care, simply weren't attracting that audience any longer, so experimentation was necessary. On a less businesslike note, the very concept of an undead immortal dictates the potential to live into the twentieth century among his powers. Therefore, if Dracula could keep coming back to "life" in the 1800s, there's no reason to believe he would not eventually reach 1972 and have to cope with it. With the previous century played out to its full potential in the earlier Hammer Dracula films, the time had come to take the jump.

    Even so, Gibson does not take the character and instantly throw him into totally unfamiliar surroundings for shock or comedy value. The film starts with the final showdown between Dracula and Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) in 1872 an exciting battle on a runaway carriage which ends with the death of both men and with the arrival of one of Dracula's disciples (Christopher Neame), who takes possession of the Count's remains. One hundred years later, the three men live again. Dracula as his resurrected self, Van helsing in the form of his grandson Lorimar (still Cushing). and Neame as the young "Johnny Alucard." The link to Dracula's past is maintained, and the Count himself is confined to the appropriate surroundings of a ruined churchyard. He does not "do the town" and sample the modern conveniences for our entertainment, but takes instant charge of the situation and sets about the business of claiming Van Helsing's granddaughter (Stephanie Beacham) in order to avenge himself upon the family. In the role of the vampire-hunter, it is Van Helsing who must adapt his grandfather's legacy to the modern world. While set back by the common-sense "no such thing as a vampire" attitude of Scotland Yard, he can take advantage of such innovations as running water available at the pull of a handle.

    Some complain that the pop culture of the youthful characters (including Caroline Munro) has dated the film and so it has, but this was filmed and set in London in 1972, after all. The only element that seems at all forced is the abrasive electric guitar/saxophone score that certainly the era, but doesn't quite suggest Dracula. Once, one allows oneself to absorb and get past the initial culture shock, Dracula A.D. 1972 turns to be a slick and exciting, piece of work.

    1972 also saw the release of the last of Hammer's psychothrillers, Peter Collinson's Straight on Till Morning, at least in England. The film went straight to television several years later in America. Unlike other entries in Hammer's non-supernatural horror series there is no mystery involved here. Shane (Demons of the Mind) Briant stars as a lady-killer, in both senses of the word, who begins a romance with "ugly duckling" Rita Tushingham. There are so many intriguing elements here that are used to explore the minds of its protagonists (Briant regales his victims with recordings of the voices of past prey; Tushingham is tragically unaware that her lack of physical beauty is just what Briant genuinely loves about her) that it's a shame to see the film come to such an unsatisfing ending. Hence, this is not a priority-one title, but if you happen across it on video (under the titles Dressed for Death and Till Dawn Do We Part), it's worth renting.

    Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing and director Alan Gibson reunited in 1973 for The Satanic Rites of Dracula. Possibly as a result of negative reaction to the "youth" element of the previous Dracula entry, Hammer's final contemporary vampire film was populated solely by adults (with Joanna Lumley replacing Stephanie Beacham as a Jessica Van Helsing more mature for her previous experiences). The story this time, despite a lack of outlandish gadgets and sets, is a James Bond-inspired mixture of political intrigue, secret societies, a super-lethal new strain of bubonic plague, and the exclusive master-mind behind it all (Dracula himself, in a Howard Huges-esque guise as D. D. Denheim, billionaire corporate CEO).

    Though more adult in nature than the 1972 outing, Rites is actually further removed in tone and atmosphere than the rest of the series. It entertains reasonably well enough with it’s conspiracy/doomsday plot scenario, but is lacking a bit when it comes to actual horror (which stayed at the forefront of the more controversial Dracula A.D. 1972).

    Appropriately enough, Van Helsing observes that Dracula, through the use of the plague, is actually seeking an end to his own eternal existence. Christopher Lee, in real-life, decided similarly for his portrayal of the character.

    Nevertheless, Lee's reign as Dracula does not end on a note of disgrace. The climactic confrontation between Van Helsing and the Count, taking place as the clock strikes midnight and Dracula prepares to unleash his final vengeance upon the world, builds up a worthy intensity for the adversaries. Of course it doesn't match the one in 1958s (Horror of) Dracula - what could? But the series is allowed to end with dignity.

    The Satanic Rites of Dracula is certainly worth a look on video, and we have been graced once again with an uncut British edition on U.S. tapes, not to be confused with the heavily scissored theatrical version that played here as Count Dracula and His Vampire Bride. (I never saw that version, does anyone out there have the details?)

    Hammer's Frankenstein series came to its conclusion in 1973 with the final film of Terence Fisher, Frankenstein and the Monster From Hell. Despite the previous, "rogue" entry with Ralph Bates interrupting the sequence, this was the logical denouement of the saga featuring Peter Cushing as the Baron. Set in an insane asylum recently (and secretly) taken over by Frankenstein, the film details his attempts to once again create a being tailored to his specifications. But a large part of the focus of this work is on the young Dr. Helder (Shane Briant), who has been institutionalized for emulating the work of the Baron himself. Given the opportunity to work with Frankenstein firsthand, he must ultimately decide if his path is worth following. Monster was initially quite poorly received by critics and fans, sometimes for the crudities of the monster played by David Prowse, but more often than not just for being yet another Frankenstein film. (Would they have preferred Frankenstein A.D. 1973?). Yet once seen in context with the other entries in the Cushing series, all but one directed by Fisher, it takes on enough significance to make it indispensable. The fact that the monster barely resembles a man at all is crucial in its illustration of Frankenstein's decline, as does the ghoulish humor into which the Cushing character frequently lapses.

    Finally, as viewers had the opportunity to start the series with the character's beginnings, they were entitled to see him through to the end. Being carried off to an uncertain fate in a burning house (Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed, 1969) was a good enough ending for a single movie, but not for a carefully crafted series featuring the Baron. The series does not pay off without the final entry, any more than the final entry pays off without the rest of the series, and it is more true of the Frankensteins than of the Draculas. Monster plays on Cinemax with an "R" rating and is uncut except for legendary "peripheral artery" scene (which I won't detail, it's available on the Japanese import and quite amusing
even though it really wasn't worth the fuss to cut in the first place). The USA Network used to show this same print, but has recently softened their cut. As for video, Paramount released another cut-to-pieces atrocity to add to their miserable collection of EP-speed “Master Sharp” budget tapes. It was recently replaced with the Cinemax cut, but I don't know how you can tell the versions apart by looking at the box. Stick with it, the film needs to be seen.

    Although Hammer was bringing established series to their ends, they weren't simply giving up. 1973's Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter was a valiant effort to start a fresh new vampire series Horst Janson starred as the title character, a noble swashbuckler on an unending quest to avenge the vampire murder of his father by ridding the world of the bloodsuckers. John Carson is Professor Grost, his hunchbacked sidekick, and the team is joined by Caroline Munro shortly alone, the way. Their nemesis an unusual vampire who can manipulate the passage of time. The premise of the proposed series dictated that different vampires must be dispatched in different ways. This leads to an unduplicated comic/horror scene in which a vampire's victim must patiently submit to method after method as Kronos tries to provide him with final peace. Unique as well (for a vampire film) is the lively fencing match at the end. Regardless of the 1972 copyright date, this Brian Clemens outing was released on a double bill with Frankenstein and the Monster From Hell in 1973; and was uncut with a "PG" in America. Like it’s counterpart, this went from an intact uncut print to a softened cut on the USA Network (losing some near-nudity). The video version was released by Paramount much earlier than the Frankenstein film, back in the days when they still cared about their horror releases enough to issue them uncut and in SP mode. Seek the tape out, even the critics liked this film enough to wish it had become a series, but it has not to be. Theatrical audiences, now being offered a greater variety of graphic shocks from all over the world than ever, simply weren't interested in "Hammer Horror" anymore, no matter how well reviewed. (Side note: Kronos featured one more Hammer film appearance by actor Shane Briant. Despite my name and even a vague similarity facially, I'm not him using an alias. He continues to act in Australia.)

    Hammer wasn't going down without a fight... Literally, as it turned out.

    A collaboration , with Hong Kong's Shaw Brothers studio in 1973 yielded not only the previously cited straight actioner Call Him Mr. Shatter, but an experimental blend of 19th century martial arts and vampire mythology. Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, directed by Roy Ward Baker, can't truly be considered part of the Hammer Dracula series, even though it made use of the character. Not only was Christopher Lee conspicuous by his absence, but the film does not connect with any previous entry at all. In the prologue to Dracula A.D. 1972, it is established that Van Helsing (still Peter Cushing) died in 1872, so placing him in 1904 Hong Kong only makes sense if we consider this a separate entity, a la Horror of Frankenstein. Legend has kung-fu star David Chiang calling upon Cushing to accompany him and his siblings (six brothers, one sister) on a journey to their ancestral village in order to liberate it from the curse of the titular vampires. The character of Dracula seems to be mixed into this for name value only. John Forbes-Robertson plays Dracula briefly at the beginning,
and end, but the Count spends most of the movie hiding in the body of a Chinese monk as he controls the Golden Vampires (eye-catching figures with flowing robes, decomposed zombie faces, extra-thin fangs and golden masks). The fact that this Dracula spends the years 1804-1904 in China keeps this film even further away from the Christopher Lee series! But on its own terms, Legend, packed as it is with martial-arts battles and militant vampire mayhem, is rousing entertainment. Director Baker wisely left the fight choreography to Liu Chia-Liang, and provided such effective horror imagery as the spectacle of the vampires on horseback, leading their zombie troops into battle.

    The U.S. theatrical version, available on video, is known as The 7 Brothers Meet Dracula. It's so badly cut that parts of it are utterly incomprehensible, but this "cut" is not completely disposable, as it contains all the violence and nudity that earned the film its "R" rating. The U.S. tape release of the original title, unfortunately, is a pre-cut television version. TNT occasionally airs an even more frustrating print which letterboxes the entire prologue up through the opening credits, an uncut print of the quality TNT offers would be absolutely definitive. If you're not able to obtain a totally uncut version, the TV print is still worth watching, you'll never see anything like this again - guaranteed!

    It wasn't until 1976 that Hammer produced another horror film, and this one was to be their last theatrical shocker. West German studio Terra Filmkunst collaborated with Hammer to bring us To The Devil A Daughter, today best known as the film debut of Nastassia Kinski (that’s how her name is spelled here). This was the third Hammer adaptation of a Dennis Wheatley story the others were The Devil Rides Out (a.k.a. The Devil's Bride) and The Lost Continent (both 1968).

    Christopher Lee, symbol of Hammer Horror from beginning to end, plays a priest of Astaroth determined to see the child of his god born to sixteen-year old nun Kinski. On the side of Good is American-writer Richard Widmark, who has custody of Kinski and is armed with the necessary knowledge of Lee's religion. The exceptionally stronger cast is rounded out by Honor Blackman and Denholm Elliott, while director Peter Sykes (Demons of the Mind) proves himself equally adept at building intensity in a supernatural story set in the present as he was with his previous down-to-earth 19th century thriller.

    The only downside to this is a rather obviously rushed ending. But up until that point, we are treated to some of the strongest horror Hammer ever dared, the details concerning demonic birth are especially gruesome. Yet even that was not enough to reclaim Hammer's box-office draw. Three years prior had seen the release of The Exorcist, after all, and The Omen provided the competition that year. With examples like these, it's no wonder that Hammer, a relatively small studio with a passion for classical horror didn't stand a chance in the theatrical marketplace. By the end of the decade Hammer had made television its permanent home.

    “The decline of Hammer,” then, can only truly be applied to the studio's box-office pull. Looking back through Hammer's final theatrical decade doesn't suddenly uncover a rash of bad acting, sloppy writing, shoddy production values and indifferent direction -nor does it see these elements decline from the standards set in the 50s and 60s, for that matter. The offbeat experiments decried by the purists did not compromise the bulk of the studio's output, and were not carried out in such a manner as to insult their predecessors, either. Hammer produced many fine, standout thrillers in the years 1970-76, many of which are all but completely ignored by the critics. The fact was that the well-reviewed titles did no better than the poorly reviewed ones.

    Hammer Horror, and by that I mean damn good Hammer Horror existed to the very end. But don't take my word for it, even if you agree with me, there's no films, covered here that isn't worth a look, or even a second look if you've only seen it once. Go to it!

    (Dedicated to the memory of Ralph Bates.)

    Footnotes:
    ¹A sticky point is raised by Don Chaffey's Creatures the World Forgot. It’s prehistoric setting gets it into the genre reference books (and as such within the scope of this article) and its 1970 copyright date annoyingly squeaks it into range here, but that's about it. Imagine One Million Years B.C. (1967) or When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth without the dinosaurs, but with extra nudity. Now imagine the film cut to a "PG" in the States. That's what we got, and it's about as interesting as it sounds. As the last gasp of Hammer's prehistoric adventures, it doesn't keep very good company with the other films discussed here, so I've left it out as decidedly "non-horror."

    ²At least until Fangoria 147's trashing of Terence Fisher's The Phantom of the Opera (1964)! Open memo to Dr. Cyclops: You're as entitled to your opinion as anyone, but please speak for yourself and don't assume that all "Hammerheads" (to use your term) agree with you. Fisher's Phantom, in its restored form, has actually been enjoying some rediscovery by a good number of fans in recent years, and this is in evidence in print. Just because you aren't on the boat, don't assume the rest of us are standing on the pier with you, okay?

-- Shane M. Dallmann

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