Faces of Frankenstein: Bringing Down the Hammer
By Brian Keiper
Previous ⬅ Faces of Frankenstein | The House of Hammer
Dedicated to the memory of film writer/historian David J. Skal whose scholarship and insight have been a great inspiration for this series.
Though The Revenge of Frankenstein left the story open for continuation, Hammer allowed the Baron to rest in peace for six years before bringing him and his hideous progeny back to the screen. During those years, Hammer’s horror output was diverse, ranging from traditional monster movies in the Universal vein like The Mummy (1959), Brides of Dracula (1960), Curse of the Werewolf (1961), and The Phantom of the Opera (1962), to horror-infused biopics like Rasputin: The Mad Monk (1966), and psychological thrillers like The Damned (aka These Are the Damned, 1962) and Paranoiac (1963). After being revived, Hammer’s Frankenstein series shuffled on nearly to the bitter end of Hammer’s original theatrical presence. Sometimes it soared and sometimes it limped, but it always offered something worthy of audiences returning to theaters for another installment. These films take on a much looser continuity than either the Universal series or the first two Hammer Frankenstein films. They play more like episodes in “The Continuing Adventures of Baron Victor Frankenstein” with audiences dropping in on the more audacious moments in his life’s saga. This phase of the series would begin with a partnership that would link Hammer to another iconic brand.
He’s Never Been More Shocking! Shocking! Shocking!
When Hammer’s Frankenstein series began, Universal was extremely protective of its properties and adamant that Hammer’s films bear no resemblance to their classics, specifically when it came to the iconic makeups of its various monsters. That all changed when the box-office receipts started rolling in. Universal began to distribute some of Hammer’s output and co-financed their next Frankenstein outing. As a result, writer/producer Anthony Hinds (taking his writing credit as John Elder) created something of a homage to Universal’s Frankenstein saga. Because of this, The Evil of Frankenstein (1964) is a departure from the rest of the series not only in continuity but in situation, structure, and above all the character of Victor Frankenstein himself.
After a run of horror roles at Hammer beginning with The Curse of Frankenstein and culminating in his reprisal of the role of Van Helsing in Brides of Dracula, Peter Cushing (and his beloved wife Helen) feared he was being typecast and sought out other kinds of roles beginning in 1960. These proved to be rather lean years for the actor, though he did turn in memorable performances in Sword of Sherwood Forest (1960), The Naked Edge (1961), and Captain Clegg (1962–which skates at the edges of horror). Perhaps his greatest and best-remembered role in these years is as the Scrooge-like Harry Fordyce in the brilliant little bank heist film Cash on Demand (1961) which has gained a cult following over the years. The Evil of Frankenstein would mark his triumphant return to the genre for which he would be best remembered and the role that made him an international star. In this film, however, he is far from the psychopathic villain that he would play for most of the series and more akin to the obsessive scientists played by Colin Clive and Basil Rathbone in the first three Universal films. His interests in creating and later reviving the monster are for the sake of science and research, and his methods and motives do not involve murder and revenge. He is angered by the bureaucrats, specifically the burgomaster and the chief of police who forced him out of town and stole the belongings from his house years before but does not take out his vengeance on them as he surely would in other installments.
The role of the villain is left in the hands of the hypnotist Professor Zoltan (Peter Woodthorpe) who Frankenstein employs to heal the monster’s brain which has been damaged from being shot years before and preserved in glacial ice. Zoltan is akin to Ygor (Bela Lugosi) in Son of Frankenstein (1939) by way of Dr. Caligari. He employs hypnotism to control the monster, using him to steal and take revenge on the common enemies he has with Frankenstein, thereby bringing blame to the Baron. Other similarities to the Universal films include the look and electrical nature of the lab equipment, the monster being found frozen in ice (as in House of Frankenstein), the pseudo-Bavarian town with its Burgomasters and peasant villagers, a wine-drinking monster (à la Bride), and perhaps most notably the monster’s makeup and overall look.
Not only did Universal allow Hammer to use the Jack Pierce makeup that they had so stringently forbidden in the past, but they insisted upon it. The result is an uninspired facsimile that is more of a rigid papier-mâché mask than a pliable makeup that a skilled actor like Boris Karloff could convey emotion through. The monster was played by professional wrestler Kiwi Kingston who was hired for his size rather than his acting abilities and plays him as the lurching, grunting oaf that the Universal monster devolved into after Karloff gave up the role.
There were several differences behind the scenes as well from previous installments. In addition to Hinds writing the script rather than Jimmy Sangster, Freddie Francis took up directing duties from Terence Fisher, who was unavailable. Francis was one of the great directors of photography, shooting remarkable films like The Innocents (1961) among many others, but the gothic milieu was not his passion. He later described his shooting movies like The Evil of Frankenstein — “here is the monster, here is the mad lab, and away we go.” But despite his lack of deep passion for this kind of film, it looks fantastic. Cinematography by John Wilcox, art direction by Don Mingaye (who worked closely with Hammer’s legendary Bernard Robinson and became a designer of practically equal ability), and special effects by Les Bowie and his team (the matte paintings and model work in particular are stunning for such a low-budget film) combine with Francis’s direction to produce a look truly worthy of the Hammer name. In the final analysis, this is the greatest aspect of The Evil of Frankenstein which is ultimately a competent if uninspired entry in the Hammer Frankenstein canon and continues to divide fans to this day.
A Beautiful Woman with the Soul of the Devil
Frankenstein Created Woman (1967) announced a return to form for the series. Visually, thematically, and in terms of story, it is in no way beholden to any Hollywood studio as was the case with its predecessor. Originally written by Anthony Hinds (again credited as John Elder) in 1958 as “And Frankenstein Created Woman” as a play on the Brigitte Bardot vehicle And God Created Woman (1956), the script was resurrected, refined, and brought before the cameras in July of 1966. Terence Fisher returned to the Frankenstein series with vigor and the film crackles with energy. Cushing once again played the Baron and Playboy Playmate of the Month (August 1966) Susan Denberg gives a powerhouse performance as Christina both before and after Frankenstein’s intervention. The film begins as a story of Star-crossed lovers, Hans and the partially paralyzed Christina, and becomes a revenge yarn when Frankenstein gets involved.
The film treads both familiar territory and blazes new trails for Hammer. The motif of the guillotine reappears from the first two films, signifying a return to the wholly unique sensibilities of the studio rather than the influence of Universal that pervaded the previous film. As a child, Hans (Robert Morris) witnesses his father executed on the guillotine. He grows up to assist Baron Frankenstein, a man who evaded this fate, and now performs experiments on himself testing various methods for cheating death, such as freezing himself to be revived by Dr. Hertz, played by respected comedic actor Thorley Walters. The relationship between Frankenstein and his assistants is one of mutual respect and even warmth, especially between the Baron and Hertz, and the dynamic is a welcome one to the series. Despite this, Frankenstein is still generally apathetic about anything but his work. When Hans is framed for murder, Frankenstein testifies on his behalf but seems to feel that being there is a waste of his time. When Hans is sentenced to death, the Baron sees it as an opportunity to confirm his hypothesis about the soul.
The film takes on a more ethereal dimension by delving into the transplanting of souls rather than just body parts. Frankenstein and Hertz capture Hans’s soul and place it in the body of Christina, who drowns herself after witnessing her lover’s death on the guillotine. Hertz pleads with Frankenstein to ask Hans’s permission to go through with the procedure, to which the Baron scoffs, worried “he might refuse.” This idea seems especially prescient in recent years with the advent of “deep fakes” aided by Artificial Intelligence and the moral implications of doing so. In films, we have seen the resurrection of dead actors, and though they have received permission from families and estates, the performers themselves have had no say. In fact, Peter Cushing himself was one of the first to be resurrected in such a manner.
But it is Susan Denberg for whom the film is most remembered. Though her dialogue was dubbed by actress Nikki Van der Zyl due to Denberg’s heavy accent, her performance, along with her beauty, is remarkable, and the epitome of “Hammer Glamour.” The early sections of the film in which her face is half covered by a birthmark, which she hides with her hair, and she struggles with a paralytic hand and leg evoke much tenderness and empathy. After Frankenstein revives her and surgically transforms her into an irresistible siren, she is simultaneously alluring and frightening. Inhabited by the soul of Hans, she takes revenge on the three rich young men who framed him, Aton (Peter Blythe), Karl (Barry Warren), and Johan (Derek Fowlds)* in gruesome and memorable ways. The moment when she kneels before Hans’s head on the bedpost with hands palm-up in a posture of worship is chilling.
Frankenstein Created Woman did well with both critics and audiences, and it proves to be a poignant and moving film to this day. Frankenstein himself takes something of a backseat to the primary plot involving Hans, Christina, and their tormentors, but the film does not suffer for it. Instead, it becomes a kind of ensemble piece with all the capable actors playing off one another beautifully. It is a fitting farewell (along with The Mummy’s Shroud) to Hammer’s long-time home at Bray Studios and the Hammer House aesthetic peculiar to that location. The surprising mix of romance, tragedy on a Shakespearean** level, and horror makes Frankenstein Created Woman one of Hammer’s greatest achievements.
The Most Frightening Frankenstein Movie Ever!
TW: This portion includes a discussion of sexual assault
As Hammer’s Frankenstein series goes on, it becomes increasingly apparent that they had competition. In the United States, American International Pictures was continually testing the limits of the slackening Hays Code, which by 1967 had collapsed under the weight of the New Hollywood and its flagship film Bonnie and Clyde. New levels of sex and violence were forcing their way to the screen and Roger Corman and his merry band of misfits were leading the charge. Closer to home, Hammer had Amicus, founded by a pair of Americans — Max Rosenberg and Milton Subotsky — to contend with. Not only was Amicus pushing boundaries of its own, it was doing it with some of Hammer’s key players including Freddie Francis, Peter Cushing, and Christopher Lee. Before long, they would delve into the well of Hammer Glamour and add Ingrid Pitt to that list. By the late 60s, both AIP and Amicus had left the Edwardian period behind and followed the example of William Castle films like The Tingler (1959) and 13 Ghosts (1960), Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), and the revolutionary 1968 films Night of the Living Dead and Rosemary’s Baby, all which were set in the modern era, making Hammer’s gothic horrors begin to look quaint by comparison. Hammer’s solution was to push boundaries of their own and Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed (1969) is a prime example.
From the very beginning, the film is more violent and overtly gory than previous installments. As Frankenstein Created Woman ends with a head in a hatbox, this film begins with one by way of a Jack the Ripper-esque beheading of a doctor in the opening moments. Cushing’s Frankenstein is at his most diabolical on several fronts, the most notorious involving the female lead character Anna Spengler, played by Hammer’s “It girl” of the time Veronica Carlson. But even before this sequence, Frankenstein blackmails her and her young lover, Dr. Karl Holst (Simon Ward) into assisting him in his experiments. In every previous film, Frankenstein’s associates were willing conspirators at least at first if not for the entirety of the picture.
It is arguable that Hammer also pushed the boundaries of taste in this film with the most controversial scene of its entire Frankenstein series, veering farther into the realm of exploitation than ever before, when the Baron sexually assaults Anna. Cushing, Carlson, and Fisher fiercely objected to the scene but were forced to follow through, which was added late in production by Michael Carreras, who felt more sex was needed to compete with American exploitation fare. In an interview, Veronica Carlson recounted the shooting of the scene:
“Peter didn’t want to do it. He took me to dinner one evening to discuss it but it didn’t make the scene any easier. I couldn’t refuse to do it. Terence Fisher was very understanding but it was totally humiliating. Every alternative was more vulgar than the last…Terry just said ‘Cut. That’s it,’ and turned away. Peter and I just stayed there and held on to each other.”
Ironically, the scene was cut for the U.S. release and only reinstated in the 1990s. It sits awkwardly in the film and comes out of nowhere. Then the violation seems to be forgotten as later scenes were shot before the assault sequence was added. Veronica Carlson refused to go to the premiere at first because of this scene. Her mind was changed through a kind letter from her co-star Peter Cushing and she attended but left immediately afterward in embarrassment. She felt her performance would have been much more nuanced if she had had the entire script from the beginning.
“If I’d had the knowledge of it, we would have done it discreetly as well. But my reaction to Peter and my whole demeanor throughout the rest of the film would have been different…No woman goes through that experience, believe me I know, without being changed forever. And that film didn’t give me that right.”
Despite this major flaw and a few other imperfections, Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed has a great deal going for it. It has a different feel than previous films in the series helping it to stand out from the pack. There is a renewed vigor to it and a semi-documentary feel often attributed to French New Wave films and American movies of the 1970s. The setting is more urban as Hammer departed the rural Bray studios and instead filmed on the city sets at Elstree. There are touches of humor provided by a police inspection under the guidance of Thorley Walters as Inspector Fritsch. Though these scenes occasionally slow the pace, they also provide relief from the film’s darker tone. Another sequence of black humor involves a body surfacing in Anna’s garden, when a water main breaks, forcing her to hide it elsewhere. There is also a deep pathos to the film, particularly in the characters of Dr. Brandt and especially his wife Ella (Maxine Audley).
The film deftly navigates the depths of Frankenstein’s psychopathy. To underscore this theme, Frankenstein is given a morally upstanding doppelgänger in the form of Dr. Brandt, whose Frankensteinian experiments have driven him mad. Through this character, the film implies that anyone who pursues the dark sciences that Frankenstein explores must be devoid of emotional or moral proclivities to maintain their sanity. When Brandt is given a new lease on life as his brain is transplanted into another body, he is deeply distressed by the development. In the end, Brandt brings Frankenstein and himself to ruin in a raging fire, destroying the secrets of their dastardly arts along with them. It is an end that appears final for the Baron…and perhaps was intended to be.
Watching Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed today, especially in the context of the other films in the series, the nihilism of this entry is jarring. But considering the context of the late 1960s, it fits cleanly with cultural trends of the era. The film seems to go through cycles of praise and derision as the years pass. Though they regularly pointed to its violence and grotesqueries, critics were generally kind to the film when it was originally released. Some years later, Terence Fisher referred to the film in a 1975 Cinefantastique interview as “The one that no one else seems to care for.” Twenty years later, Hammer aficionados Tom Johnson and Deborah Del Vecchio declared it “the company’s best film of the decade,” “practically flawless,” and “Hammer’s last outstanding film” in their exhaustive filmography of the company. Today, the film is once again divisive, due in large part to the out-of-character sexual assault scene and the opinions of it from Peter Cushing and Veronica Carlson that have come to light over the years. Perhaps this wildly vacillating approval rating is a sign of a truly great film as it continues to spark conversation and debate more than fifty years after its release.
Your Blood Will Run Cold When the Monster Rises
In 1970, Hammer attempted to restart the series from scratch with a darkly comedic reimagining of The Curse of Frankenstein starring Ralph Bates as the young Baron in Horror of Frankenstein. Veronica Carlson returned for her final appearance in a Hammer film and David Prowse played Frankenstein’s creation for the first time. Horror of Frankenstein does not belong to the franchise continuity and also failed to ignite a new one.*** The series would officially resume in 1974 with Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell, in many ways, a back-to-basics Frankenstein story. It would also prove to be one last hurrah for Cushing, Fisher, and Anthony Hinds, once again writing under the pseudonym John Elder, to play in the Frankenstein sandbox they knew so well.
The years between Cushing’s last two turns as Baron Frankenstein were difficult to say the least. In early 1971, he shot one day on Blood from the Mummy’s Tomb before learning that his dear wife Helen’s health had taken a turn for the worse. She died on January 14, 1971, and Peter fell into deep despair, even contemplating taking his own life. But his faith, which forbade such actions, and a note from her changed his outlook:
“…Let the sun shine in your heart. Do not pine for me, my beloved Peter, because that will cause unrest. Do not be hasty to leave this world, because you will not go until you have lived the life you have been given. AND REMEMBER we will meet again when the time is right…This is my promise…”
He threw himself full bore back into acting, primarily for Hammer and the BBC, giving some of his most passionate and vulnerable performances in films immediately following his return like Twins of Evil (1971) and as the widower Arthur Edward Grimsdyke in the anthology Tales from the Crypt (1972) for Amicus. According to friends, he never recovered from the loss of Helen and longed for the day they would be reunited.
Perhaps as a result of his ongoing grief, Cushing’s performance as the Baron is softer in Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell than in Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed. He is indeed a psychopath here, but more in line with the way the character was written for Frankenstein Created Woman. He is once again pure intellect, single-minded ambition, and practically devoid of empathy. His actions are purely in the interest of science no matter how nefarious they may be, but he takes a less proactive, hands-on approach from previous entries. For example, he refuses to murder anyone but leaves a document for a patient, Professor Durendel (Charles Lloyd Pack), to find stating that he is incurable, which drives the man to suicide, paving the way for Frankenstein to harvest his brain. He also makes it clear that he intends for the monster to mate with his young, mute, female assistant, Sarah (Madeline Smith) in an act that would not be consensual for either party involved, but purely in the interest of healing Durendel’s emotional afflictions and research purposes. As in Frankenstein Created Woman, his hands have been injured, presumably by the fire at the close of the previous film, and he relies on the skill of assistants to perform delicate surgeries. Once again, his associates are willing participants. First Sarah, then Simon Helder (Shane Briant), the young doctor sentenced to the insane asylum where Frankenstein now works for following in the Baron’s footsteps.
In general, the film follows a typical Frankenstein plot with doctors Frankenstein and Helder placing the brain of Professor Durendel into the head of a hulking, hairy monster, played by David Prowse,**** the only actor to play a Frankenstein monster (albeit two different ones) twice for Hammer. Eventually, the monster goes on a rampage through the asylum before being gunned down by a guard. There are attempts at empathy for the monster, but this is difficult considering Prowse is almost entirely buried under a mountain of rubber and a rigid mask that allows for very little expression from the actor.
The film does explore some interesting political and moral quandaries along the way, however, that raises it above typical exploitation monster fare. The treatment of mental health patients in public facilities had long been a concern, and by the early 70s, the situation was coming to a head. The following year, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest would call attention to such matters in a mainstream Hollywood film, but Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell would also draw attention to such matters, though it would not have the same impact on such institutions that Cuckoo’s Nest would. Frankenstein also revives two patients who took their own lives, forcing them to continue living against their will. This raises difficult moral questions involving assisted suicide that few “mere monster movies” would dare to even mention.
By the time Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell was released, Hammer had fallen on hard times. Gothic horror had given way to the more brutal, realistic horrors of the 1970s that were coming out of the United States. For the sake of context, Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell was released the same year as The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, but the two films feel decades apart in visceral impact. The writing was on the wall, and classic horror in the Hammer vein was breathing its last labored gasps. Two years later, Hammer would release their last horror film, To the Devil a Daughter, and in 1979, their last motion picture, a disastrous remake of The Lady Vanishes. In the early 80s, Hammer tried its hand at television with varied success. Technically the brand limped along in various forms throughout the 80s and 90s, releasing rights to comic books, home video releases, and various memorabilia, but the production wing of the company was long gone. The studio has changed hands several times since the early 2000s with several attempts to reignite the brand, but as of yet, none have taken long-term hold. Despite this, Hammer has produced several noteworthy films in its more recent iterations including Let Me In (2010), The Woman in Black (2012), and The Lodge (2019). Perhaps the studio will never again return to its glory days, but with its growing fandom and the new-found availability of once-forgotten or unknown titles becoming available on Blu-ray and streaming, Hammer seems to continually resurrect to terrorize another day. 🩸
Footnotes
* Fowlds would go on to play Bernard Woolley, the hapless middleman forever attempting to appease his rival superiors in the BBC series Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister.
** The tragic romance has a strong Romeo and Juliet feel but Christina’s drowning is not far removed from Ophelia in Hamlet.
*** Horror of Frankenstein will be covered in greater depth in an upcoming article in this series.
**** Prowse, a British weightlifting champion, would be best known for a small role as the writer’s bodyguard in A Clockwork Orange, to English children as “The Green Cross Code Man,” and above all for re-teaming with Peter Cushing, this time in a black cloak and helmet as Darth Vader in Star Wars and the subsequent sequels in the original trilogy.
Sources
English Gothic: A Century of Horror Cinema by Jonathan Rigby
Hammer Films: An Exhaustive Filmography by Tom Johnson and Deborah Del Vecchio
The Making of The Evil of Frankenstein by Don Fearney and Jim Groom, documentary film, 2013
Peter Cushing: A Life in Film by David Miller
Peter Cushing: The Complete Memoirs by Peter Cushing
Veronica Carlson: A Portrait of Hammer by Constantine Nasr, documentary film, 2019
About
Brian Keiper is a featured writer for Manor Vellum. Brian’s also written for Bloody Disgusting, Dread Central, F This Movie!, Ghastly Grinning, and others. Follow him on Instagram @brianwaves42.
Follow MANOR on Bluesky, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Threads, TikTok, X, YouTube, and other sites via Linktree.
© 2024 Manor Entertainment LLC
