The Horror of Frankenstein (1970)

 "Times are hard. People just aren't dying off so quick..."

This isn't the first time I've seen this film, but it's probably pushing two decades since I last saw this, and it's lost none of its power. It's a shame the film, apparently, flopped at the box office; the script, direction and Ralph Bates are all superb, and even Kate O'Mara's inexplicable mittel-European Irish accent strangely works.

The Curse of Frankenstein introduced Hammer Horror films properly, telling the familiat story with a focus on Frankenstein himself as an amoral and obsessive villain rather than a tragic figure. This film absolutely doubles down on that, with Bates' Victor Frankenstein being a cynical, manipulative, cold bastard who not only kills for his work but demands sex from his housekeeper and cruelly refuses to marry Elizabeth, who is besotted with him, but cruelly exploits her financial troubles to make her his housekeeper. This Frankenstein is a deliciously nasty piece of work, and Bates carries this film in an absolute tour de force of a performance, although Dennis Price is absolutely wonderful as the splendidly camp grave robber,.

The monster turns up fairly late on in the film, but that doesn't matter. It's all about Frankenstein himself as the antihero we love to hate. Best of all, he survives unharmed at the end, unlike all of those who have crossed or even annoyed him. This is peak, confident Hammer, and t's superb, box office be damned.

The Ghoul (1975)

”She never came out. None of them ever do.”

This is the second film I’ve blogged by Tyburn Films, an abortive successor to Hammer which uses much the same crew to make similar types of films but sadly didn’t last long. This film, alas, is rather perfunctory and forgettable, in spite of being shot well and a fine performance from Cushing as a man who, like himself, had lost his wife and missed her terribly. It’s chiefly of interest as a novelty, for Cushing’s performance, for a young John Hurt being excellent as a lecherous henchman, and for looking very suspiciously as though a certain Doctor Who story owes a lot to it.

Non-Who fans, please indulge the next couple of sentences, but Black Orchid, I’m looking at you. 1920s setting? Yep. Big country house? Yep. Son kept locked up in a room, having been turned into a crazed killer while in an exotic faraway place? Yep. There’s even a policeman. And a fairly big role for Professor Cliff from The Green Death.

There’s a lot of promise here, especially with the setting of a country house surrounded by mist and marshland, but the plot is clumsy and loses momentum as soon as the major character gets killed halfway through. The film never quite recovers from this and feels somewhat disjointed. Ultimately the problem is the script, and more specifically the awkward plotting, which feels at times like a first draft. There are also some opinions expressed about the Hindu religion, presented as a dark pagan cult, which certainly raise eyebrows. But ultimately it’s a shame that such splendid acting and direction are wasted on a half-hearted script like this.