However, on-going health problems
with his beloved wife Helen necessitated extensive – and costly – testing and
treatments. Hammer Horror was on the
rise and it offered Cushing a degree of financial stability that he hadn’t
really encountered at this stage in the game.
The actor elected to throw “respectability” to the wind – and he would
embrace a long and fruitful association with Hammer and the horror genre in
general. When the time came for the
studio to make their seemingly inevitable color version of Dracula (which would be released in the U.S. as Horror of Dracula to help distinguish it
from the 1931 version directed by Tod Browning and starring Bela Lugosi), it
was every bit as inevitable that they would turn to Cushing to star. He wasn’t really the right “type” to play Dracula
himself, but the role of Van Helsing appeared to offer him a consolation
prize. The only problem was, the
character as described by author Bram Stoker was an elderly Dutchman. Producer Hinds and screenwriter Jimmy
Sangster apparently toyed with the idea of sticking with the book and putting
their star in a white wig, but Cushing had other ideas: he would play the role
as a younger, more agile man. It would
prove to be a tremendous inspiration.
Much has been written about the resulting film over
the years, but sooner than rehash the usual talk of Christopher Lee’s take on
Dracula or director Terence Fisher’s elegant simplicity in realizing the
material, let us consider what Peter Cushing brought to the table. It’s well known that Cushing was not
particularly enamored with the screenplays by Jimmy Sangster – least of all,
the dialogue they contained. A somewhat
fussy and exceptionally dedicated actor, he would do his best to enliven the
films he appeared in by working in unison with the directors, quietly making
suggestions as to how to better develop the scenes and dialogue. If Cushing had no problem shooting down the
idea of playing Van Helsing a la Stoker, he was equally comfortable in making
suggestions to Fisher about how to overcome some of the logical shortcomings
present in Sangster’s scenario. Sangster
had written the climax with the idea of Van Helsing pulling a crucifix from his
coat pocket and using it to force Dracula into the sunlight. Cushing balked at this, however, rightly
pointing out that he had already handed out several crucifixes and was in
danger of coming across like a crucifix salesman!
He also felt the ending was a bit static and
remembering a film from his youth, he suggested to Fisher that it might be more
exciting if Van Helsing were to jump on the table in the Count’s library and
use it to get a running start at jumping at the curtains, enabling him to flood
the library with sunlight; he would then take two silver candlesticks and cross
them together, using them to force his wounded foe into the light. Fisher recognized a good idea when it was
presented and wasn’t too proud to utilize it, and one of the most exciting
finales in the history of the genre was formed.
Cushing was also ahead of the curve in recognizing
that Van Helsing wasn’t entirely “all there.”
As he would later recall, anybody who doesn’t leave the house without a
supply of crucifixes, holy water, stakes and hammers is hardly your average
practicing physician! As such, Cushing
would play the role with an edge, making him different from Stoker’s conception
and also a bit more ambiguous than other Van Helsings on film, like Edward Van
Sloan (Dracula, 1931; Dracula’s Daughter, 1936), Herbert Lom
(Jess Franco’s Count Dracula, 1970),
Frank Finlay (the BBC’s superb Count
Dracula, 1978) and his old friend Laurence Olivier (Universal’s big budget Dracula, 1979). Cushing’s Van Helsing, especially in this
first entry, is a steely adversary largely because he’ ever-so-subtly off his
rocker. This is most neatly summed up in
the marvelous scene wherein the porter played by Geoffrey Bayldon (who would go
on to co-star in such Cushing classics as Frankenstein
Must Be Destroyed, 1969, and The
House That Dripped Blood, 1970) gets flustered because he thought he had
heard Van Helsing talking with someone when in fact the good doctor is all
alone; the truth is, Van Helsing was recording on his Dictaphone, but he elects
to alarm the nosy servant by proudly proclaiming that he was talking to
himself. It’s a rich moment of dark
humor that stands in relief against the more wince-inducing comedic relief
provided by George Benson late in the film.
Cushing’s Van Helsing is obsessive to a fault, barely taking time to
provide much in the way of consolation to the uncomprehending people caught up
in the drama. His warmest moment occurs
when he comforts the little girl (Janina Faye) who nearly became vampire fodder
herself, and it could be that Cushing was insistent upon adding this in to
soften the character just a little (it would seem that the controversial line
he says about “teddy bears” was an ad lib on his part; the line elicits groans
from some viewers because the term did not come into existence until well after
the timeframe in which the film is set).
The film was released to tremendous box office and
mixed reviews in 1958 and would help to cement Cushing as the successor to
Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. A sequel
would have seemed inevitable, yet it took a while to materialize. Here again, the trials and tribulations in
bringing what was eventually released as The
Brides of Dracula to the screen can be read elsewhere (I wrote up a piece
on the film for this very site HERE), but what Cushing brought to it again deserves
special consideration.
As was par for the course with Cushing, he had
issues with Jimmy Sangster’s original screenplay. Indeed, he was so appalled by aspects of it
that he asked to allow a friend, Edward Percy, to come in and do a proper
dialogue polish. Producer/co-writer
Anthony Hinds allowed the request and also acquiesced to the actor’s desire for
a new climax – as the original one devised by Sangster (wherein Van Helsing
uses black magic to defeat the vampire) clashed with his conception of the
character. Hinds devised a new bit of
derring-do for Cushing to perform and quietly pocketed the original ending with
the hopes of dusting it off for a later project… which he would do, on The Kiss of the Vampire (1962).
Cushing would play the character as a bit softer
this time around. He’s a warmer, more
approachable character and while he’s still fixated on eradicating evil, he
seems less obsessive about it. He even
displays something of a romantic interest in the film’s damsel in distress
(Yvonne Monlaur), which would have seemed unthinkable in the more
tunnel-vision-oriented characterization present in Dracula. The film withholds Cushing’s entrance until
the second act, but from that point on he quietly dominates the proceedings –
no mean feat when one considers the truly imposing work by David Peel as the
effete Baron Meinster, Martita Hunt as his disgraced mother and Freda Jackson
as the cackling nanny-turned-vampire-midwife.
Cushing’s attention to detail manifests itself throughout as does his
propensity for juggling as many props as possible without calling too much
attention to himself – a fetish of sorts which prompted director Val Guest to
refer to him as “Props Peter.”
Brides
of Dracula would be another hit for Hammer, but curiously,
they would elect to not bring Van Helsing back for future installments like Dracula Prince of Darkness (1965), Dracula Has Risen from the Grave (1968),
Taste the Blood of Dracula (1969) and
Scars of Dracula (1970). The Van Helsing surrogates in these later
films would range from Andrew Keir’s no-nonsense Father Sandor and Rupert
Davies stern Monsignor to John Carson’s folklore-friendly Jonathan Secker and
Michael Gwynn’s basically ineffectual village priest. They were all fine in their respective roles,
but one couldn’t help but wonder why it was that Cushing was no longer part of
the franchise. Things would change,
however, when Hammer decided to “update” the franchise to the modern day…
Part Two Later This Week...
Written by: Troy Howarth
