The tide would change in 1957, with
the release of The Curse of Frankenstein. Hammer’s producer, Anthony Hinds, sought to
secure Cushing to star because of his reputation as Britain’s first bona fide
TV star. The producer realized that an
actor of his popularity would help the picture and was also keen to get away
from the policy – previously adhered to by Hammer and other low budget UK
companies – of importing fading American name actors to secure US
distribution. Curse was to be a British horror film, through and through, and
Cushing was key to this mission. The
actor accepted the role on the strength of remembering how impressed he had
been with James Whale’s 1931 version of Frankenstein.
Cushing certainly wasn’t overly impressed by the
screenplay by Jimmy Sangster, as Lee would later recall. The story goes that Lee was going on one day
about not having any lines; Cushing would reply, “You’re fortunate. I’ve read the script.” Lee won the role of the creature – buried
underneath Phil Leakey’s makeup and deprived of any dialogue – after Hinds
elected to pass on the similarly tall and lanky Bernard Bresslaw. It was Lee’s imposing height – up until that
time, his greatest handicap – that enabled him to net the role that would put
him on the road to international stardom; it was an irony not lost on the
actor, who determined to lend as much pathos to the role as he could
muster.
Cushing’s portrayal of the icy
and amoral Baron Victor Frankenstein is a thing of beauty, of course, but it
would be a mistake to underestimate what Lee brings to the role of the
creature. He plays the character like a
nightmarish marionette figure whose strings have been cut. His body refuses obey and his soulful eyes
convey suffering when the script doesn’t require him to lash out with violence. The two actors share very little screen time
together, setting a pattern for future collaborations, but they would bond on
the set. It’s unknown if the two even
discussed their mutual experiences working for Olivier and Huston, but they
certainly found much to laugh about as they discussed their love for cartoons. The film would become a surprise smash at the
box office, and Hammer wasn’t about to not capitalize on their obvious
chemistry and audience appeal.
If The
Curse of Frankenstein was Cushing’s star vehicle, then Dracula (1958) would be Lee’s.
Jimmy Sangster’s pared-down adaptation of the Bram Stoker novel would
give Lee the showcase he had been dreaming for, but stardom came with a price:
the role would become his signature, much as it had been for Bela Lugosi, but
he was determined not to allow it to control his career as it has
Lugosi’s. It was to be an uphill battle,
but it can be argued that he did eventually outlive the character’s shelf life,
finding popularity in various other characterizations, even if his tendency to
bristle at even discussing the role in recent years has alienated some of his
fans. Truth be told, his irritation with
the mantle of Dracula is understandable – after all, he has made hundreds of
films and only a few of them involve the character, and truly, how many times
can one be expected to answer the same questions over and over again?
Regardless, in 1958, the character was still
new and fresh – and his take on it would help to make the film a box office
triumph. Lee has often spoken of the
film’s US premiere, with various tipsy industry big wigs tittering with
laughter at the opening titles with its melodramatic, booming James Bernard
soundtrack. Lee, sensitive to criticism
at the best of times, was rightfully panic-stricken: this was his ticket to the
big time, and they were laughing at
it. He turned to Cushing, telling him
that they were dead in the water and that he was going to leave. “We have to say this through,” Cushing
assured him. Then came the big moment:
Dracula’s introduction, in silhouette, at the top of the stairs – an effect
underlined by Bernard’s signature three-note “Dra-cu-la” theme. The audience roared. Lee sank into his seat, thoroughly defeated. But then something happened… as Lee briskly
descended the stairs and walked into close up, speaking his lines in a clipped
British accent, and looking every inch the handsome European noble gentleman –
the audience went silent...
While
Sangster’s script had called for Dracula to be wearing a top hat and to have
fangs jutting conspicuously over his bottom lip, Lee and director Terence
Fisher sensibly decided to make the character as realistic as possible. It was a judicious move, one which played off
in spades for Lee. From that moment, the
audience was hooked. The film won the
preview audience over, and they went from jeering and cat calling to reacting
in shock and surprise. Cushing may have
claimed over-the-title billing, but this was Lee’s shining moment – from that
point on, he would be a name actor.
Hammer, for their part, continued to
give Cushing the starring assignments, but they weren’t about to not use Lee,
as well. They would reteam later in 1958
for a new version of The Hound of the
Baskervilles. This retelling of the
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle classic cast Cushing in what would become one of his signature
roles: Sherlock Holmes. On the face of
it, Lee would have been decent casting in the role as well – indeed he would go
on to play the character in 1962, in a rather disappointing film directed in
Germany by Terence Fisher called Sherlock
Holmes and the Deadly Necklace, before donning the deer stalker again in
1991 in two indifferent mini-series, Sherlock
Holmes and the Leading Lady and Sherlock
Holmes and the Incident at Victoria Falls.
While Lee’s portrayal in the German film is hard to assess fairly (he
would be dubbed into English by another actor), his turn in the mini-series
would prove to be rather disappointing: listless and a bit stiff.
With
this in mind, Cushing’s dynamic performance is to be savored all the
more. He does overdo his mannerisms a little bit here and there,
resulting in a few moments that can be viewed as hammy, but this also
serves to underline the character’s somewhat theatrical
disposition.Cushing’s take anticipates Jeremy Brett’s celebrated turn
for Granada TV in the 1980s and 90s, but he stops short of becoming as
over the top as that. Cushing invested himself in the role with
enthusiasm and had hoped to play the character in further adventures,
but the film’s disappointing box office put paid to that idea. If Lee
felt the least bit slighted by not being cast as Doyle’s sleuth, he
relished the chance of playing the film’s romantic leading man, Sir
Henry Baskerville. Lee’s brash and imposing presence adds color to what
could have been a dull character and he has a few moments which allow
him to register stark fear and terror; his account of being terrified by
a real tarantula during one scene may well be nonsense (if you look at
how the scene was shot, it’s clear that the hairy critter was never in
the same shot with him) but it makes for a nice anecdote, and besides,
he really does look terrified in his close ups during the scene in
question.
The two actors were nearly reunited
under similar circumstances – with Cushing as the dynamic protagonist and Lee
as the somewhat colorless “hero” – in The
Man Who Could Cheat Death, but Cushing, citing exhaustion, incited the
wrath of Hammer’s managing director, Sir James Carreras, by begging off at the
last second. German actor Anton Diffring
(who would perfect his “mad medic” persona in the following year’s Circus of Horrors for Anglo Amalgamated)
would inherit the role of the lovelorn medic who finds the secret to eternal
youth and life, while Lee would don a waxy mustache and have very little to do
as the hero, Dr. Gerard.
Their next teaming would occur in
1959, with The Mummy. Jimmy Sangster would pretty much ignore Karl
Freund’s 1932 original with Boris Karloff, drawing more inspiration from the
series of “B” sequels that Universal churned out in the 1940s. Cushing would again claim top billing, though
Lee played the title character. Lee
again demonstrated an uncanny ability to convey emotion and pathos underneath
tons of makeup, while Cushing would add depth to the theoretically boring
character of the intrepid archaeologist who becomes the victim of an ancient
curse.
Director Terence Fisher and
cinematographer Jack Asher would make this into one of Hammer’s most enjoyable
and stylish offerings and Lee’s athletic portrayal of the mummy, Kharis, would
add some real life and menace into a creature whose shambling in earlier
ventures could sometimes come off as unintentionally humorous. A flashback scene would at least allow Lee
some dialogue and “face time,” but if he was growing weary of wearing elaborate
make ups, he had yet to vocalize it. The Mummy would prove to be another hit
with audiences (it not critics) and Lee would soon begin branching out into
European films – partly to better establish himself with an international
audience, and partly to escape the bane of his existence: the British taxation
system. Cushing, ever the homebody,
would begin to find himself confined more and more to horror films.
As part of Lee’s “European campaign,”
he would take part in a couple of the then-popular Edgar Wallace “krimis”
produced in Germany. The first of these,
The Devil’s Daffodil, was to be shot
in two versions: one in German, one in English.
The latter would utilized some different actors, with William Lucas
stepping in for Joachim Fuchsberger, who starred in the German version. Multi-lingual Lee would play the role of the
Chinese detective Ling Chu in both versions; a truly incongruous effect in the
German version in particular, it has to be noted. Given that the film was shot in London, it
had no trouble in initially attracting the participation of Cushing as well –
but for whatever reason, he would bow out before filming any scenes. For Lee, the film is best remembered as being
the reason why he couldn’t have a honeymoon right after marrying his wife,
Gitte; the production commenced on a Monday following their weekend wedding
ceremony. Oh well, over 50 years later,
they remain happily married, so no harm, no foul.
Lee and Cushing would finally reunite
in 1963, for The Gorgon. This uncommonly romantic and atmospheric
Hammer horror would become one of director Terence Fisher’s personal
favorites. It is also regularly cited as
a favorite by many who normally don’t care for Hammer Horror. The reasons for this are obvious: the film’s
lyrical atmosphere sets it apart from the rather more blunt films they were
better known for. The film also inverts
typical casting by putting Cushing into the role of the icy and duplicitous Dr.
Namaroff, while Lee gets to play the charming and funny “Van Helsing role,”
Professor Meister. Lee is burdened with
an Einsteinian mop of hair, a bushy mustache and a not-terribly-convincing “old
man” makeup job, but his hunched countenance and blustery demeanor help to sell
the character. It’s one of his best
performances for the company, offering proof of his ability to breathe life
into characters with a bit more dialogue and screen time than the usual Dracula
assignment.
Cushing comes off less
convincingly as Namaroff, largely because his inherently likable persona
clashes with the character’s cool machinations.
Cushing seems a bit constrained by the role and falls back on his
favored mannerisms as a means of trying to give him a little humanity. It’s not a bad performance, by any means, but
it doesn’t rank high on his list of accomplishments, either. The central romance is beautifully enacted by
Barbara Shelley and Richard Pasco, however, and Fisher’s elegiac approach to
the material helps to enable one to forgive the less-than-special-effects work involving
the gorgon at the end of the picture.
Audiences reacted cooly, however, prompting Hammer to retreat back to
their standard Dracula and Frankenstein formulas for a period.
Part THREE ' A TALENT TO TERRIFY' SUNDAY 22ND DECEMBER 2013
A Talent To Terrify Is Written by Troy Howarth
with Images and Artwork by Marcus Brooks
