LAST RITES: 'THE SATANIC RITES OF DRACULA' : RARE PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY

For Hammer Studios, Dracula would remain a lucrative cash cow throughout the 1960s. Despite ongoing protestations by star Christopher Lee, who argued that the studio cared more about shoehorning him into increasingly desperate storylines than they did about properly exploiting Bram Stoker’s famed literary icon, the character would be killed off and resurrected time and time again. For a period of time, continuity was maintained. In 1970, Scars of Dracula broke from this tradition by essentially rebooting the franchise. It also introduced a nasty, bloodthirsty streak that made earlier entries look tame - much to the consternation of Lee, who worried - quite rightly, as history would have it - that the series was on the verge of self parody. Hammer’s next step would prove even more irksome to their outspoken star - they elected to bring Dracula in to the modern day (or rather, their rather middle aged notion of youth culture) in Dracula AD 1972. The film had its share of problems, but it offered good production values and the long awaited return of Peter Cushing as Professor Van Helsing - albeit a modern day descendant. These factors alone were enough to put the film several pegs above its tacky predecessor, and they also ensured proper theatrical exposure courtesy of Warner Brothers.  

The film was reasonably successful at the box office, but not exactly the bonanza Warners were hoping for - thus, their contracted follow up, initially titled Dracula Is Dead… And Well And Living In London, was already in production by the time the distributor lost interest in the project. And so it would come to be that the final Hammer Film Production to costar Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing would fall into the hands of Dynamite Entertainment, who would grant the film a perfunctory release in the United States in 1978, shorn of four minutes of footage and under the generic title Count Dracula and His Vampire Bride - a full five years after failing to set the box office on fire for Warners in the UK, under its best known moniker, The Satanic Rites of Dracula.

The screenplay by Don Houghton has genuine promise - so much so that one frankly regrets the decision to make it another Dracula sequel. Without the frankly gratuitous presence of the old Count, it might have emerged as an engaging occult thriller, perhaps with Van Helsing on board as a sort of expert in the field. Much of the narrative is actually carried by Inspector Murray (Michael Coles, reprising his role from Dracula AD 1972 with an incongruous “modish” haircut) and MI5 agent Torrence (William Franklyn) as they investigate the kidnapping and murder of a government agent. The killing is linked with a top secret occult society, whose members are comprised of some of the top ranking members of the British government. This modern day Hellfire Club has the makings of a truly interesting plot point, but Houghton loses sight of it because he’s obliged to bring Dracula into the fold. Even Van Helsing seems a trifle underused here, with Cushing sitting rather wistfully on the sidelines for a good chunk of the film. It takes forever for Dracula to make his appearance, and when he finally does, Lee seems as disenchanted with the role as he did in Scars of Dracula. Things liven up towards the end, however, when Cushing and Lee get to play off of each other - a game of cat and mouse commences with Van Helsing visiting the offices of a shadowy businessman known as DD Denham, whom he knows to be Dracula in disguise.
 

The notion of Dracula as a symbol of a corporate bloodsucking is an irresistible one, but it, too, gets the short shrift in favor of trotting out the usual fiery conflagration. Even so, Lee has fun with the role during this scene, adopting a mock Bela Lugosi accent as he lingers in the shadows, just waiting for Van Helsing to blow his cover. This inevitably occurs, and the gloves are off for the final showdown. Hammer’s screenwriters typically found outre manners in which to dispose of the Count, but here Houghton falls back on an idea that sounded better on paper than it plays out on screen - Van Helsing lures Dracula into the woods and uses himself as bait, thus prompting the Count to tear himself to shreds in a Hawthorne bush - the very plant which provided Christ with his crown of thorns, and thus quite deadly to a vampire.

Hammer’s King of the Undead is thus reduced to an ill tempered klutz, tripping about and getting more and more battered, before Van Helsing drives the point home with one last stake to the heart. As demises go, this was probably Lee’s most ignominious prior to Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith (2005). It would probably sting a little less (pun intended) were it not for the fact that this film marked the end of an era. Lee would go on to costar with Cushing in a few more films - notably the all-star horror spoof The House of the Long Shadows (1983) - but this would be their final confrontation at Hammer. It would also mark Lee’s final appearance as Count Dracula, though the French farce Dracula and Son (1976) - a charming and stylish venture, far superior to most of the Hammer sequels, for what it’s worth - saw him donning cloak and fangs in the context of a gentle parody. Cushing would reprise his role as Van Helsing one last time, appearing in Hammer’s bizarre horror/kung fu mishmash The Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires (1974). 

For fans of the franchise, The Satanic Rites of Dracula is neither fish nor fowl - it doesn’t come close to matching the magic of Horror of Dracula (1958) or Dracula - Prince of Darkness (1965), nor does it scrape the bottom of the barrel like Scars of Dracula. The script flirts with interesting concepts but fails to elaborate on them. Cushing and Lee give solid, professional performances, but neither can be said to be truly at their very best. Production values are solid, but unremarkable. Director Alan Gibson approaches the action briskly but without much style - he arguably brought far more pizzazz to Dracula AD 1972, despite some painful padding - and John Cacavas’ funky soundtrack couldn’t be further removed from the grand tradition of Hammer scoring, as exemplified by the work of James Bernard. It’s not a bad film, but it seems a weak, half-hearted way of ending a once-imposing series of horror films.

REVIEW: Troy Howarth

Images: Marcus Brooks
 

SUSAN DENBERG: THE GIRL FROM POMERANIA: FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN RARE STILLS GALLERY

IN 1966, Frankenstein Created Woman. And what a woman! Austrian actress Susan Denberg would become the only distaff “creature” in the Baron’s repertoire, and she marked a major improvement over such patchwork creations as Christopher Lee in The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) or Kiwi Kingston in The Evil of Frankenstein (1964). Indeed, Denberg remains one of the most bewitching, yet enigmatic, presences in the annals of so-called “Hammer glamour.”

SUSAN DENBERG was born Dietlinde Ortrun Zechner, on August 2nd, 1944, in the village of Bad Polzin, Germany, which is now known as Połczyn-Zdrój, Poland. She appears to have enjoyed a normal childhood, much of it being spent with her family in Vienna, but the allure of other cultures proved too strong, and Dietlinde would relocate to England in 1962. She is rumored to have worked as an Au Pair girl during this time, before catching the eye of a talent scout and beginning work as a chorus girl. This line of work took her briefly to America, where she would meet and fall in love with lounge singer Anthony Sciotti; they would be married in 1965 and divorced just six months later. Soon after, she set her eyes on a career in film, making her debut with a guest spot (as the imaginatively named character “German girl”!) on the ABC TV series 12 O’Clock High. She then caught the eye of executive at Warner Bros., who set about rechristening her with a more “Anglo” sounding name. A campaign was launched, where fans were encouraged to write in with their choice of a new name for the starlet-to-be; Susan Denberg won the vote across the board, and the rest as they say is history.

 

THE NEWLY CHRISTENED DENBERG made her film debut opposite Stuart Whitman in the Norman Mailer adaptation An American Dream (1966). Denberg was already delving into the potential for sex and drugs, and she was rumored to have been romantically involved with Whitman, filmmaker Roman Polanski, performer Sammy Davis, Jr., and numerous others. The story goes that she even tried to net legendary movie tough guy Lee Marvin, but he never returned her calls. 1966 would also see Denberg getting her widest “exposure” when she bared all for an issue of Playboy; she would be in the running for Playmate of the Year, but eventually lost out to another contender.

THE PLAYBOY PICTORIAL inevitably piqued the interest of Britain’s Hammer Studios, who would offer Denberg the plum role of Christina in their upcoming sex-and-horror special, Frankenstein Created Woman. The studio’s publicity mill played up the sensational aspects, even hiring Denberg to pose with star Peter Cushing in a series of publicity stills for a “creation” sequence that was never part of the narrative itself. Fans salivated over these images of Cushing “introducing” his bikini-clad creation, and rumors inevitably have circulated that the sequence was deleted from the film because of censorship. The reality, however, is much more mundane: Hammer was simply exploiting their new starlets obvious assets in their own inimitable fashion.

CHRISTINA WOULD OFFER DENBERG the toughest role of her career. She begins the film as a pitiable, scarred, shy young woman who is deeply in love with Frankenstein’s young assistant, Hans (played by Robert Morris, who would later go on to play a supporting role in Roy Ward Baker’s film of Quatermass and the Pit). However, her father (Alan MacNaughton) is murdered by three pampered youths (Peter Blythe, Barry Warren and Derek Fowlds) when he foils their attempt to rob his establishment, and the uncouth youths put the blame on Hans. Given that Hans is known for a volatile temper, and was observed arguing with the father because of his disapproval over his courtship of Christina, he is summarily executed. Christine is devastated and commits suicide. The Baron, for his part, sees the two deaths as being opportune - he’s been experimenting with the idea of transplanting souls from one body to another, so why not transfer Hans’ into Christina’s body, thus making them “one”? Inevitably, things do not work out as planned - the resurrected Christina, her scars and other defects corrected by the Baron’s surgery, turns into a seductive vamp and sets about killing off the three youths, one by one…

CLEARLY, THE ROLE OFFERED DENBERG, a greater range of emotions than her initial acting jobs. Hammer may have seen her as a body to exploit on their posters, but director Terence Fisher rightly recognized that the film’s impact hinged on the credibility of her performance. He worked patiently with the young woman, helping her to hit all the right emotional notes. She responded with a performance of nuance and depth - but unfortunately for her, the studio heads deemed that her accent was too strong, so her entire performance would be dubbed by another actress. Dubbing wasn’t uncommon at Hammer, especially during this timeframe - Ursula Andress, John Richardson and, most amazingly, Andre Morell were all dubbed in She (1965), Richardson and Olinka Berkova would both be dubbed in The Vengeance of She (1967), Leon Greene and Nike Arrighi were dubbed in The Devil Rides Out (1967), Ewan Hooper was dubbed in Dracula Has Risen from the Grave (1968), Jenny Hanley would be revoiced in Scars of Dracula (1970), Ingrid Pitt’s exotic voice was erased from the soundtrack of Countess Dracula (1970), and so on. Vocal artist Jane Hands did a competent job filling in for Denberg on the soundtrack, but it still makes it difficult for one to fully appreciate her performance. Even so, Denberg’s physical performance seems heartfelt and appropriately moving, giving the film an emotional center that helps to compensate for the defects in its plotting and production values.Hammer films never attracted much serious critical appraisal in their day, but Denberg got decent notices for her work on Frankenstein Created Woman.

ALAS IT WOULD MARK HER FINAL APPEARANCE before a motion picture camera. Too much high living began to take their toll. Tired of the scandal rags in the UK, Denberg would eventually relocate to Austria, where she remains to this day. Denberg’s bouts with drugs and alcohol were well publicized, as was a breakdown which lead to electroshock therapy and a stint in a sanitarium. However, when the myth becomes more popular than reality, it tends to overshadow the latter in the eyes of the public.

AS SUCH, FOR YEARS Denberg was believed to have died - a typical example of the Marilyn Monroe prototype, wherein a beautiful starlet, having been exploited by callous producers and executives, was robbed her of her will to live and reduced her to substance abuse which would finally kill her. The reality is not so melodramatic, but it does at least have a happier ending. Denberg, who has reverted to her real name, remains firmly out of the public eye, however, and she appears to want to keep it that way. Attempts by fans to contact her for interviews have fallen on deaf ears, and so she remains shrouded in mystery… But for fans of Hammer horror, she remains a fascinating icon of sorts, and that, truly, is more telling than all the sensationalist journalism that has dogged her for so many years.

Author's Note: I would like to acknowledge the website Glamour Girls of the Silver Screen, and most especially the invaluable research of Hammer documentarian Ted Newsom, for providing ample material for me to work from in the writing of this article.

Written by Troy Howarth
Edited and Images by Marcus Brooks

HAMMER FILM PRODUCTIONS: THE EVIL OF FRANKENSTEIN: FEATURE WITH RARE GALLERY

Conventional wisdom dictates some not-terribly-wise things with regards to Hammer’s Frankenstein series. For one, there’s a sense that the films form a continuous saga, though much in the films blatantly contradicts this. For another, there’s the long-standing argument that Terence Fisher, gifted director though he was, was somehow responsible for the conception of the character; here again, evidence to the contrary makes nonsense of this assertion. And lastly - and perhaps most commonly parroted - is the argument that the non-Fisher-helmed Evil of Frankenstein is a bad film - an anomaly in an otherwise unimpeachable series of films featuring one of Hammer’s most beloved icons, Peter Cushing, in his signature role. There really isn’t room in this essay to delve too deeply into the first two points, but the third is of particular interest in this context.

The Evil of Frankenstein came after a surprising moratorium on Frankenstein at Hammer. The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) had initiated Hammer’s golden age of Gothic horror, and its success paved the way for everything that followed. The inevitable follow up, Revenge of Frankenstein (1958), was comparatively light on chills but still earned a pretty penny in the UK and the US. Even so, it would take the better part of five years for Hammer to revisit the franchise. It could be that the seemingly definitive finale of Revenge put Hammer in an awkward position - screenwriter Jimmy Sangster painted himself into a corner here, with the Baron effectively becoming his own creation. Sangster, an avowed non-fan of the gothic, wasn’t particularly keen on recycling the character, and nobody at Hammer could come up with a suitable follow up. Things changed when Hammer struck a deal with Universal, however. The deal enabled Hammer to have access to the much-coveted “monster” design of makeup genius Jack P. Pierce, immortalized in James Whale’s classic Frankenstein (1931). 

Hammer had struggled mightily to come up with a design for Christopher Lee’s pitiable creature in Curse, while Revenge went against the grain and offered a handsome “creature” who regresses to a drooling cannibal. For Evil, the idea was to start afresh - and in so doing, producer/writer Anthony Hinds decided to go back to the Universal catalogue for inspiration. It was a risky move, in some respects, and it remains the most hotly contested feature of the picture.

On the one hand, there’s no denying that the film marks a step backwards in terms of concept. It seems a bit stale, a rehash of elements and characters present in the Universal Frankenstein saga of the 30s and 40s. As such, it’s a more old fashioned film that its predecessors - and it certainly doesn’t aspire to the more inventive turn the series would take later on. But while this is a demerit, it’s hard to fault the film on a purely entertainment-based level. Director Freddie Francis was something of a “flavor of the month” at Hammer during this time - his stylish handling of several of Jimmy Sangster’s contrived Les Diaboliques riffs, notably Paranoiac (1962) and Nightmare (1963), had typed him as a genre filmmaker, much to his dismay, and his films made a tidy profit; this was enough to put him in the coveted position previously held by Fisher, whose increasingly character-based and romantic approach to genre tropes resulted in some costly box office failures. 

It doesn’t appear likely that Fisher was ever seriously considered for Evil, though the legend persists in some circles that he dropped out due to ill health. Francis admitted time and time again that he didn’t take these subjects seriously - he became increasingly disenchanted with his moniker of “horror director,” resulting in uninspired hackwork throughout the better part of the 1970s before a triumphant return to cinematography presented itself when maverick filmmaker David Lynch approached him to photograph the Hammer-inspired slice of real life grotesquerie, The Elephant Man (1960). Francis’ record as a cinematographer is unimpeachable - he can be counted among the finest that England ever turned out, which is no mean feat when one considers the likes of Freddie Young, Gilbert Taylor, Jack Cardiff, Douglas Slocombe, even Hammer’s own Jack Asher. His lack of feeling for the genre to one side, he proved a pretty good director during the 1960s, bringing his eye for color, shadow and depth of field to a series of stylishly lensed horror films and thrillers. The Evil of Frankenstein is not his best work as a director, but it shows him working at full speed within the confines of an admittedly routine and episodic screenplay.

One of the key things Francis brought to the film was a sense of scope. Recalling the original Whale Frankenstein films with fondness, he found the “mad labs” of Fisher’s films rather wanting. Thus, he instructed production designer Bernard Robinson and art director Don Mingaye to go wild, entrusting them with the better part of the budget so as to enable them to create the most imposing laboratory set in the history of the franchise. Francis’ faith in these expert craftsmen paid off in dividends - the film may have its problems in terms of story and character, but it looks terrific. Adding to the rich texture is the beautiful lighting by Francis’ friend and colleague, John Wilcox. Wilcox photographed some of Francis’ best work - including The Skull (1965) - and the two men were simpatico in their working relationship. If Fisher’s first two films in the series sought to bring an air of realism to the proceedings, Francis would go in the opposite direction, fashioning a film that can truly be called bigger than life. It unfolds very much like a fairy tale, and it presents the long-suffering Baron at his most heroic and sympathetic. 

Peter Cushing is immaculate in the role, and he clearly relishes the chance to play a bit of comedy here and there - just look at the scene wherein he confronts the sniveling, sex-crazed Burgomaster (David Huddelston, later to be frozen to death by The Abominable Dr. Phibes) and rants and raves about all the elegant furnishing and clothing the latter has pilfered from his estate. If Sangster saw the character as a villain in Curse, and a frustrated hero in Revenge, Evil presents him as a symbol of progress. Hinds’ screenplay gets the point across by reducing everybody he goes up against to the level of cartoonish caricature, a miscalculation which robs the story of any real emotional resonance. Even so, the film rattles along at a terrific pace, and Francis seizes every opportunity afforded to him to play up the visual - there’s even a lengthy, dialogue free flashback which can be seen as a dress rehearsal for his “purely cinematic” approach to The Skull, for example.

Francis fares so well with the visual, it’s unfortunate that he wasn’t so attentive to his actors. Cushing could have played this role in his sleep by now, of course, but he invests the character with his usual vigor and attention to detail. Remarkable actor though he was, he could sometimes fall back on a catalogue of ticks and mannerisms that felt a bit forced. There are no such reservations to be expressed with this performance, however, and the film surely benefits from his authority and gravitas. The supporting cast is less than stellar, however. Francis freely admitted that he felt the role of the monster needed to be played by a big man, regardless of his acting credentials. He expressed some reservations over Christopher Lee’s characterization in Curse, for example, and felt that he would do better to hire an athlete or stunt man to fill the costume. He entrusted the role to New Zealand born wrestler Kiwi Kingston, whose acting credits would be limited to two roles for Francis, in very close succession; he would go on to play a tough, wordless part in Hysteria (1965). 

Kingston may have been big and imposing, but he lacked Lee’s ability to infuse pathos and detail to his mute, hulking characterization. Matters aren’t helped any by a miserable makeup job, but we’ll deal with that Achilles heel in a moment. The normally reliable Hungarian actor Sandor Eles flounders in the admittedly poorly written character of Hans. It was a “middle European” name the writers at Hammer favored, as Cushing’s assistant in Revenge, played by Francis Matthews, was already called Hans, and his next lab assistant, played by Robert Morris, would be saddled with the moniker in Frankenstein Created Woman (1966)! Eles does what he can, but the character is a dud and Francis allows him to overact in compensation. Speaking of overacting, this brings us to Peter Woodthorpe, the accomplished character actor with a knack for seedy characterizations; he would go on to feature memorably in Hysteria, as well, before racking up one last role for Francis as the moth-eaten landlord in The Skull. Woodthorpe’s performance lays on the ham with relish - and it has to be said, he’s a sheer delight in the role. 

The larger than life characterization seems to suit the film’s milieu, and at least he brings a bit of zest to the proceedings. The normally reliable Duncan Lamont seems ill tempered and disinterested as the local policeman, however, while James Maxwell is perfectly dreadful as the irate village priest. Much the same can be said for Katy Wild, who flounders in her role as the mute waif that Frankenstein allows to tend to the creature; this character is so ill-defined, Universal was able to graft a senseless “back story” explaining her origins when they added in some newly filmed filler material for the censored US TV print.

So much of the film is so well executed, from its sprawling sets to its magisterial score by Don Banks, that it’s rather shocking to see how badly Roy Ashton’s makeup fares. Ashton was one of the unsung heroes of Hammer, devising some tremendously effective makeups on a paltry budget, but here he was encouraged to ape Pierce’s iconic design - and the best he could muster was a high school level imitation. The design is clunky - the head is literally box like, attempting to mimic the flat-top look of the Universal design, and the pallid complexion looks very much like what it was: a lot of putty tossed together with unseemly haste. Anybody doubting Ashton’s competence needs only to look at his design for Oliver Reed’s werewolf in The Curse of the Werewolf, but Evil of Frankenstein is hardly likely to be counted as a feather in his cap.

Even so, quibbles aside, Evil of Frankenstein is grand entertainment - and that’s all Francis ever intended it to be. There’s nothing terribly layered or complex here; it’s just a rip roaring yarn, done with a sense of style and scope, and it stands apart from the rest of the series as endearingly old fashioned.

DR WHO: PETER CUSHING AS DR WHO: PUBLICITY PHOTOGRAPH

SUSAN DENBERG AND PETER CUSHING DURING MAKING OF 'FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN' HAMMER FILMS 1967

PETER CUSHING AND SUSAN DENBERG DURING THE MAKING OF HAMMER FILMS 'FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN' (1967)

WE'RE GETTING THERE! PCASUK HITS 5,000 FOLLOWERS TODAY!

MANY, MANY MANY THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!

FRANKENSTEIN MUST BE RELAXED! PETER CUSHING ON 'FRANKENSTEIN MUST BE DESTROYED' HAMMER FILMS 1969

Peter Cushing as Baron Frankenstein blowing a smoke ring as Terence Fisher's camera rolls

AMICUS FILMS: PETER CUSHING IN 'THE SKULL' (1965)

Peter Cushing as Dr. Christopher Maitland in Amicus Films 'THE SKULL' 1965

BEHIND THE SCENES SNAP OF PETER CUSHING, SUE LLOYD AND DIRECTOR ROBER HARTFORD - DAVIS 'CORRUPTION ' AKA 'CARNAGE'

A behind the scenes moment with Director Robert Hartford-Davis, Sue Lloyd and Peter Cushing during the making of CORRUPTION aka CARNAGE (1968)

URSULA ANDRESS. PETER CUSHING AND CHRISTOPHER LEE: PUBLICITY SHOT FOR 'SHE' HAMMER FILMS 1965

Peter Cushing, Ursula Andress and Christopher Lee ham it up for the press during the opening of Hammer Films 'SHE' (1965)