While Hammer Studios has been in business since 1934, it was between 1955 and 1979 that it towered as one of the premier sources of edgy, gothic horror. On top of ushering the famous monsters of Universal’s horror heyday back into the public eye, resurrecting the likes of Frankenstein, Dracula and the Mummy in vivid color, the studio invited performers like Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Ingrid Pitt and so many more to step into the genre limelight. Spanning a library housing over 300 films, Hammer Studios is a key part of horror history that until recently has been far too difficult to track down.
In late 2018, Shout Factory’s Scream Factory line began to focus on bringing Hammer’s titles to disc in the US, finally making many of the studio’s underseen gems available in packages that offered great visuals as well as insightful accompanying features. Over the course of this column, I will focus on these releases, gauging the films in context of the Hammer Studio story as well as analyzing the merits of the release. It’s time to highlight the power, impact and influence of Hammer Studios and ignite new conversation surrounding some forgotten classics.
Welcome to the Hammer Factory. This month we dissect The Kiss of the Vampire.
The Context
Despite the studio’s overall success and proven aptitude for genre cinema, Hammer found itself in the midst of a string of box office disappointments by 1962. The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll (1960), The Curse of the Werewolf (1961) and The Phantom of the Opera (1962) had all been lavish, Terence Fisher directed productions that failed to deliver on projected financials and, as a result, producer Anthony Hinds decided to return and drink from a more proven creative well.
At the same time, Universal Studios, Hammer’s US distribution partner, was hungry for another entry in the hugely successful Dracula franchise. Brides of Dracula (1960) had been a big hit, even with the absence of the titular menace, and so the studio did not mandate the character of Dracula be involved or, this time, even mentioned by name. Under the pseudonym of John Elder, Anthony Hinds set to work on what would be his first original script, mining elements from what he felt were some of Hammer’s best unused vampire stories and set pieces.
Pulling elements from a 1959 penned Jimmy Sangster script for the unmade film Disciple of Dracula along with the original ending to Brides of Dracula that Peter Cushing infamously refused to take part in for fear of compromising his character’s stony ethics, The Kiss of the Vampire (1963) emerged as a tonally unique entry in Hammer’s vampire milieu. Ultimately forgoing its place in the Dracula franchise altogether, the eventual film pushed the boundaries of the bloodsucking mythos into the Satanist subgenre that had previously been deemed wholly unacceptable by the British Board of Film Classification only a few years before.
As Terence Fisher was away in Germany directing Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace (1962), coupled with his recent turbulence at the box office, Anthony Hinds brought in first time horror director Don Sharp to helm the picture. Armed with nothing but a handful of screenings of Hammer’s more famous outings, the genre novice set out to make a similarly gothic work emphasizing decadence and elegance. A far cry from Fisher’s typical exploration of the duality between good and evil, Sharp sought to venture into morally ambiguous territory, ushering in a cast of proven stage actors new to Hammer alongside the familiar faces of Hammer’s stable of performers and behind-the-scenes creatives.
The end result was The Kiss of the Vampire, Hammer’s first color gothic film that was not directed by Terence Fisher. An extravagant affair infusing the tropes and repressed sexual themes present in their previous vampire films with the deeply unsettling cult-driven notions inherent to satanist ideology. It was received with overwhelming positivity, from reviews to the box office, solidifying the vampire movie as one of Hammer’s most reliable properties— Dracula or otherwise. More than that, it heralded an important change in style, scope and story that paved the way for the unique brand of occult mysticism that would permeate Hammer’s filmography in the years to come.
The Film
“When the devil attacks a man or woman with this foul disease of the vampire the unfortunate human being can do one of two things. Either he can seek God through the church and pray for absolution or he can persuade himself that his filthy perversion is some kind of new and wonderful experience to be shared by the favored few. Then he tries to persuade others to join his new cult.”
A priest recites a passage in Latin as four forlorn looking men carry a coffin to its final resting place alongside a small gathering of people. A man appears on a stony ledge nearby. Framed between two twisted trees, their leafless branches stretching restlessly to the sky, his visage is an unsettling one, bringing with it all of the weight and disquiet of grief’s icy grasp. The crowd begins to stir, murmuring as the man approaches the open grave. It’s not long however before their whispers turn to screams, as, with tears in his eyes, he heaves a shovel through the coffin’s lid, birthing a swell of blood through its cracked exterior.
This man is Professor Zimmer, portrayed with skillful brusqueness by Hammer frequenter Clifford Evans, and right away his actions distinguish The Kiss of the Vampire from Hammer’s burgeoning collection of opulent, color gothic pictures at the time. Zimmer is not a holy man, but a drunk. An angry, grieving persona uninterested in pandering to polite society, rather opting to achieve his vengeance in a show of overt callousness that ignites as much foreboding in his township as those creatures he is so resolved to eradicate.
The Kiss of the Vampire abandons the stringent exploration of good and evil in lieu of traversing the morally enigmatic avenues of pain and grief that are so often caused by those warring for righteousness in the first place. Director Don Sharp brings a keen eye for the drama of loss that deepens the meaning behind the horrific acts of the film’s bloodthirsty entities, emphasizing a quiet reticence that Hammer had previously shown little interest in.
After the film’s startling introduction, Gerald and Marianne Harcourt drive into town. Edward de Souza plays Gerald with an impressive level of swagger and ease that so steadily devolves into a state of unhinged jealousy, fear and cognitive depreciation that he hardly seems like the same actor by third act. Jennifer Daniel as Marianne, on the other hand, handles her own trials at the hands of the local vampires with understated dignity and grace. She falls under their spell with an overwhelming obsession that speaks to the untapped desires latent in the depths of her character’s naturally exploratory mind.
From the moment the Harcourt’s motor car breaks down on the dirt road leading into town, Don Sharp’s assured direction along with Alan Hume’s gorgeous photography broadcasts an esoteric sense of danger and mysticism. Even on a bright, beautiful, sunlit drive, there’s something about the way the light shines through the trees, creating a halo effect on Marianne as she waits patiently in the unmoving motor, that conjures unease and unmistakable dread. Day or night, an acute direness punctures every frame, premonitorily carrying the story forward to its inevitably sinister end.
Soon thereafter the Harcourt’s find themselves at a suspiciously unoccupied inn and the social target of a nearby wealthy estate owner, Dr. Ravna. The inn is kept by Bruno and Anna, portrayed by Peter Madden and Vera Cook respectively, turning in strikingly compelling performances. Vera Cook in particular delivers one of the film’s most devastating moments, weeping in secret over the loss of her daughter at the hands of the town’s vampiric plague, revealing a raw emotionality unique amongst Hammer’s output at the time.
Noel William plays Dr. Ravna. A classically trained stage actor, William brings a callous aristocratic affectation to the role. He commands the room, certainly, but he’s bored, watching the world from his grand chateau through a telescope, always searching for that which might peak his interest. He is presented here as more of a religious leader, guiding his cult of vampires through their ceremonies, gatherings and actions with ghoulish and often unspoken specificity.
The film, like its characters, views the veiled world of the supernatural and the occult through a lens that diverges from what had come before. These are vampires that can venture out into the daylight if the sky is overcast, revel in gaudy masquerade balls and gather in white robes in ornate rooms to conduct black arts ceremonies that would feel right at home a few years later in something like The Devil Rides Out (1968).
Still, for all of its showiness, it often emphasizes stillness and character expression over exposition, allowing the cold, inscrutable and yet undeniably hungry faces of those in attendance at the masquerade to reveal their vampiric identities rather than a string of explanatory words. Each member of the grand cult seems to embody their own sense of playful, dubious charm that had hitherto been reserved for the primary antagonist. Isobel Black stands as the best example of this, her Tania the perfect blend of innocent femininity and feral depravity, leading to a multi-layered character that believably manipulates those around her with disconcerting efficacy and allure.
Behind the scenes, the film boasts an impressive roster of Hammer creatives. Bernard Robinson lends his imaginative prowess to the set design, transforming the same stages seen in countless other films into unique environments that support the gothic, cult-like feel the film embodies. Roy Ashton’s effects work is impressive as usual, particularly the disturbing and disorienting masks donned during the masquerade, easily emerging as some of the man’s best work. And James Bernard’s score is as haunting and captivating as always, coming to life in an early scene where Marianne is practically hypnotized by an exquisite piano piece that accomplishes Dr. Ravna’s devious ends without a word spoken.
The film’s third act delves into a plot cultivated from another Terence Fisher work called So Long at the Fair (1950) which in turn was reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes (1938). Once taken in by the cult, Madeline’s existence is denied by all local parties, leading Gerald down a path of dark revenge which parallels Professor Zimmer’s own plight. Borrowing and evolving an ending that was nearly used in Brides of Dracula, the two embark on that which Van Helsing never would have: employing evil to defeat evil.
Utilizing a combination of animation and practical effects, a rarity for Hammer, the bats of Hell are conjured to eerie life as the score drops out entirely and a hurricane of wind descends on the small village. The attack on the white robed vampires is vicious and deviously suggestive— the bats affixing themselves to the chests of scantily clad women and crawling uncomfortably across their skin in a way that had censors balking. It’s a sequence of good triumphing over evil tinged with a disturbing sense of costliness, for it’s impossible to view the horrors of what the good hath wrought without wondering where the line between good and evil truly lies.
The Kiss of the Vampire certainly feels like a spiritual successor to Horror of Dracula (1958), bearing many of the tropes and plot points found in previous Hammer vampire offerings. But it is in how it reconfigures past ideas and blurs the binding sense of morality running through them that it differentiates itself as something new and important in Hammer’s catalogue. An amalgam of unused ideas cultivated from Hammer’s past written by the great Anthony Hinds, Don Sharp’s impressive film embraces the strengths of the Studio while allowing it to evolve to its next creative stage.
Stoic Latin and a priest at a young girl’s funeral opens the film and the vengeful creatures of Hell called forth from that same deceased young girl’s father closes it. Finality is at the heart of both sequences, a dire sense of pain and a path forward that is twisted by grief and anger. Where good and evil fit in is in the eye of the beholder, but it’s clear from the lust, longing and lies woven into The Kiss of the Vampire that perspective is always worth considering. After all, there is little room for virtue when combatting that which is anything but virtuous.
The Special Features
This release comes equipped with a new 4K scan from the interpositive from Shout! in a big step up from Universal and Final Cut Entertainment’s 2014 transfer, presented in both its original 1.66:1 aspect ratio and the slightly reframed 1.85:1 ratio that acts as its default. Color is sharp and detail is clear, allowing for the subtleties in the photography to take atmospheric hold as it would’ve in theaters in 1963. The DTS-HD Master Mono track is clean and crisp, the haunting score resounding when it needs to while the dialogue and sounds of the scenery never feel drowned out or disregarded. Once again, Shout! has provided a definitive presentation for one of Hammer’s most deserving classics.
Audio Commentary, by Edward De Souza, Jennifer Daniel and Peter Irving
(2014, Final Cut Entertainment)
Actors Edward De Souza, Jennifer Daniel and Peter Irving sit down to discuss their experience on the film and their storied careers in this casual track ported over from the 2014 UK Blu-ray release of The Kiss of the Vampire.
The three have a genial relationship, fondly recalling the people they used to work with and their experience with Hammer. There’s a certain degree of charm with the way that Jennifer Daniel seems to be reacting to the events onscreen as though for the first time, saying things like, “Oh! That’s rather nasty,” and “They don’t like him at all, do they?” Still, without a moderator, the track often stumbles into listlessness, succumbing to pregnant pauses and simple reaction.
Fans of the film might enjoy the track’s personality and the three performers’ charisma certainly carries the conversation to some delightful heights, but on the whole there is little here to be gleaned.
Audio Commentary, by Author/Film Historian Steve Haberman and Filmmaker/Film Historian Constantine Nasr
Available only on the 1.66:1 Version of the film
(New: 2020, produced by Shout Factory)
Steve Haberman and Constantine Nasr once again return to provide a thoughtful deconstruction of the film’s inception, impact, players and themes in this wonderful commentary track.
They discuss how the story originated with ideas presented in Jimmy Sangster’s unmade 1959 Dracula sequel called Disciple of Dracula, reading sections of the screenplay during appropriate sequences. They delve into the thematics of satanism and how Kiss foreshadowed Hammer’s fascination with the work of Dennis Wheatley, tying in the fact that this film was the first step in getting the BBFC to relax their stringent codes regarding the occult.
Hammer’s stable of talented creatives are discussed at length, and while Terence Fisher is afforded a great deal of love, much respect and praise is heaped upon newcomer Don Sharp. The two historians discuss Sharp’s morally ambiguous approach to good and evil and how it informed and elevated both the film and Hammer’s trajectory in genre cinema.
The track is the disc’s most crucial feature, providing an in-depth contextual understanding of the film and the studio in a manner that is never dull or meandering. And, given that this disc lacks a “Making of” feature, viewers would be hard pressed to find a better, more entertaining way of unpacking the picture’s runtime.
The Men Who Made Hammer: James Bernard (17:17)
(New: 2020, produced by Shout Factory)
Richard Klemensen, Editor and Publisher for Little Shoppe of Horrors Magazine, provides a brief but comprehensive look at the life and work of prolific composer James Bernard. Klemensen walks through the early days of Hammer, pointing to the manner in which Bernard’s more modern scores enhanced movies like The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) and Horror of Dracula. Klemensen goes on to describe Bernard’s workman’s mentality, speaking to the level of speed and quality with which he produced his scores as well as the diversity of sound he was capable of producing (evident in films like The Gorgon (1964) and The Plague of the Zombies (1966)). Finally, Klemensen speaks to the resurgence and appreciation James Bernard’s scores have received in recent years, solidifying him as one of the best, most influential composers of his time. The segment is a quick, breezy way to experience the composer’s legacy and one well worth the time to do so.
The Men Who Made Hammer: Bernard Robinson (19:48)
(New: 2020, produced by Shout Factory)
Richard Klemensen runs through set designer Bernard Robinson’s impressive repertoire, tracking his journey from a 1940s craftsman to one of Hammer’s most integral creative assets. Klemensen speaks to the astounding quality and care that Robinson would put into his sets, ensuring that color, framing and blocking were always considered in his exquisite designs and revamps. Respected right up until the moment of his untimely death, just when he had accepted work on yet another Hammer film, Robinson was a man grateful for the work and uninterested in being a famous personality. Bernard Robinson loved the camaraderie of artistic creation and this feature is a wonderful testament to the gorgeous tapestry of work he left behind.
Theatrical Trailer (1:29)
The trailer speaks of a young couple, in love and enjoying a romantic honeymoon. The couple embraces onscreen, as the narrator continues on about a sublime happiness and the fact that a “kiss of love is a stranger here…”
Images of people speaking hurriedly about vampires pepper the screen as each player is introduced, turning to the camera as though part of some sort of twisted sitcom credit sequence.
A secret society is spoken of and finally the chateau is depicted, surrounded by a flurry of bats. They crash through and attack the white robed collective of people gathered there as the title appears in blood, red letters: The Kiss of the Vampire.
Radio Spot (1:02)
Audio crackles and pops as a sound wave across the bottom of the screen gyrates with each fluctuation of sound. A voice commands, “Listen! This is the eerie, ghastly, sinister sound of giant vampire bats in flight!” A fun vestige of a bygone era, the brief clip elicits the sort of macabre communal merriment these sorts of films once brought about so effectively.
Kiss of Evil – The Standard Definition 1966 NBC Broadcast Version (1:32)
(New)
The Kiss of the Vampire’s dramatically edited and reassembled 1.33:1 TV version is presented here for the first time on disc. All shots of violence and sexuality have been excised, leaving behind a baffling series of events that is so far away from the theatrical version, that the villainous cult is not even identifiable as being of vampiric origin.
Approximately 16 minutes of footage had to be shot and put into the film to flesh it out to feature length, so this version has an infusion of new characters. A whole subplot involving a family whose matriarch sews the white robes used by the cult is wedged into the runtime, adding in a troubling, misogynistic morality that undermines much of the thematic ambiguity that made The Kiss of the Vampire so engaging to begin with.
Kiss of Evil is awkwardly paced and nonsensical throughout, but it’s an oddity that is undeniably worth exploring. If nothing else, it’s fascinating to see the cultural remnants of a time when television could warrant such artistic dismantling.
Kiss of Evil with Audio Commentary by Author Troy Howarth and Author Nathaniel Thompson
(New: 2020, produced by Shout Factory)
Authors Troy Howarth and Nathaniel Thompson sit down to discuss the incredibly unusual cut of The Kiss of the Vampire, discussing the bewildering edits and often incomprehensible plot with a playful sense of intrigue and thoughtful analysis.
While they do manage to infuse their discussion with some tidbits about The Kiss of the Vampire’s thematics and influences, much of the conversation revolves around the changes to the film and the added scenes. By and large they talk about the evils of censorship and the dismaying moral that “women need to know their place” that the new footage imposes.
The commentary is an entertaining way to experience the TV version of the film, providing substance that might otherwise be lacking if viewing the butchered cut on its own.
Kiss of Evil: Additional Scenes from the 1966 NBC Broadcast Version (16:44)
(New)
This segment compiles all of the additional footage found in the Broadcast Television version of The Kiss of the Vampire. From insert scenes shot for the opening cemetery sequence to the seemingly endless family arguments about whether or not to sell robes to Dr. Ravna and the daughter Theresa’s infatuation with the cult leader, every last additional second is viewable.
For those who are curious but uninterested in watching the entirety of Kiss of Evil, this is a serviceably bite-sized way of experiencing its addendums.
Kiss of Evil: TV Trailer (1:42)
Virtually the same presentation as the theatrical trailer, including talk of vampires despite their exclusion from the exposition, with new title cards and some added footage of the main characters and cult activity. A fine trailer, but far more representative of The Kiss of the Vampire than Kiss of Evil.
Final Thoughts
Considering that the project began life as Universal’s desire to cash in on a third Hammer Dracula outing, it’s astonishing how rich, nuanced and thematically challenging The Kiss of the Vampire turned out to be. In light of a few high profile disappointments, producer Anthony Hinds took it upon himself to tap into the core elements that made their past vampire features so successful and instate new blood at the picture’s helm with director Don Sharp. What resulted was an unabashed success, creatively, critically and commercially.
It was the shift in ideology that Hinds and Sharp brought to the feature that separated it from what had come before, pushing the vampire lore and its players into moral ambiguity and transforming the line which had previously separated good and evil into a murky fog. The film was as much about the evils of a cult driven hive mind and the power of the occult as it was about the bloodsucking title menace. Its success hinged not only on how well it fit into the sphere of the classic Hammer vampire picture but on how it so dramatically differentiated itself from those which had come before it.
Scream Factory’s Collector’s Edition brings the film home with a gorgeous new transfer and supplements that flesh out the history and context of the film and its legacy. With commentaries that exhaust every last avenue of discussion, including the curio that is the Kiss of Evil TV version of the film, and features that further explore the talented creatives behind Hammer’s impressive output, this release presents the ideal way to experience the film.
While Terence Fisher was a prolific director and important artistic force at Hammer, The Kiss of the Vampire proved the gravity of creative variety. Despite never having seen a horror film before signing on with Hammer, Don Sharp ventured into The Kiss of the Vampire with an acute vision of story, drama and dread. With fresh eyes, he helped to forge a new path for Hammer, taking their gothic sensibilities to a dark, morally opaque terrain that would help ensure the studio’s relevance for the remainder of the decade and beyond.
