Following the gradual decline of Hammer’s film output
during the seventies it was time to devote their attentions to something less
expensive but lucrative enough to permit them to maintain business: television.
The potential of the medium had clearly already been recognised by the company
because Hammer themselves had previously adapted one or two popular series for
the big screen in the shape of, for example, On the Buses. While most of
Hammer’s more macabre cinematic outings were essentially gothic period pieces,
the television work of the eighties took a much more contemporary stance by
rooting scenarios in modern times, this probably being a smart move because it
enabled a wider audience the chance to identify with the characters and
material despite the fantastical but horrific nature of many of the situations.
Spanning across (appropriately enough) only thirteen
episodes there is a variable quality (as with any television series) but the
overall impression of Hammer House of Horror is surprisingly upmarket,
this notably aided by the fact that it was shot on film rather than video.
Aside from a generally average to good standard of acting these episodes don’t
feel as cheap as one might expect, exhibiting the consistently well-crafted
work of skilled technicians in their field.
Additionally, the location work was pleasing and will make older (50+)
UK viewers feel at home with realistic depictions of a picturesque span of
English backdrops from the era.
A couple of years following Hammer House of Horror
the company produced another series called Hammer House of Mystery and
Suspense, but these were padded to feature length in order to meet the US
broadcast criteria dictated by a movie of the week slot. The later series
suffered as a result but HHOH itself was kept to a sensible fifty-four
minutes per episode, thus gifting the stories enough space to breathe without
too much risk of boring the viewer. The opening/closing music score was a
suitably melancholic and dark piece, reminding me of the wonderful score that
came soon after for Lucio Fulci’s House by the Cemetery. The stories
themselves revolved around concepts of fear and the macabre, it goes without
saying, but what may be less expected is that sometimes the feeling of unease
projected from a story actually worked and there are a number of moments
throughout the run that can still induce a chill through the body. It is,
therefore, a sporadically successful piece of work in my opinion. Don’t look
for something to cheer you up too much either - whereas the studio’s movie
output tended to find good triumphing over evil, conversely there were rarely
happy endings in Hammer’s TV House of Horror.
During the DVD boom Carlton blessed us with a 4-disc
set containing the entire series of HHOH, an average of three episodes per disc
and, though not sequenced in their original broadcast order, this was no great
problem considering the unrelated nature of the stories. They were presented in
their original academy aspect ratios with DD2.0 audio, and each looked sharp,
detailed and naturally coloured. A few years later Network delivered upon the
UK a Blu-ray set, which is the best way to view and own this sometimes
overlooked series. Image quality of the new Blu-rays is excellent (thank
heavens they used film to shoot the series), vivid, and surprisingly clean
throughout. The menus are also presented
with a lovely Rocky Horror-esque blood dripping font. Furthermore, the original broadcast order
appears to have been restored for the Blu-rays, plus it goes without saying
that the Blu-rays project the films at the correct running speed rather than
the accelerated versions (due to PAL) of the DVDs. During the following synopses and opinions,
I’ve attempted to refrain from using spoilers.
Episode guide
Witching Time; Directed by Don Leaver; UK
Transmission 13th September 1980
A film music composer in the throes of domestic problems encounters a
disheveled woman in his barn during a stormy night. She claims to be a witch
who has, moments prior, travelled through time from a point several hundred
years earlier when she was about to be burnt at the stake – if ever there was a
useful moment to initiate time travel! After
mating with her she soon begins to take a supernatural control over his life,
and his situation is not helped when she seems to disappear every time someone
else is around - soon his sanity comes into question, but things start to turn
really nasty as his estranged wife’s life is threatened. Quite a sexy entry in
the series (containing some nudity, surprisingly) featuring a gripping climax.
Jon Finch (Frenzy) brings his usual emotionally charged performance to
the proceedings though the character’s fashion statements are inevitably a
little out of date now. Overall, an average episode demonstrating a handful of
elements to push it upwards in the quality stakes by a couple of notches.
The Thirteenth Reunion; Directed by Peter Sasdy; UK
Transmission 20th September 1980
Writing for the woman’s page of a newspaper, Ruth Cairns is presented
with what she feels is yet another trivial assignment when her editor asks her
to investigate a harsh but revolutionary new dieting process being promoted by
an independent hospital. There she finds attendees are virtually humiliated
into slimming by a sergeant-like motivator, but there’s some light when she
meets a professional man there who takes her to dinner and subsequently
arranges to see her again. On his way home he becomes the victim of a fatal car
accident; her suspicions are aroused when one of the employees of the local
funeral parlour comes to her suggesting something strange is going on, with
bodies being unofficially shuffled about and the like. Thinking she’s finally
onto a decent scoop she probes further only to find the body of her newfound
boyfriend-to-be (or not-to-be, as the case turned out) is missing. What draws
her attention back to the slimming club is the apparent fact that they were
contrarily trying to ‘fatten’ him up just before his death. Packing a fair few
ideas into its fifty+ minutes this one certainly doesn’t waste much time,
taking the heroine through a number of locations and in confrontation with
several people as she gets deeper into her quest, which is ultimately one of
career advancement. A couple of the scenarios presented are hardly politically
correct in today’s society, demonstrating as they do the onscreen humiliation
of fat people for example, but this was made in an era when people weren’t
specifically looking to become offended due to some self proclaimed
understanding of what makes an ideal world. I’m rarely concerned by such
material, preferring to leave that to the acute political perceptiveness of
others while I sit back and enjoy what I’m watching (that was, after all, the
fundamental objective). Julia Foster plays her character amicably under the
assured direction of Peter Sasdy. The final act is ahead of its time and
suitably morbid, ending on a rather anti-commercial note, though I’ll refrain
from giving details so as to not spoil it for others. Thanks to a story that’s
a little more varied than what one might expect for television of the period,
as well as the irreverent nature of the outcome, this proves to be one of the
better HHOH episodes.
Rude Awakening; Directed by Peter Sasdy; UK
Transmission 27th September 1980
This story repeatedly follows the activities of an estate agent who
seems perpetually doomed to waking up and living each day only to find that the
day was in fact a dream. Each morning he wakes up next to a wife with whom he
has an unsatisfactory relationship, heads off to work where he flirts with his
sexually charged secretary, has a call to visit a property that turns out to be
disastrous or non-existent, and is accused at some point of killing the very
wife that he woke up next to earlier on. This is a really interesting premise,
taking on a Twilight Zone type of narrative and utilising the
charismatic talents of Denholm Elliot in the lead role. Early on the viewer
suspects (once they realise he’s reliving a dream with various threads of
consistency) that the tale will become boring, but it actually becomes
progressively more intriguing as we attempt to piece together a very Lynchian
puzzle. Lucy Gutteridge’s alluring secretary mysteriously takes on different
personas in each dream while Elliot’s character simply can’t understand why his
memory continues to process information normally while all around him are
oblivious to his plight, passing through stages of confusion right to a point
where he simply accepts/believes that what he’s experiencing is only part of a
dream. This kind of confrontation with the nature of one’s perception of
reality fascinates me, while the story itself must surely have been an
inspiration behind the Danny Rubin early 90s story that became Groundhog Day.
Growing Pains; Directed by Francis Megahy;
UK Transmission 4th October 1980
With what initially appears to be an almost Omen-like scenario, Terence
and Laurie Morton (grieving from the strange death of their natural son) adopt
an unusual child who seems to be responsible for all manner of ghastly
occurrences from cars spinning out of control to maggots materialising on food
and influence over an uncharacteristically homicidal rottweiler. Simultaneously
his botanist surrogate father is working on a plant that is intended to help with
third world starvation by providing an abundance of protein, a potential side
effect being hallucinogenic effects - are the family imagining it or is there
something more supernatural happening thanks to their newly acquired child?
While the episode is not especially admired it does manage to maintain a sense
of the uncanny throughout as we’re kept on our toes by the decidedly unorthodox
behaviour of the Mortons’ new son. He reminds me a little of the offbeat girl
from The Child and, while the actor himself seems incapable of
realistically reflecting emotion in his performance, the largely apathetic role
suits his range of abilities and blank face quite well. The ambiguity of the
narrative may have been intentional or it could be a sign that the film-makers
themselves were unsure which direction to take it, something that becomes
vaguely apparent by the final quarter.
The House
That Bled To Death; Directed by Tom Clegg; UK Transmission 11th
October 1980
A couple of new homeowners and child move into a house
that was previously an accursed place where a husband poisoned his wife before
cutting up the body and burying her under the patio (and just about anywhere
else he could find an unused spot to dig a hole). Their arrival is followed by
bouts of unexplained activity: the wife is nearly gassed, blood pours from
various structural orifices, knives disappear and reappear, etc. While there
are illogical details that only really materialise upon the film’s denouement,
there is a sense of unease that develops as tale progresses, a constant feeling
that something frightening is about to happen. Regardless of the final act the
film works quite well, at least partly because we’re not aware if there are
actual ghosts in the house, if the house itself is possessed, or the occupants
are plain mad - it remains unexplained for the large part and this is an aid to
the dread that is conjured up.
Charlie Boy; Directed by Robert Young; UK
Transmission 18th October 1980
After being the near victims of a road rage madman, a couple who’ve
recently discovered an authentic antique voodoo doll (affectionately named
‘Charlie Boy’) facetiously place a curse on the man. Thinking nothing more of
it, they’re disturbed to find out the man has later been murdered. But then
their friends begin dying one by one, seemingly in the order they’re standing
in a photograph. Initially sceptical about the doll’s voodoo power they begin
to believe that it is responsible for the deaths and seek a way of destroying
it before they themselves fall victim - they’re next in line on the photograph…
Not a completely original idea but one that could have been developed into
something much more creepy given the inherently eerie nature of its central
concept. What proves to be an obstacle to the episode’s success seems to be the
pedestrian abilities of the director. The road rage (not a term used at the
time obviously) threat is executed in such a lame manner that all possible
tension is rapidly disposed of, and later on when the doll’s existence comes
under threat the music that should have contributed to the impact of the scene
actually turns the whole thing on its head with a completely inappropriate
approach. What we’re left with is something very average and non-enticing.
Silent
Scream; Directed
by Alan Gibson; UK Transmission 25th October 1980
A frail pet shop owner (Peter Cushing) is conducting
experiments in captivity without the use of prison bars, i.e. training
individuals to voluntarily stay within a confined area essentially through the
use of electric shocks as a means of shaping behaviour). He uses animals to
hone his techniques, basically exercises in classical conditioning, until an
old inmate acquaintance attempts to steal something from him. The man himself
triggers a trap which contains him in an underground room, this providing the
slightly unhinged wannabe-scientist a chance to practise his theories with
humans. Luckily the man’s girlfriend notices that he’s missing and heads off to
find out what’s happened to him, neither of the couple realising that the old
man is smarter than they anticipate. Tapping into ideas relating to academic
psychology provides an interesting slant and Cushing himself creates a cold and
nasty sort of character, these factors working in the episode’s favour. Brian
Cox does quite a nice job as the inmate who becomes imprisoned once again; hard
to believe just a few years later he would be playing Hannibal Lecktor (as
spelt in Manhunter). It’s an otherwise average story that merely passes
the time.
Children of the Full Moon; Directed by Tom Clegg; UK Transmission 1st November 1980
Newly married couple, Tom and Sarah, are on their way to stay at an
isolated rural house when their car develops a serious malfunction causing them
to bring a halt to the journey. Heading off into the woods by foot they stumble
across an old mansion, asking the owner if they might use the telephone. The
place is populated by an odd Hungarian woman who cultivates a group of young
children, some her own, some supposedly fostered. It’s also home to her unseen
husband. After having no luck finding some help they’re welcomed to stay for
the night, but heading off to the car to collect some things Tom returns in a
panic saying he was chased by something half human. In the middle of the night
Sarah thinks she sees some creature at the window: Tom goes off to investigate.
While he’s out Sarah is attacked by the creature in front of a hoard of smiling
children, and Tom falls while attempting to climb back into the house, knocking
himself unconscious. Waking up in hospital his wife tells him, contrary to what
he thought he experienced, that he must have dreamt the whole thing, as they
were actually in a car crash. Temporarily believing her he is somewhat
perturbed to find, following the unexpected announcement of her pregnancy, that
she’s not behaving like her normal self. I believe this episode is amongst the most
fondly remembered of the series. It’s a fairly traditional piece that rises
above the norm with a suitably sinister family and, as is fairly common for HHOH,
a country location off the beaten track - these places seemingly home to all
manner of nasties. The episode also concludes in a pretty dark fashion,
rounding out a satisfying tale that could easily have been extended to feature
length.
Carpathian Eagle; Directed by Francis Megahy;
UK Transmission 8th November 1980
A crazy femme fatale is loose and choosing seemingly random male victims
to butcher before disappearing to leave the police with a serial killer mystery
on their hands. The officer in charge of the investigation (Anthony Valentine)
meets up with a female writer whose work seems to – perhaps a little too
closely - resemble the modus operandi used by the killer. His relationship with
the creative woman nonetheless quickly progresses. What he doesn’t realise is
that she becomes so obsessed with her own work that an apparent affliction of
Dissociative Identity Disorder (split personality) is causing her to virtually
become her subjects even to homicidal extremes. Don’t worry about this being a
spoiler as the point is revealed fairly early on. While the story ends in a
relatively mundane fashion it is kept alive by an adeptly crafted script and
excellent standards of acting from Valentine (who passed away in 2015). Suzanne
Danielle also makes a striking lead female but most amusing is the appearance
of a young Pierce Brosnan as a hormone-driven jogger who is brutally murdered
after all of about four minutes of screen time - bet this doesn’t go on his CV
anymore.
Guardian of the Abyss; Directed by Don Sharp; UK
Transmission 15th November 1980
Beginning almost in the tradition of a Hammer movie we’re plunged into a
world of occultists, mind control, bloody sacrifice, and the resurrection of
long dead gods. Coming into contact with what appears to be a nice piece of
silverware it becomes obvious to Michael (Ray Lonnen) and his girlfriend that
it’s something far more than what’s on the surface when another collector
offers them ridiculous amounts of money for it. On his way to have the plate
valued Michael nearly mows down a girl who is on the run after nearly becoming
the victim of a ritualistic sacrifice in the hands of a Satanic sect (a common
occurrence in the early eighties). Recognising the plate, she tells him that it
was owned by the (real life) sixteenth century mathematician and occultist,
John Dee. A struggle ensues for both the girl and the plate (revealed to be a
scrying glass, something used for supernatural visualisation, fortune telling,
etc.). Quite adventurous this episode showcases the talents of John Carson, the
next best thing to James Mason, here almost resuming a very similar role to the
one he played in Plague of the Zombies. There are nice touches of
imagination occasionally punctuating, such as Carson’s hypnotic tilting of his
head causing Lonnen’s character to lose balance, plus a couple of tense moments
that add a little new life to a story that’s not particularly innovative. The
music is also fairly conventional but appropriate for the material.
Visitor From The Grave; Directed by Peter Sasdy; UK
Transmission 22nd November 1980
A neurotic American woman blows the face off an intruder as he attempts
to rape her. Returning home her English husband is somewhat disturbed to find
blood all over the place and his wife curled up on the bed in shock. But rather
than call the police the husband convinces her that there could be legal
problems considering they don’t have a licence for the gun, plus he thinks his
wife would be checked into an institution for her actions: they cover up the
crime and he buries the body in the woods. She soon begins catching glimpses of
the ghost of the man she killed and seeks help from a medium who tells her that
the ghost has returned for revenge. Among attractive location shooting, plus
the use of a cool Jaguar XJS, the formula here is unfortunately too predictable
to be enjoyable, featuring a revelation that anyone who has seen more than a
handful of chillers will spot a mile off. Further to that the concluding scene
is feeble to say the least, and brought to a strangely abrupt halt as if the
editor suddenly realised he’d reached his fifty minute quotient.
The Two
Faces of Evil; Directed
by Alan Gibson; UK Transmission 29th November 1980
Out on a family road trip in the countryside, Janet
thinks she sees a man in a raincoat standing in the bushes as they navigate a
junction. Later on, a storm has kicked off and they see a hitchhiker ahead -
someone again in a raincoat. Not entirely convinced they should be picking him
up, the husband pulls over anyway. Minutes later the hooded man attacks the
husband, sending the car off the road and causing it to crash. Janet wakes up
in hospital, she and her son okay but the husband quite severely injured. None
of the staff seem to be particularly concerned that he was attacked, looking at
the woman as if she’s insane while she tries to explain. Then the police locate
a corpse - the suspect in the attack incident - near the crash site, but he
looks remarkably like Janet’s husband. Anxious to get back to normal she
eventually takes her son and the injured man home to recover, but all is not
necessarily as it seems and normality is something that may be further than
she’d like. Opening with an incredibly atmospheric situation the scenario is
set up quite beautifully as we’re drawn into what is clearly a frightening
world. The transition from sunny roads to storm-driven landscape is well
handled and the intended feel of the piece is identifiable. What follows is an
escalating series of alarming occurrences that remind me of a particular film (which
I won’t name in order to prevent giving anything away about the concluding act)
but, despite one small gripe with an inconsistency becoming evident at the end,
the episode still manages to stand on its own feet as an extremely sinister and
chilling little tale.
The Mark
of Satan; Directed
by Don Leaver; UK Transmission 6th December 1980
A man undergoes brain surgery at an undisclosed
hospital, the use of a mere and clearly inadequate local anaesthetic appearing
to be in effect. Before dying he starts screaming, begging the surgeons (or
whoever he believes is listening) not to touch his soul. Later on, a trainee
mortuary attendant begins to get nervous when he realises the number 9 is
popping up in his life with alarming regularity (his sweepstake winnings are
nine pounds - hey, this was the eighties! He’s told to put a corpse into cabin
number nine, etc.) and from there on his paranoia increases to a point where
he’s becoming incoherent and homicidal, thinking that Satan himself is
attempting to contact him. Are the people around him out to perform some sort
of sacrifice or is it all happening within his mind? While the trainee is
initially someone who many of us may be able to identify with, being a
seemingly nice person struggling to cope with a new vocational situation, he
gradually proves to be so psychotic it almost becomes too difficult to
sympathise with him. Of course that’s partly the point as we’re never supposed
to be sure whether the paranoia is simply that, or well-founded acknowledgement
of a genuine threat. The characters are a little better played here than what
was conventional for the series and, as may be viewed through the eyes of the
protagonist, they do come across as quite sinister (Georgina Hale plays one of
the creepiest single mothers you‘re ever likely to meet, plus Emrys James is gloriously theatrical in the role of Dr Harris). Hints at Rosemary’s
Baby aside I did find it a little difficult to truly enjoy this slightly
chaotic episode but the representation of confusion and fear is commendable.
