We have been watching…
Well, the second Terence Fisher / Jimmy Sangster / Hammer Frankenstein film, REVENGE OF FRANKENSTEIN (there’s no revenge) was one I was curious to see again, mainly because I had terrible memories of it. It’s without any real monster, which put me off as a kid. I guess the point is, Cushing IS the monster.
One of the nice things about the Hammer Franks is their continuity, and this one certainly plays fair, beginning exactly at the end of CURSE OF, with Peter Cushing’s Baron being led to his appointment with Madame Guillotine. But with the aid of a hunchbacked assistant (where did he come from? well, the continuity isn’t perfect) Cushing escapes, decapitating the priest instead. Good! He was an officious jerk in the first film, that priest.
Then Sangster’s script provides one of its better moments of humour, as two grave robbers (Hammer stalwart Michael Ripper, and Britain’s greatest expressionist, Lionel Jeffries) dig up the Baron’s coffin and find a headless priest. As Cushing steps from the shadows, Ripper flees and Jeffries suffers a heart attack. Cushing’s contemptuous shrug in response to the stranger collapsed in his grave is pure comedy gold.
Banned in Sweden!
We next encounter Cushing operating (wantonly) under the pseudonym of Dr. Stein. He’s got a thriving medical practice, and also runs the poor hospital, where he’s merrily harvesting healthy limbs from the poor of the parish in order to create a substantially improved monster (Michael Gwynn). This one, a departure from Christopher Lee’s “road accident” look, just has a few facial scars. The new body is to be repository for the hunchback’s brain — the Baron has found a happy volunteer, for once.
Sangster smartly plants the hunchback’s infatuation with socialite Eunice Gayson (who would go on to appear in the first two Bond films as Sylvia Trench: the Bond girl with the least sexy name) before the brain transplant, and develops it further post-op.
Hammer solemnly swore to the British censor that they would cut this shot — and then didn’t!
Cushing has enlisted a new assistant, Francis Matthews, who proves less scrupulous than his first, effectively blackmailing the baron into teaching him his advanced scientific knowledge — which, as always with Jimmy Sangster, consists of complete nonsense. In the first film we’re told that a brilliant mind will transform the scarred-up visage of Christopher Lee into a handsome and noble countenance. In this one we learn that a chimpanzee transplanted with the brain of an orang-utan suffered a “burst brain cell” and became a cannibal. This is to have dire consequences for our poor hunchback.
But not too dire: probably for censorship reasons, when Gwynn goes berserk after being punched about by a sadistic janitor (inefficiently, Sangster gives much screen time to one janitor, then gives the plot point to someone we’ve barely seen) he’s allowed to look at the beefy corpse and salivate, but then he gets himself under control and runs off, his hunched back reasserting itself in some completely spurious way, defying even the tenuous “logic” of Sangster’s script.
“It’s a shame, because he’s quite good, and he’s doing the best he can…with what they’ve given him,” said Fiona of Gwynn’s performance. He does that John Barrymore thing of trying to suggest a monstrous transformation just by pulling faces — always dicey. I liked him as a character, and he’s a good contrast with Christopher Lee’s mute lunk, but he needed more of a decline into savagery.
As always with Sangster, there’s a bit of wholly inappropriate comedy relief right towards the end. Here it’s a courting couple — he’s more interested in ants than making out, so she storms off and gets mauled and possibly slightly eaten by Gwynn, who then dies of natural causes — but not before accidentally exposing Dr. F.’s true identity. A nice scene, with the shabby monster invading a swank concert party. Death as social embarrassment and vice versa.
All the brains are REALLY SMALL — even Frankenstein’s.
Then Frankenstein is “ripped to pieces” by his impoverished victims (they ARE victims, but Sangster portrays them consistently as vile, verminous and criminal — they could have hobbled out of VIRIDIANA). This would feel more like a climax if it had followed directly on from the “monster’s” death, without a bunch of boring piffle with the medical council in between.
Fortunately for the franchise (hereafter to be referred to as the “Frankenchise”) he’s prepared a duplicate body. HOW??? I refuse to believe you can make a Peter Cushing from bits of corpses: you wouldn’t find cheekbones like that if you searched for years. Nevertheless, this allows Cushing to fake his own death more convincingly than the last time, and we end with him set up in practice in London, name changed from “Dr. Stein” to “Dr. Franck”. At this rate he’s going to wind up calling himself “Dr. En.”
“He burned his own body.” ~ Not a line every actor gets to say.
Freeze frame and roll credits, with a fairly obvious invitation to another sequel. Hammer being the kind of clunky outfit it was, they didn’t manage one for six years, and then it was the non-canonical EVIL OF. So our next visit to Frankenstein’s surgery will be for FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN, in the year of my birth, 1967.