Horror-movie pin-up
When ailing Hammer Films needed a boost 50 years ago, budding actress Madeline Smith discovered nudity was a must
Half a century ago, I took my first foray into Hammer Films. My acting career was in its infancy when I went to meet formidable casting director Aida Young. I was up for the tiny part of Dolly, the waif prostitute in their latest horror offering, Taste the Blood of Dracula (1970). She considered me to be sufficiently vulnerable, and a couple of days later I was riding on actor Geoffrey Keen’s back.
I wore a Victorian-style white lace boiler suit, and I weighed scarcely more than seven stone. He was on his haunches on the floor, with me atop his rump. According to fellow actor John Carson, also in the brothel, Geoffrey complained bitterly about my dead weight.
A naked female danced sinuously between us while her pet Python wrapped itself lovingly between her thighs. Tinny music played from a loudspeaker somewhere off set.
It was all quite a long way from Hammer’s origins in 1934, when it was set up by William Hinds, a comedian and businessman. Unromantically named after his home in Hammersmith, Hammer Films produced classics such as The Curse of Frankenstein (1957), Dracula (1958) and The Mummy (1959), all starring Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing.
By the time I turned up on set, in 1969, I was so shy – a 20-year-old virgin, fairly fresh from convent school – that I spoke to nobody. What a waste! Hammer was known for employing the best character actors in the business. It would have been a delight to chat away to them.
Until then, Hammer films had been shot mostly by the Thames at Bray Studios. In the late 1960s, they moved to
Elstree. I soon got used to early-morning calls, waiting for reeking minicabs at dawn to take me the long route up the North Circular Road. I was never allocated a car or a driver on any film: the Hammer budget would never have stretched to transport for small fry like me.
By 1970, Hammer was feeling the pinch. Film audiences had plummeted. Hammer’s X-rating meant the films were shown after normal hours and to an already shrunken public. In the early 1970s, fans clustered around their 12-inch television sets to catch a screening. It is only now, with DVDS and instant availability, that these films have acquired iconic status.
Hammer was in big trouble – and so it decided to sell through sex rather than quality. Boss James Carreras sold his soul to a ragamuffin company called American International Pictures. His father, Enrique Carreras, a Spaniard who had gone into partnership with William Hinds, would be turning in his grave. It was all very sad.
For my poor embryonic career, this unholy marriage between these two companies was a disaster. Nudity was going to be on the menu, and I was the last to know.
Two heavies arrived at Elstree, briefcases bristling with pornography. Michael Styles was the one with the secret penchant for filth: if he had had his way, Hammer would have descended much further into the abyss.
They made a three-picture deal. I was thrilled to be offered a major part in their first offering, The Vampire Lovers (1970).
I counted the lines and was overjoyed to see that I was second lead to Ingrid Pitt. I was to succumb to the lavish enticements of her slavering vampire. My foe was a comely East European and sexually experienced actress, prone to taking her clothes off at any and every opportunity. In real life, though, I still clung lamely onto my virginity. I didn’t know any other way. Yes, I was that dim!
The Vampire Lovers had been sensitively adapted from the Gothic novella Carmilla, written in 1872 by Sheridan Le Fanu.
The simple plot involved a vampire with lesbian leanings but not averse to the odd tankard of male blood. Hammer was interested solely in breasts, and as many of them as could be squeezed into this 90-minute film.
One fat producer rang me over the holiday to ask about my measurements. He was concerned they may not meet the requirements of the part. I rushed to my local Hornby & Clarke dairy and gorged on yoghurts and milk. Job done!
On set, this same chap sported a shiny red salami slung around his waist, thinking it a real hoot. I failed to get the joke. One morning, he invited me to
remove my bodice, to act alongside the nude vampire who at the time was in her tin bath. He reassured me it would be for the Japanese version only, and nobody would see it. This did not turn out to be the case.
The sets and costumes were glorious, if flimsy. Problems arose when the paper moon kept blowing about in the breeze. Props had to harness it with string.
Peter Cushing, playing a benign uncle, gave a most touching, heart-rending performance, even within the confines of a small role. His clothes were sumptuous rich velvets, the lighting was sublime and, apart from the wretched nudity, I consider The Vampire Lovers to be a classic. Sadly I never got to act opposite Christopher Lee.
Then I was in another Peter Cushing film, Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell (1974). That movie was created rather cynically to compete with the recent craze for blood and gore. In that respect, it did not disappoint!
There was no nudity. There was a cheap claustrophobic set to represent the lunatic asylum of a surgeon, Baron Victor Frankenstein, played by Cushing.
It was the old Frankenstein story, with Dave Prowse (later Darth Vader) as the monster. He wore the crudest rubber suit, and dealt gamely and uncomplainingly with it. He was unfazed by the sheep-body parts hurled at him for the finale. I found these scenes gratuitous and unnecessary. For years, they were cut from the film. People had left cinemas in disgust when the film started to resemble an abattoir. One weekend, the dreadful brains, eyes and offal were not refrigerated. On the enclosed set the resulting smell was unbearable.
Peter Cushing himself looked like a cadaver. He didn’t eat or drink and throughout our filming was mourning his recently deceased wife. He was a pitiful sight. The scenes were redeemed by the wonderful character actors who played the inmates of the asylum, bumped off one by one as Frankenstein endeavours to find the best brain for his creation.
Vincent Price was my real top man when I appeared with him – not in a Hammer movie but in an independent film called Theatre of Blood (1973).
Vincent was a real charmer, playing the actor who takes brutal revenge on the theatre critics who have savaged his performances.
When the old guard died, Hammer became very watered down. After some success with ghastly comedies for a time, they were no longer able to compete in a changed world. Today, a brave CEO of Hammer Films, Simon Oates, is steering his own course. Recent Hammer films include The Woman in Black (2012) and The Quiet Ones (2014). The Lodge is out this year. The actor Mark Gatiss has paid fine tribute to Hammer Films, giving the classic horror films a darn good dusting – and they come up shiny and vivid.
But, still, the Hammer of old that I knew is dead and buried. On with the new!