A great deal of detritus clings to The Curse of Frankenstein. This detritus makes it seem the foundation for a long-running formula for over twenty years’ worth of gothic horror production. If seen in these terms, the freshness, vitality and innovation of the film all collapse under the weight of later history. More ominously, the standard histories of the Hammer studio note that the many gothic films that came in Curse’s wake eventually fell into a downward trajectory, becoming stale, cheaply exploitative, or rather sexploitative, derivative and commercially unpopular. Curse is thus not only regarded as the beginning of a tradition, but a tradition that outstayed its welcome.
My goal has been to sift through these perceptions, placing emphasis on the film as an adaptation of multiple sources, all brought into dialogue with each other. While there are a few fundamental components from Shelley’s novel included in the film, the script by Sangster and the production by Fisher created cinematic solutions for a book that was essentially incapable of ‘faithful’ adaptation. The very inspiration for Hammer to make a horror film came from works most often relegated to the footnotes of horror history, the comedy horrors of the 1940s and 1950s. The film’s style and tone, and the working ethos of a small close-knit team, moved across from Gainsborough to Bray.
Critical reactions to the film from reviewers in the national and trade press have often been quoted in histories of Hammer and the general consensus is that critics hated the film but it succeeded at the box office despite this critical mauling. This success was not necessarily a foregone conclusion and bad reviews could bury films and destroy directors’ careers. But it is illuminating to think about what people said about the film on its release, the way it succeeded commercially and the fact it is an adaptation. Adaptation brings familiarity onto the screen in terms of what audiences may already read or seen. Adaptation can create pathways for understanding and the repetition of familiar stories or themes provides an anchor for audiences. The grace and poise of Cushing’s Baron and his surroundings are one such anchor, appropriated from the earlier successful period dramas made by Gainsborough.
But using this sophisticated milieu in a horror film was both an adaptation and a transgression. The Baron throughout the film is a man pushing boundaries of class (his affair with a mere servant), morality (his murdering and tomb robbing) and science (his breakthroughs in the preservation and creation of life). The team behind the cameras pushed against barriers of their own; against a tight schedule that needed to be longer, against all prevailing trends in British cinema and in Hollywood as well, where horror had fallen from any position of studio respectability it may have had, and against critical opinion. When Cushing’s Frankenstein argues with Krempe that they ‘have opened the door’ and must go through it, the sentiments could also be those of Fisher and his crew, arguing with Carreras for more time and for a colour feature and thereby creating a film that appalled contemporary sensibilities. With his aristocratic disdain, the Baron certainly wouldn’t have cared. He created life, and likewise the energy and impact of The Curse of Frankenstein is a moment of genesis for horror cinema.