At age 15, when I heard that Christopher Lee was playing good-wizard-turned-bad Saruman in Peter Jackson’s upcoming Lord of the Rings trilogy, I was thrilled beyond my wildest dreams. I had grown up watching him in Hammer horror films playing Frankenstein’s Monster, the Mummy, and of course, Count Dracula. I was finally going to get a chance to see him on the big screen, and he certainly did not disappoint. When he made his first appearance in The Fellowship of the Ring, coming down a long flight of steps to greet Sir Ian McKellen’s Gandalf with warmth, only to turn hostile, it would be impossible not to note parallels with the beginning of Horror of Dracula (1958) in which he comes down the steps to politely welcome Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen), cloak and all, only to later reveal his true state as a hungry, undead, bloodthirsty monster.

Horror of Dracula was just a beginning for Christopher Lee, who resumed the role in a number of sequels, beginning with 1966’s Dracula, Prince of Darkness and ending with The Satanic Rites of Dracula in 1973. Outside of Hammer, he also took on the role in Jesus Franco’s El Conde Dracula (1970) and Eduoard Molinaro’s Dracula and Son (1976). Lee would go on to be one of the most prolific actors ever, appearing in more than 200 film and television productions prior to his death in 2016, adding to his long resume such diverse roles as Fu Manchu, Mycroft Holmes in Billy Wilder’s The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970), Lord Summerisle in Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973), James Bond villain Francisco Scaramanga in Guy Hamilton’s The Man With the Golden Gun (1974), mad scientist Doctor Catheter in Joe Dante’s Gremlins II: The New Batch (1990), and Count Dooku in Episodes II and III of George Lucas’ Star Wars series.

But to understand how Christopher Lee came to embody Dracula while emerging as a thespian superstar and horror icon, it’s important to take a step back and look at the state of the British film industry, and its revival of the horror genre, immediately after the Second World War. Most horror films in America lost ground in the bloody wake of World War II. Universal horror franchises like Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolf Man, the Mummy and The Invisible Man were then dwindling into pale spin-offs and parodies like Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948), while the more atmospheric horror films of Val Lewton at RKO proved to be a short-lived cycle. Following the horrors of World War II, and the arrival of television into homes across America, the monsters that many genre fans had grown up loving and watching now seemed childish compared to the film noirs of the 1940’s and ’50’s. In a world that had witnessed the destructive potential of the nuclear bomb, and was introduced to the paranoia of the Red Scare, a boom in Atomic Age creature features and alien invasion thrillers dominated the silver screen in the 50’s and 60’s. To make matters worse, the Hays Production Code was still in effect in America, while over in the United Kingdom, the censors had grown increasingly puritanical, going so far as to stamp an “H certificate” on the genre as early as 1942, then banning production of all horror films until 1945.

Founded in 1936 by comedian and businessman William Hinds, Hammer Productions Ltd. made a number of films distributed by Exclusive Films, also formed by Hinds with his partner Enrique Carreras to release their work. Hammer went bankrupt four years later due to a slump in the British film industry, but both Hinds and Carreras focused on keeping Exclusive alive by picking up productions from other companies for distribution. It wouldn’t be until 1946, one year after World War II ended, that Carreras and Hinds’ son Anthony resurrected Hammer as a production arm to Exclusive, first with the initial goal of producing “quota-quickies” that would fill in the gaps in production schedules.

It wasn’t long before Hammer churned out a number of small budget feature films, most of them based on BBC radio and television serials, including Nigel Kneale’s first two groundbreaking Quatermass serials, The Quatermass Xperiment (1955, aka The Creeping Unknown) and Quatermass II (1957, aka Enemy From Space). It wouldn’t be until The Curse of Frankenstein – Hammer’s first color feature – that Hammer would become a household name in horror. Despite scathing reviews from critics, particularly in Britain, Curse became a surprise hit with audiences that opened the floodgates for future genre contributions, establishing Cushing and Lee as a dream horror duo.

But Horror of Dracula remains Hammer’s finest hour, one that reinvigorated Gothic horror in the minds of a post-World War II audience, bringing them a full color, widescreen experience that delivered more sex and blood than anybody believed possible at the time. Critics from the likes of Motion Picture Daily, Film Bulletin and Harrison’s Reports lauded the film as both a grand adaptation of Stoker’s novel and a fine film in its own right. It still holds up remarkably well, even after all the gorier, grislier and more graphic films that followed in its wake. But why?

For one, there’s the intelligent screenplay by Jimmy Sangster, a former production manager who had broken into screenwriting with his work on X – The Unknown (1956), a chilling sci-fi thriller that picked up on the success of Hammer’s Quatermass adaptations. Here, Sangster surpassed himself, creating a version that followed the Stoker novel closely while borrowing elements from the Hamilton Deane-John Balderston play that inspired Tod Browning’s 1931 Dracula starring Bela Lugosi, yet which still manages to be its own unique variation on the Dracula story. The Hammer version was originally simply titled Dracula, but “Horror of” was added by American distributor Universal-International to avoid confusion with the 1931 film.

Here Sangster took some interesting liberties with both theme and narrative. Several important characters from the novel that featured in the 1931 version were dropped (including Renfield), and the story structure this time begins with Jonathan Harker entering Castle Dracula as a partner of Peter Cushing’s Dr. Van Helsing to destroy the Count, posing as an applicant for a part-time job as Dracula’s librarian rather than gathering a commission for a vast, empty lot across from his home. Here he also ends up as an ill-fated victim of the Count, and must ultimately be put out of his misery by Van Helsing himself. Sangster also did away with the supernatural abilities of Dracula. Instead of the flying shapeshifter of Stoker’s novel, we have a more down-to-earth bloodsucker, akin to a self-loathing drug addict. While the paring away of supernatural elements may peeve some, it makes for a more dangerous and tragic Dracula, to be both pitied and feared. Although the Count’s personality would eventually reach one-dimensional status in the Hammer sequels, here he perfectly embodies the character as envisioned by Stoker.

The only supernatural elements that remained were Dracula’s ability to hypnotize his victims, particularly the sumptuous Lucy and Mina, who would themselves provide a template for other lusty Hammer heroines and villainesses in the years to come – most notably Ingrid Pitt, Raquel Welch, Martine Beswick and Barbara Shelley. And in one of the best vampire destruction scenes in cinema, Dracula is destroyed by sunlight within his own castle after Helsing tears down the curtains and forces Dracula into the sunlight with two candle sticks put together in the sign of a cross. Here Dracula, through then-state-of-the-art makeup by Philip Leakey and Roy Ashton (The Curse of Frankenstein) involving mortician’s wax and red makeup, is reduced to ash – only his ring remains (the same ring worn by Lugosi as Dracula for Universal’s productions!). This ending would create a problem for sequels – hence Hammer’s follow-up, Brides of Dracula (1958), a spinoff story featuring Cushing’s return as Dr. Van Helsing, sans Dracula. Of course, the Count would be ingeniously resurrected by blood sacrifice in Dracula – Prince of Darkness eight years later.

Then we have the direction of Terence Fisher, one of the most prolific directors in horror and Hammer’s mainstay since his 1951 studio debut The Last Page. The Maida Vale, London native had begun work as a clapper boy, gradually moving up the ladder to assistant editor, then main editor beginning with Robert Stevenson’s Tudor Rose (1936), and finally director in 1948 with the Highbury Production A Song for Tomorrow. After The Last Page, Fisher would direct a number of films for Hammer that each cast a well-known American actor to boost international exposure, including Spaceways (1953) with Howard Duff, Four-Sided Triangle with Barbara Peyton, A Stranger Came Home (1954) with Paulette Goddard and Mask of Dust (1954) with Richard Conte.

With The Curse of Frankenstein, Fisher made his reputation as a horror director, one that would be cemented by Horror of Dracula a year later. He would go on to direct other notable Gothic thrillers, some of which were remakes, including The Mummy, The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959); The Curse of the Werewolf (1961); The Two Faces of Jekyll (1960), and The Phantom of the Opera (1962). He also directed several of the sequels in the Dracula and Frankenstein cycles, often starring Cushing and/or Lee.

Although critics frequently dubbed him “the poor man’s Hitchcock” due to his tendency to shoot low-budget thrillers in a “flat” mode with minimal camera set-ups and editing, Fisher had a distinctive style. Collaborating closely with Hammer staff cinematographer Jack Asher on the Gothic Hammer thrillers, beginning with The Curse of Frankenstein, he focused on a combination of image composition and color scheme that recalled the pre-Raphaelite painters, in which every shot, still or tracking, was meticulously framed, with the Technicolor hues showing the proper balance of lighting and contrast. Horror of Dracula showcases this effect quite well, most notably in the opening credits sequence. The camera begins on a proud falcon statue, panning down and zooming in carefully on the tomb of Dracula as blood drips on the plaque bearing his name. The results of Fisher’s style was both colorful and unsettling, another trademark that would become associated with both Hammer and the horror genre in general.

The impact of this effect is quite apparent in several action sequences, most notably the library scene, in which Harker encounters a desperate young woman who begs him for help in escaping from Dracula’s castle. As Harker promises to aid her, we cut to a close-up of the woman revealing fangs – revealing her vampire status – and sinking her teeth in Harker. We then cut then a wide shot as Harker throws her back just as Lee’s Dracula enters. This is followed immediately by an even more shocking close-up of Lee’s face with fangs, covered with red blood, rage and anger hunger. The shot is followed by a cut back to a wide shot as Dracula plunges forward and violently hurls the woman to the floor, carrying her away from Harker into the shadows. Audiences were overwhelmed and devastated by this set-up back in 1958, and it is often quoted at length as an example of one of the genre’s most influential scenes. It delivered more action, erotica and blood than audiences had seen up to that point. And this was only ten minutes into the film!

Then there is the cast, of course, with the top-billed Peter Cushing establishing himself firmly as the screen’s first truly distinguished, dignified and devoted vampire hunter Dr. Van Helsing. Cushing perfectly fits the description of Helsing’s character in the novel: “one of the most advanced scientists of his day… with an iron nerve, a temper of the ice-brook, an indomitable resolution, self-command, and toleration exalted from virtues to blessings, and the kindliest and truest heart that beats.” Christopher Lee matches him as the Count, oozing pure charisma, charm and sexual energy in every scene he appears, embodying a mix of bloodthirsty rage and ancient mystery. While many people choose to champion Lugosi, Frank Langella (Dracula, 1979), Gary Oldman (Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992), Max Schreck (Nosferatu, 1922) or Klaus Kinski (Nosferatu, 1979) as the greatest embodiment of the ancient aristocrat, I have to go with with Lee’s portrayal.

The supporting cast is top-notch too, including a young Michael Gough (later to play Bruce Wayne’s butler Alfred Pennysworth in Warner Brothers’ Batman films from 1989 to 1997) as Arthur Holmwood, Carol Marsh as victim Lucy, Melissa Stribling as Mina Holmwood, and John Van Eyssen as the willing but naïve, and ultimately ill-fated, Jonathan Harker. The chemistry between Van Helsing and Arthur Holmwood is particularly rich, especially during a scene in which Holmwood protests the legitimacy of Van Helsing staking his sister Lucy, during which Van Helsing must convince Holmwood that the Lucy he loves has been converted to a soulless drone for the Count’s nefarious activities.

Finally, there is the music by James Bernard, with the famous three-note octave that has become the trademark of Hammer film scores. Prior to The Curse of Frankenstein, Bernard had already composed fantastic nerve-heightening scores for the first two Quatermass films and X – The Unknown. He took his inspiration for the Octave from the tri-syllabic name of Dracula (Dra-cu-laaaaaaa), and it would be prominently featured, via doubled emphasis on percussion (mainly through timpani and snares) and brass, throughout the film, with some intermittent strings on cello and violins strum at high speeds during the scenes of action and outright horror. Film Bulletin commented that Bernard’s music was “monumentally sinister.”

Over the years, I’ve had to contend with some of the laughter or disdain that comes up whenever the Hammer Dracula films are mentioned (some coming even from my own family), usually dismissing the films as tame and dated compared to later horror films. That may be true to a degree, especially in relation to some of the sequels that would continue to milk the last drop of blood from the success of Horror of Dracula for decades to come. And it’s difficult to win arguments with those who prefer the horror films of counterculture mavens like George A. Romero, Wes Craven, John Carpenter, David Cronenberg and Tobe Hooper (especially when I happen to be a fan of those genre masters myself). But even so, such dismissals do the legendary studio a disservice. Hammer’s Dracula – and Horror of Dracula, in particular – has endured far more than the average moviegoer of today might realize. The studio and its creations, and the stars and filmmakers who made them famous – and who have been made famous by them in return – were major influences on those aforementioned counterculture horror icons and have continued to garner audiences with people like myself, who grew up watching them films on cable TV around the turn of the millennium. I have no doubt that Christopher Lee’s portrayal of the Count will continue to go down in history as the greatest rendition of Bram Stoker’s most iconic creation. As long as horror films exist, Terence Fisher’s Horror of Dracula will be rightfully prized by many horror fans and cinephiles alike as the quintessential adaptation of Stoker’s literary masterpiece.

In loving memory of those who have passed

Christopher Lee (1922-2016)

Jimmy Sangster (1927-2011)

Anthony Hinds (1922-2013)

Michael Gough (1916-2011)

James Bernard (1925-2001)