A Thing of Unspeakable Horror: The History of Hammer Films [Paperback]

A concise, affectionate potted history of the rise and fall of Hammer Films, Sinclair McKay's A Thing of Unspeakable Horror is a breezy enough read for those seeking an introduction to the famous company and the movies they produced; however, it will certainly prove frustrating for those who would already class themselves as seasoned Hammer fans. The writer is obviously quite familiar with Hammer horror movies, and seems to genuinely love them; unfortunately, when discussing the films, his tone is far too jokey (and the fact that he names the trashy camp-fest Dracula AD 1972 as his favourite Hammer film really says it all).
His first chapter is dedicated to listing the various `common conventions' (or clichés) that he seems to think are required of any Hammer horror; in this he also reveals the limits of his `expertise', as this kind of generalisation is the sort of thing that is both despised, and easily disproved by those with more in-depth knowledge of the subject (for instance, the inn landlords of Hammer's Dracula films were variously played by George Woodbridge, Norman Pierce, Woodbridge again, George A. Cooper, and lastly Michael Ripper; McKay blithely states that Ripper always played the part). In fact, less-than-careful proof reading seems to have led to the inclusion of several factual mistakes, and not just concerning the topic at hand; when discussing 1958's seminal Horror of Dracula, the basic plot of which every true Hammer fan will be very familiar with, McKay gets the roles (and fates) of the Lucy and Mina characters mixed up; he states that Oliver Reed made his screen debut in The Curse of the Werewolf in 1961 (Reed actually debuted in the Norman Wisdom comedy The Square Peg in 1958, and made his debut for Hammer in The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll two years later); and, unforgivably for a published film critic, he gets the title of one of the best known, most critically acclaimed British movies of all time wrong; The Bridge OVER the River Kwai anyone?
Structurally, the book is all over the place, with McKay's supposedly chronological history doubling backwards on itself more than once; he clumsily repeats various facts (for instance, the point that Aida Young joined EMI after working at Hammer wasn't particularly interesting the first time, so I don't know why McKay decides to repeat it several chapters later), and breaks off in the middle of detailed discussions to talk about unrelated topics (an important chapter focusing on two supposedly `mold-breaking' Hammers, The Gorgon and The Reptile, comes to a halt halfway through so that the writer can give us a three-page history of Hammer rival Amicus).
The writer is at his best when poking fun at the really rubbish Hammer films (Moon Zero Two, Lust for a Vampire), and the tattiest aspects of British film history in general; he describes Robin Askwith, `star' of the excrable `Confessions of...' series of sex comedies as a `simian missing link'. Pleasingly, overrated `respectable' movies like Genevieve, Antonioni's Blow-Up, and To Sir With Love come in for plenty of stick too. Also worthy of mention are the photographs, most of which I had never seen before (and I've read a lot of books on this subject). McKay has obviously read, and admired, Matthew Sweet's masterful British film history book Shepperton Babylon, and has tried to capture some of its atmosphere of a vanished world, but the fact is that Hammer horror is still both too recent and too well-known a phenomenon to be appreciated as the kind of cinematic `lost continent' that Sweet conjured up when writing about the long-forgotten films of Meggie Albanesi and John Marlborough East. And though the history of Hammer, and of the British horror movie in general, is one worthy of deep exploration, so many books have done a far better job than McKay's lightweight effort; for a comprehensive history of Hammer, try Marcus Hearn and Alan Barnes' The Hammer Story, or for a great look at the entire genre of British horror films, Jonathan Rigby's English Gothic is still hard to beat.

As the earlier review of this book suggests, this is not a something that you should read if you want accurate information about the history and output of one of the world's most famous horror film studios. McKay drops factual clangers in almost every chapter. These are not merely in regard to Hammer, but to all films ( Riddle of the Sands starred Michael York, not Simon Ward!) At times this does look like an extended magazine article rather than a hardback, and he really should have done some proper research rather than rely on his memory.

That said, I really DID like this book! McKay has a genuine enthusiasm for these films and a breezy style which draws you along effortlessly. He is also, at times, very funny. The rather unhorrifying monster from the film THE GORGON is described as looking like ' a furious boarding house landlady interrupted in the course of setting her hair'. And I found myself chuckling at the suggestion that the rather pathetic sets in SCARS OF DRACULA lead one to suspect that the Count has now taken up residence in a branch of the Angus Steak House.

There is some attempt to place the films in the context of the times that they were made, and chapters dealing with the studio's treatment of feminism and class based politics. Refreshingly, the author draws back from suggesting that these films are coded Marxist texts, and points out that they are really timeless fairy tales. He even mentions that they were giving far more substantial roles to women as the years went on (albeit ones that required them to wear, flimsy low-cut nighties!)

All in all, I would recommend this book to you. It's a good, enjoyable read, and manages to avoid being either too reverential or too patronising. If you already know a lot about Hammer, you can have extra fun picking up on all the mistakes. If you DON'T already know a lot about Hammer, then it might be a good idea to order this with one of the more factually reliable Hammer books mentioned.

After turning the last page of this work, I began wondering to what exactly the title, A Thing of Unspeakable Horror, refers to? The Hammer films, or the book itself? Though an ostensive history of the Hammer horror output, the author adopts the same pithy observational approach he took in his rather tiresome coverage of the James Bond films, The Man With The Golden Touch. And, as with that volume, this is a book that is more about the author than its stated subject.

The trouble with taking a humorous, pithy approach to a subject matter is that it only really works if your reader is in tune with it. I found myself fading in and out with Mr. McKay's perspective. Some of his remarks are quite funny, others are an excruciating read. But all in all, you are left thinking that while this guy loves Hammer films, does he actually like them? McKay cannot resist having a dig at the films he covers, and one cannot help feeling this is an ego boosting exercise to attempting to look cool. For example, when talking about Scars of Dracula - a flawed but fine entry in the series and far better than often given credit for - he reports that star Dennis Waterman refused to be interviewed for the book about it, adding "if I had starred in such a stinker, I'd be reluctant to discuss it too."... Boom, boom. He also dismisses the re designed Castle Dracula set as resembling an Angus Steak House. Well, all I can say is Mr. McKay has evidently dined in some very peculiar branches of that chain, if he is to be believed.

The other problem with being pithy is that the author can be so self indulgent as to fall into the trap of sacrificing accurate research for clever remarks. In trying to dismiss the well regarded 1980 TV series The Hammer House of Horror, he claims that "the scripts weren't inventive" - which is an contentious statement - and says "We all remember the one with Ingrid Pitt and the vampire eagle..." Well, we might if Ingrid had actually been in it. She didn't appear in the series at all. And that is not the only mistake that Mr McKay makes. In his coverage of the 1958 Dracula, he gets the characters of Lucy and Mina mixed up... I could go on - and I notice other reviewers have - but the point is if a supposed film expert can make so many factual errors, then how are we to trust his judgement and opinions?

In the book's favour, it does contain some rarely seen stills and is a passable train journey distraction for those who have already read just about everything on Hammer ever written. But if you are approaching the studio's history for the first time, avoid and educate yourself with Marcus Hearne's and Alan Barnes' The Hammer Story or Ingrid Pitt's upcoming The Hammer Xperience. This work ain't Gospel.