Kiss of the Vampire 1963
Released this day.
No Lee. No Cushing. Hammer going on without the usual pillars, and the picture feels it.
Willman as Ravna. A masked ball. A village that has already decided what it worships. Then that ending, with Zimmer and his ritual, as if the film had remembered another story halfway through and elected to finish that one instead.
An odd sausage of a movie. I do not pretend otherwise. I also do not put it back on the shelf. Hammer, slightly off its own axis, and still worth it!
Peter Cushing.
The precision was the point. The voice, the stillness, the way he could make a wooden stake feel like a moral decision. Van Helsing. Frankenstein. The man who arrived prepared.
Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992)
Coppola on the castle floor with the three brides. Bellucci, Bercu, Kendrick. The costumes have the weight. The stone has the damp. He looks like a man who has wandered into his own ritual and decided to stay for the portrait.
The film is baroque to the point of fever. This still is calmer. Three women in gold and gauze, and the director in a tie, holding the night together by standing in the middle of it.
Every night he rises... 🦇🩸 Check out this incredible vintage photo of a theater marquee for Hammer’s 1958 masterpiece, Dracula (aka Horror of Dracula).
The iconic pairing of Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing changed gothic horror forever. Look at that massive custom billboard display!
Peter Cushing’s miniatures.
He painted them as he did everything else: with patience, order, and no interest in being observed. Rank upon rank of tiny soldiers. A serious collection, not a whim.
I attempted the same discipline. I had the intention. I had not the hand. The figures looked as though they had already been through a war, and not on the winning side🤣.
Peter would have been kind about it. He would also have been right. Some men are born to the fine brush. The rest of us are better left to watching his.
I was reminded, yesterday, about Vampire Circus (1972)
Hammer, toward the end, and still capable of real mischief. A village under plague. A circus that should never have been admitted.
These are not drawing-room vampires. They are the act itself. Crude in places, strange, and rather more dangerous than the studio is usually given credit for.
1964. ABG. Universal pencil sharpeners.
This is the store box. Still full. The colours still loud. Most of these were emptied by kids and binned by the shop. Someone kept the whole thing. That is the bit that gets me. Not the plastic. The fact a display like this survived at all. I would have gone for the Wolf Man. Then the Mummy. Then I would have wanted the box too.