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Although we don't deal with horror on TV as a rule here at HORROR-WOOD, we felt we had to make an exception for an unsold TV pilot from by the "studio that dripped blood," Hammer, back when it was young and glorious, a TV pilot scripted by the great Curt Siodmak, starring the estimable Anton Diffring as Dr. Frankenstein, and featuring an actual Universal Studios version of the Monster. That's what we thought. What we found out was that this production was much, much less than the sum of its parts. In fact, we can only sadly conclude that Hammer's Tales Of Frankenstein is really just...
By HANK REARDON The classic horror of the Thirties and Forties met the new wave of horror of the Fifties, when Universal (via Revue Studios) teamed up with Hammer Film Productions to develop the half-hour TV pilot for Tales Of Frankenstein in 1958. Forty-seven years later, it's difficult to recall how radically Hammer redefined the horror genre with The Curse of Frankenstein in 1957 and Horror Of Dracula in 1958--or how eagerly the public embraced the English studio’s sexier and gorier approach to adapting the works of Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker. The buzz over Hammer’s lurid Technicolor offerings coincided with Universal’s success in recycling its monster movie catalogue for presentation on Shock Theatre programs at TV stations across the country. The popularity of such mystery anthology shows as Alfred Hitchcock Presents suggested that a horror anthology series based on the adventures of Baron Frankenstein would also be a hit.
Sadly, things didn’t work out as planned, and Tales Of Frankenstein interrupted Hammer’s hot streak. The pilot remained unsold, and was not seen for decades; that is, until All Day Entertainment released a murky print on DVD in 2001. (Image and sound quality are acceptable on Alpha Video’s Double Feature DVD of Tales Of Frankenstein and The Terror, released in 2004.) Baron Frankenstein’s ruthlessness is in keeping with Peter Cushing’s groundbreaking portrayal, while Don Megowan's scary yet pitiable Monster cannot help but remind us of Boris Karloff's conceptualization. And yet the show doesn’t hang together. The failure of Tales Of Frankenstein can be blamed on Curt Siodmak’s tepid direction, a weak script and the miscasting of Anton Diffring as Baron Frankenstein.
One can only speculate as to why Siodmak (with such credits as The Wolf Man and Donovan’s Brain behind him) failed to repeat his earlier success in this TV pilot. Clearly, Siodmak loved telling horror stories and there are some good things in Tales Of Frankenstein. He was also working from a script by noted pulp fiction writer Henry Kuttner (who would soon die of a heart attack at age 43). The sets designed by Carl Anderson are first-rate, especially the creepy graveyard setting and the Baron's laboratory, which is a marvel of clutter and spaciousness; the equipment includes electrical machines worthy of Ken Strickfaden, designer of the special electrical effects for Frankenstein (1931) and Bride Of Frankenstein (1935).
Yet Siodmak seems to have run out of creative inspiration on Tales Of Frankenstein. Hosting the episode (titled The Face In The Tombstone Mirror) is a blurry talking head floating inside a crystal ball, which was used 15 years earlier in the old Inner Sanctum mysteries and is laughably unsuitable for Tales Of Frankenstein. Clips from Universal horror classics (including shots of the brides of Dracula from the 1931 film) appear in the shoddy title sequence. The show itself begins with a night shot of Frankenstein’s castle in a driving rainstorm, lifted from the 1944 "monster rally" picture House Of Frankenstein.
In Tales of Frankenstein, the Baron has created a being from dead body parts stolen from graves. In his laboratory, he brings the Monster to life during a thunder-and-lightning storm. Rather than express gratitude for being raised from the dead, the unshackled Monster attacks his creator. The Baron kills the creature with a syringe and concludes that its mind was blank. He decides that the living brain of a good and successful man is needed for his next experiment. That same day, the Baron is approached by dying sculptor Paul Helbert (Richard Bull) and his pushy wife (Helen Westcott), who has heard about the scientist’s controversial experiments and believes he can extend her doomed husband’s life. The Baron refuses to help the poor man, and waits for him to die. Three days later, Helbert expires (quite melodramatically) at a local inn. The Baron bribes a gravedigger to look the other way while he steals the dead man’s brain for use in his next reanimation experiment.
The sculptor awakens in the horrifying body of
Frankenstein's creation. After seeing his acromegalic features reflected in a mirror, the
Monster goes on a rampage and lurches back to the cemetery, hurling himself into the open
grave, which caves in, burying him alive. Before the Baron can dig the Monster out from
under, the village’s chief of police arrests him.
Siodmak’s career continued to flatline after Tales of Frankenstein. He went on to helm 13 Demon Street, an ill-fated TV series shot in Sweden, hosted by an alcohol-ravaged Lon Chaney, Jr. The 13 episodes were reedited into Devil’s Messenger, a mediocre horror feature released in 1961. Although Siodmak died in 2002, he wound up his career decades earlier with the screenplay for 1962’s Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace (starring Christopher Lee as Holmes). Siodmak’s last directing assignment was the dismal alpine comedy Ski Fever in 1966. Diffring, a charming Eurovillain, simply doesn’t measure up to Peter Cushing’s chilling portrayal of Baron Victor Frankenstein in Hammer’s The Curse of Frankenstein and its five sequels. Perhaps the fault lies with the character as written, but Diffring comes across as a bit of a dilettante. More importantly, he doesn’t scare or convince us of his madness. Diffring’s subsequent screen appearances in the horror genre were far superior. He was smoothly evil as the fugitive plastic surgeon in Circus of Horrors (1960), a sinister fireman in Fahrenheit 451 (1966) and a grim persecutor of witches in Mark of the Devil II (1972).
With his fair hair and complexion, cruel mouth and steely eyes, Diffring was a perfect screen Nazi in many war films, including Counterpoint, Where Eagles Dare and Sutjeska. Although a versatile and classically trained actor, he was Teutonically typecast right up until his final horror role as an elderly ex-Nazi surgeon in Jess Franco’s Faceless (1988). Diffring died in 1989 at age 70. At 6’6", bit player Don Megowan had the physical stature to play the Monster. In key scenes, he towers menacingly over Diffring, who seems genuinely afraid of him at times. Clay Campbell’s monster makeup is a definite asset to the production, rivaling Jack Pierce’s for quality – no mean feat in such a low-budget enterprise. An element of gigantism was blended into Megowan’s features. The Monster’s face appears swollen and infected.
Austrian-born character actor Ludwig Stössel makes a welcome appearance as a timid innkeeper, while blacklisted American actor Peter Brocco registers strongly as a drunken gravedigger. However, Helen Westcott is strident and annoying as the sculptor’s wife. Frankenfans will disagree, but Tales Of Frankenstein is a tale that would have been best left untold. Now that it has been rediscovered, it’s a mildly enjoyable addition to the Frankenstein canon, but of no great consequence. Thanks, Hank. Actually, we feel that few "Frankenfans" will disagree with you on this score. As a Fifties TV pilot, Tales Of Frankenstein is mildly diverting, even a bit fun...but when you consider that this was the product of Hammer Studios in its salad days, this effort is a big disappointment at best. And when you also consider the fact that the great Curt Siodmak wrote the limp script... well, that's the only real horror in this production. The use of a classic Universal Studios-type Frankenstein Monster is interesting to see, but even that bit is botched by the lumpy makeup job. All in all, Tales Of Frankenstein is, indeed a tired tale that would have been better left untold. Article copyright © Hank Reardon |
