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While Hammer Studios has been in business since 1934, it was between 1955 and 1979 that it towered as one of the premier sources of edgy, gothic horror. On top of ushering the famous monsters of Universal’s horror heyday back into the public eye, resurrecting the likes of Frankenstein, Dracula and the Mummy in vivid color, the studio invited performers like Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Ingrid Pitt and so many more to step into the genre limelight. Spanning a library housing over 300 films, Hammer Studios is a key part of horror history that until recently has been far too difficult to track down.
In late 2018, Shout Factory’s Scream Factory line began to focus on bringing Hammer’s titles to disc in the US, finally making many of the studio’s underseen gems available in packages that offered great visuals as well as insightful accompanying features. Over the course of this column, I will focus on these releases, gauging the films in context of the Hammer Studio story as well as analyzing the merits of the release. It’s time to highlight the power, impact and influence of Hammer Studios and ignite new conversation surrounding some forgotten classics.
Welcome to the Hammer Factory. This month we dissect The Witches (1966).
The Context
Much was churning and changing at Hammer Studios in 1966. A newly penned deal with 20th Century Fox spurred an experimental, breakneck shooting schedule that produced Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966), The Plague of the Zombies (1966), Rasputin the Mad Monk (1966) and The Reptile (1966) all in the same year. In addition, their mainstay of Bray Studios was on the cusp of becoming too costly to continue to rely on. Even the themes in their films were transitioning, leaning ever more heavily into the ritualistic occult that the British censors had so heartily forbade even just a few years prior.
The studio had indeed made a reputation for itself by then, a place known the world over for its ability to produce relatively low cost, high class gothics that the heavyweight studios had little time for or interest in. Over the years this reputation had attracted several outside talents. Even Cary Grant had expressed interest in the early 60’s, very nearly becoming the star of Terence Fisher’s The Phantom of the Opera (1962). Of course, aging Hollywood talents had done far more than show a passing interest in gracing the halls of Hammer, notably just a year prior when Bette Davis starred in Hammer’s The Nanny (1965).
Joan Fontaine, Hollywood royalty in her own right, was primed to explore such an option for her own horror-tinged endeavor. After more than 30 years in the business, she was done waiting for projects to come to her. She took it upon herself to option the 1960 Norah Lofts novel The Devil’s Own (published under the name Peter Curtis), acquiring her own screenwriter for the adaptation. Her choice was longtime Hammer collaborator Nigel Kneale, creator and author of the Quatermass series and screenwriter of numerous other adaptations of his own BBC work over the years. Despite his distaste for the bulk of Hammer’s interpretations (much of the Quatermass saga included), he saw himself as a screenwriter for hire and had no problem accepting the job as he would any other.
Her choice of director, Cyril Frankel, had previously helmed Hammer’s Never Take Candy From a Stranger (1960). The project was by and large a complete package, simply requiring a studio to produce and distribute it. Given the pedigree of the Oscar-winning star and Kneale’s track record for success as a screenwriter, it was all too easy to sell the idea. Still, while her original pitch to the studio had occurred several years prior, it was the deal with Fox that provided an avenue to its official production and eventual distribution.
Forgoing Bray, most of the picture was shot at the larger facilities at Elstree Studios. The remainder was shot on location at Hambleden, Buckinghamshire, a rare feat for Hammer at the time, providing a real sense of personality and physicality to the small village portrayed in the film. Joan Fontaine struggled some with the stricter union laws governing filmmaking in the UK, allowing for mandatory tea breaks and tight work days that often interrupted the flow of her performance. Beyond that, she fell ill with a fever for a portion of the production, requesting to only be pulled from her rest when necessary. She was unimpressed with the food and facilities and even went so far as to label the whole process as “primitive”. Still, Frankel obliged her as much as possible and Fontaine managed to turn in an appropriately layered performance that lent a great deal to the legitimacy of this particular witch’s tale.
The Witches (1966) lands as an early entry in the folk horror subgenre. It offers a healthy mixture of mystery, suspense and interpersonal drama that fits right in line with something Agatha Christie might’ve written, exploring the dangers that might lie just below the tranquil English countryside. While the narrative doesn’t always work and fails to completely come together in the end, Frankel and frequent Hammer cinematographer Arthur Grant capture the beautiful landscapes with grace and a sense of visual flare that does a better job of crafting mood and atmosphere than the script is often able to.
While the film certainly helped to usher in many of the themes regarding the occult, witchcraft and folk terrors that would come to be found several years later in movies like Rosemary’s Baby (1968) and The Wicker Man (1973), it failed to connect with audiences and was a financial disappointment to the studio. As Joan Fontaine had headlined the project and initiated its creation with Hammer, she took the failure personally and, while she would go on to work in television for several years more, The Witches would serve as her final appearance in a feature film.
The Witches walks the fine line between suspense and horror that Hammer so often liked to tread, never falling squarely into either category. Still, the censors saw fit to rate its more subtle than not forays into the occult with an X Certificate, further proof that Hammer was always pushing the buttons of the establishment, even in what might be considered their slighter efforts. The film may not go down in the history books as one of the Studio’s most successful or affecting works, but it is a fine example of how Hammer managed to cover every spectrum of the horror genre during their run, inviting in talent and ideas whenever they were able and looking beyond whatever boundaries the industry saw fit to set.
The Film
“They relish the idea of a secret power, especially when their normal powers are failing. Now, they may believe in it, the point is, do we?”
The rhythmic drumming of Richard Rodney Bennett’s captivating score resounds as a cottage emerges on screen, barely visible amongst the thick trappings of the forest in the darkness. A figure brandishes a voodoo totem in the night, pointing toward the cottage. Inside, the occupants, including schoolteacher Gwen Mayfield, hurriedly pack up their things. Despite Gwen’s insistence to the native African men that nothing can happen to them, a knife lands on the table, its hilt baring the voodoo totem first seen in the darkness. The men escape, fearing for their very souls, leaving Gwen behind to finish packing. Suddenly, the windows shake and the door bursts open. A man donning an immense voodoo mask barrels into the room, heading steadily toward the cowering woman as she screams into the night— a nightmare made real.
So begins The Witches, a full tilt foray into the occult that takes the thematics that were being touched upon in films like The Kiss of the Vampire (1963) and puts them center stage, paving the way for the overt dark magic on display in The Devil Rides Out (1968) which would arrive only a few years later. It’s a film that feels somewhat detached from the Hammer cycle, less interested in romantic gothicism as it sets its sights squarely on folk horror mysticism. Directed by Cyril Frankel, the film’s picturesque scenery shows up gracefully on screen, compelling the narrative forward even when it lacks an inherent sense of drive.
Joan Fontaine portrays Gwen as a multi-layered woman, the strata of her past experiences, both recalled and repressed, crafting a seemingly meek individual who has more drive and determination than even she is aware. As the film progresses and the mysteries of the odd township deepen ever further into darkness, it’s Fontaine’s persistent interest, insecurities and unwillingness to relent that enables the story to conjure up the dread it so requires.
After some time has passed since Gwen was driven from her African post by enraged witch doctors, she’s enlisted by an affluent priest named Alan Bax, played with an air of honor and regret by Alec McCowen, to teach school in the small town known as Heddaby. Excited for the work, she leaves for the town immediately. As quaint and charming a place as one’s ever likely to encounter, the village is filled with helpful, smiling faces, fresh produce and pleasant homesteads that look to have been plucked out of the pages of a magazine. Arthur Grant’s cinematography helps make the town itself one of the film’s more notable stars, capturing the on-location spaces with splendor and elegance.
Upon arrival Gwen meets Alan’s sister Stephanie. Kay Walsh plays Stephanie with a comforting, confident and pragmatic honesty that provides her a sense of command in the story from the moment she’s introduced. She serves as the ideal foil to Fontaine’s not-so-naive Gwen, allowing her to be both a confidant and a person-of-interest as the dark mystery unfolds. The same holds true when juxtaposing her against her brother Alan, who upon arrival reveals to Gwen that he’s not a priest at all and simply enjoys wearing the garb in an attempt to attain a deeper sense of peace and inner satisfaction. The fact that he confesses this in the ruins of the town’s only church only further begins to erode the trust and goodwill Gwen had so willingly afforded the man and his town before she’s ever had the opportunity to acclimate as a member of the community.
All too soon cracks begin to show in the town’s pristine exterior. Despite her affection for her students, the townsfolk suggest that she needs to be more watchful of them. A trip to the market reveals an odd obsession with keeping two lovestruck classmates apart, Ronnie Dowsett and Linda Rigg, played by Martin Stephens and Ingrid Brett respectively, revealing that the whole of the town is disconcertingly invested in the harmless romantic goings on of the youth. Moreover, Gwen begins to receive notes in school and hears whisperings that Linda’s grandmother is abusing the girl and has been for quite some time.
This question of abuse, mixed with her growing feelings of unease and distrust, send Gwen on a journey of discovery that comprises the remainder of the film’s runtime. Nigel Kneale’s screenplay is hardly concerned with the kind of outright scares or disturbing imagery many of Hammer’s more popular outings were associated with, rather reveling in the philosophical and moral implications of sussing out the truth in a construct of lies. Its language is dread and the fear it manifests lies acutely within Gwen’s purview, for better or for worse.
After spending some time visiting with Linda’s grandmother, played with just the right amount of questionable loyalty by Hammer frequenter Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies, Gwen finds herself being followed by a persistent black cat. What Gwen failed to see was Granny Rigg’s whispered instructions to the animal, confirming to the viewer that her power and dark aims are quite real. Dolls become a prominent part of the action as well, Ronnie and Linda each having dolls that seem to represent them as lovers. Later, Ronnie’s doll is found impaled by needles and missing its head. The object’s mutilation coincides with the boy falling into a mysterious coma, casting further doubt in Gwen’s mind that what is occurring in Heddaby is anything but supernatural.
Given Gwen’s history with witchcraft and the way in which its users might weaponize it, her investigation is a personal one. Stephanie serves as a listening ear for Gwen. Far from denying her accusations, she agrees full heartedly: the evidence is clear and witchcraft is more than likely being practiced. Gwen’s inquiries soon stir up the town and after Ronnie’s father is found drowned in the wake of confronting Granny Rigg regarding the fate of his son, she announces she will bring authority into the equation. Beyond that, Gwen finally pieces the evidence together to determine what will more than likely become of young Linda – ritualistic sacrifice.
From here, the film takes a bit of a left turn. After being transported to Stephanie’s manor for treatment of a small wound, Gwen once again envisions the mask from the opening scene. She awakens in a psychiatric hospital stricken with amnesia. This narrative detour slows the film to a halt for about ten minutes and ultimately provides the character with no additional ammunition for the finale. While it makes sense that the practitioners of the occult in Heddaby would want to be rid of her, giving her amnesia and sticking her in a ward hardly seems the most logical effort to accomplish that. Given the film’s fascination with voodoo dolls and incapacitation, it’s hard to imagine that would not have been a better, more effective path.
It’s not long before Gwen has escaped and finds herself once more in the home of Stephanie Bax. Finally, what has been only insinuated materializes on screen. From a group of townsfolk scuttling across the grass in the darkness toward the ruins of the old church to Stephanie, the leader of the coven, donning a bizarre headdress spotted by candles sticking out at odd angles, The Witches does not shy away from the occult imagery its setup so promises. While some of it comes off as ham-fisted and ineffective, what works does so incredibly well. For example, the sequence depicting the cat dressed as a doll moving unnaturally atop a ritualistic circle is amongst the most unsettling and haunting things Hammer put to screen in that period. While the sequence could have easily gone further— the people hungrily watching their leader and dancing in odd, sporadic rhythms were very clearly meant to be engaged in an orgy – all of the disparate elements ultimately do make for an entertaining sequence on the whole.
In the end, Gwen stands up to the cult of black magic practitioners and finds a way to defile the ceremony, fighting to save young Linda’s life. The ending comes and goes rather quickly and the filmmaker’s unwillingness to push the boundaries of what might have been going on in that old church makes for an anticlimactic conclusion to what was a somewhat slow-burning film. And yet, for all its faults, it’s difficult to deny the film’s ability to draw in the viewer and carry them through the mystery at play.
The Witches is less about witches specifically and more about what the civilized might view as religious sacrilege. The occult is just that in this film, an amalgam of all of those things that make up the deep, dark world of the satanic arts, and the finale is the encapsulation of that one-size-fits-all approach. While these ideas would be carried further and honed in upon in subsequent Hammer outings, The Witches, despite its financial and critical failings, was an important stepping stone to what would come in its wake.
Rather than the frantic packing up of a school to be abandoned, the film concludes in the crowded and bustling classroom at Heddaby. With Stephanie’s influence dispatched, there is normalcy and the pleasantness of the small town’s charms can be fully realized— a dream made real.
Just as with nightmares, when dreams are believed in, it seems they have the ability to hold a great deal of power too.
The Special Features
This release comes equipped with a freshly color corrected version of the 2013 StudioCanal transfer that was released in the UK. The picture is bright and lush, really bringing to life the locations, costumes and make up, maintaining a fine level of grain throughout. The DTS-HD Master Mono track delivers crisp dialogue that doesn’t falter and emphasizes the film’s rousing score. All told, this is a solid presentation of the film.
Audio Commentary, by Author/Film Historian Ted Newsom
Author and film historian Ted Newsom delivers a solo commentary track, detailing the production and providing a great deal of background information on the players that comprised The Witches.
He talks at length about Joan Fontaine and her career, as well as how the project came to be at Hammer. He discusses the kitchen sink approach to the occult, how the witches in the film represent a collective “other” as compared to the “religious right”. The track has some quiet spots and often spends more time on the careers of the performers than on the film itself. Newsom also has an unfortunate tendency to focus on Fontaine’s physical appearance which, while it’s meant to be a joke, comes off as more lecherous than entertaining.
Ultimately, this is not one of Ted Newsom’s stronger commentary tracks, although it does have some interesting information throughout.
Hammer Glamour (44:09)
(2013, Flashpoint Media Production for Hammer)
Note: This ported feature was also found on Scream Factory’s Collector’s Edition release of Frankenstein Created Woman (1967).
Ported over from the 2014 UK Blu-ray release, this documentary seeks to explore the many beautiful women who appeared in Hammer’s films over the years as well as the impact of their “sex symbol” status on their psyches and careers.
Featuring interviews with Valerie Leon, Caroline Munro, Martine Beswick, Madeline Smith and more, the feature serves as a companion piece to Marcus Hearn’s book of the same name. The documentary covers a multitude of films and women in its brief runtime, ultimately tracking the important role these women played in Hammer’s success and the increasing pressure both the actresses and the studio were under to further disrobe as the decades wore on.
The feature is a bit too brief to reach too many grand conclusions, but it does raise some interesting questions about the long term cost of dedicating one’s body to public glamour and the obligations, constrictions and mental toll that takes on the person beneath the beauty.
Trailers and TV Spot (3:33)
The trailer opens as an African totem and a large, voodoo mask appears on screen, causing Joan Fontaine’s Gwen to collapse in fear. A voice announces, “Fetish men— black magic as real as an African nightmare!” The announcer continues, saying that Academy Award winner Joan Fontaine is up against “the devil’s own disciples”. The words “witches” and “devils” fly by the screen as men cower in fear and a stampede of sheep runs down Joan Fontaine. Images of the heathen cult flicker by as the words “Beware the witches” paint the frame. Finally the title appears: THE DEVIL’S OWN.
The first black and white TV spot opens with the words, “Journey into double terror!” Women march by as the titles are revealed: Prehistoric Women and The Devil’s Own. A man is pulled into bed by a forceful woman as the announcer tells of “a savage world where men become slaves”. A transition tells us that on the same program “witchcraft is as real as an African nightmare”. A freeze frame image of Joan Fontaine accompanies this, followed by images of the cat darting around in its doll costume. Images from the climactic ceremony pepper the screen and the announcer informs that these films are “Two terrors to tear you apart!”
The second black and white TV spot is much briefer, opening with the finishing claim of the former, “Two terrors to tear you apart!” The giant voodoo mask bursts through the door and the prehistoric women gather in a brief clip as the announcer tells of both titles.
Still Gallery (4:28)
Headshots of Joan Fontaine as well as the cast, on set photography, candid shots of the cast and crew, promotional materials, international posters, newspaper advertisements, lobby cards and more comprise this fun slideshow of material from the time of the film’s release.
Final Thoughts
1966 carried with it both horizons classic and contemporary for Hammer Studios. On the one hand they had finally made a sequel to Dracula (1958) that reinstated Christopher Lee as the fanged Count, establishing a precedent for a franchise that would go on for over a decade more. On the other, they made their first zombie film with The Plague of the Zombies, melding their gothic trappings with a more modern villain, helping to establish tropes and stylistic flourishes that would go on to heavily influence the genre in the years to come.
Amidst it all was The Witches, Joan Fontaine’s passion project which was to pit the Oscar winner against the dark arts. A film more interested in the subtleties of mistrust and the disconcertion that accompanies the off putting truths that lie beneath beautiful lies, Cyril Frankel’s early entry into the folk horror subgenre hits as much as it misses while still standing as a gorgeous experience that is more engaging than not. It may not have been successful, but like The Plague of the Zombies and Dracula: Prince of Darkness, it cut a fresh path for Hammer Studios to tread and showed how the occult might be leveraged and explored in ways their former works had rarely dove into.
Scream Factory brings The Witches to Blu-ray with a fine presentation of the film, its refreshed transfer offering an experience worthy of Arthur Grant’s beautiful cinematography. The disc lacks the robust special features of some of their other Hammer releases, even recycling one from Frankenstein Created Woman, and Ted Newsom’s commentary leaves much to be desired. Still, for Hammer completists and folk horror enthusiasts, the film is an outlier worth having in the collection.
Hammer would go on to explore the satanic arts further in the years to come, moving from the works of Norah Lofts to those of Dennis Wheatley. Films like The Devil Rides Out and To the Devil a Daughter (1976) would become more well known than The Witches, more acutely distilling good and evil. And yet, even those films would continue to treat the occult as one amorphous collective of the dark, the strange and the vile. Like The Witches before them, the pictures would view the other world the occult represented through the eyes of people who were completely uninterested, or perhaps incapable, of differentiating any one of its facets from another.
The Witches offers very little of the hallmarks most associated with Hammer’s repertoire. Quiet, contemplative and more introspective than its genre brethren, its narrative failings held it back from achieving the sort of classic status afforded to many of its contemporaries. And yet, it’s in its diversions that the film holds value. Its aversion to gothic excess in the stead of communal dread, brought to life by lush visuals and a practical locale, headlined by Joan Fontaine’s nuanced performance, despite its faults, makes The Witches a film worth discussing in the same breath as the occult works which came in its wake. Like many of Hammer’s less celebrated films, even amidst the change and the churn of the mid-1960’s, The Witches offers far more to remember than to forget.
