The Carpathian Eagle

In 'Carpathian Eagle' frumpy (glasses, pinafore dresses) writer Natalie (Suzanne Danielle) becomes obsessed with a 16th century Russian Countess who, after being treated rather shoddily by her husband (branding is mentioned), became a serial killer with a particular penchant for cutting out the still beating hearts of her male victims. So readily does Natalie identify with the crazy Countess she begins to wear a variety of skimpy outfits, and starts picking up men attracted to her purring voice and endless legs and, just as they are laying in bed expecting the night of their lives, she kills them. You ought to see their stupid faces.

Most of the blokes deserve it, though. There's Barry Stokes from 'Prey' who picks her up in his car after doing that 'Right, I'm having a slice of that' face; a horrible bloke in a winebar who says 'Andy's the name, randy's the game' before taking her back to his truly bizarre flat with big plastic feet at the end of the bed and a 'No Stopping At Any Time' sign above it; a well heeled twat who takes her to a friend's place 'the wife doesn't know about' (he escapes, unfortunately) and Pierce Brosnan, who was still Irish at this point and is extremely unsuave in his Fred Perry tracksuit. Still, you can't go about murdering people just because they're twats, can you? Can you? 

'Do you remember Mick?'

Frazzled Copper Cliff (Anthony Valentine) is on the case, however, and although he has his suspicions, he can't help fancying Natalie. He's an interesting character, actually, with his comb across and blazer, somewhat lonely and vulnerable but a bit of a geezer, as if Joey Maddox from 'Performance' (another Valentine part) had grown up on the right side of the law. Another surprising facet is his hatred of stereotypes: when a colleague mocks a drag act, talking about 'queens' and handbags, Cliff gets annoyed and says 'you still think in cliches, son'. He's a pretty liberal guy for a late 70's copper.

Suzanne Danielle dominates here, mainly because she is in a variety of extraordinary outfits, many of which are highly revealing. You may recall that her nickname was 'The Body', but what she exhibits is, more acurately, an early example of what would be known as a 'hard body': taut, strong, lithe - the total opposite of the fleshy, big breasted, ample bummed types that dominated the sex symbol stakes in the seventies. She's not a bad actress, really, but Hammer cover that by revealing her to be the killer almost straight away, as if they didn't trust her to not to give it away.

Not bad in an undemanding way, the story ends with a coda in which Natalie is about to start on a new book, and a new murder spree - and she's got a load of new underwear. I'm surprised this never became a series, to be honest.     

The Two Faces Of Evil

Hammer House of Horror is a series of much variety, particularly with regard to quality. ‘The Two Faces of Evil’, however, is an exceptional episode, not least because it is really scary.

Like all the best horror tales, ‘Two Faces Of Evil’ doesn’t mess about with exposition or, indeed, explanation. The ending is utterly inconclusive, but perfectly apt. What it does provide, however, is a world where something unearthly and terrifying is happening, and a nightmare of random violence, madness and death.

It begins with a cheery family unit (Martin and Janet Lewis and blond haired son, David) on their way to a holiday cottage in Buckinghamshire. During a sudden rainstorm they nearly hit a pedestrian, and then offer him a lift. Within seconds, the mysterious, silent man (dressed in a really creepy ensemble of bright yellow sou’wester and matching oilskins) attacks Martin, tearing at his face with his hand and, in particular, a single nasty, dirty pointed fingernail. Struggling for his life as Janet and David scream their heads off in the back, Martin flips the car over and everything goes black. 

Janet wakes up in that most sinister of locations, the Cottage Hospital, made all the more eerie by some interesting camera angles and shifty eyed staff. She’s alright, apart from a big bruise on her head, and David is unharmed. Martin, however, has undergone an emergency operation to remove some broken glass from his throat and is generally torn, scratched and battered (there's a particularly chilling scene where he raises himself up in bed and outstretches his bandaged hand in a gesture that is equal parts pitiful plea and evil monkey point. As he does so, blood slowly seeps through the bandage around his neck.) Nobody knows anything about the psychotic passenger - although, coincidentally, the authorities have found a corpse in the area that they have been unable to identify.

Janet finds that all of their luggage has been savagely ripped apart, and begins to have disjointed flashbacks to the immediate aftermath of the accident, seeing her husband fighting for his life (and theirs) against the frenzied onslaught of the passenger, who apparently lost a hand in the accident. 

Janet is asked if she can identify the corpse in the morgue and, although it is missing a hand, she cannot definitely say if it the body of their attacker although, bizarrely, it looks exactly like her husband.

Martin is discharged from the hospital and the family continue on to their holiday let. His throat is still bandaged, so he can’t speak, and he alternates between utter exhaustion and bouts of fury. One night, as he reaches to touch Janet's face, she notices he has a single nasty, dirty pointed fingernail. This Martin also has terrible teeth, in strict contrast to her 'real' husband’s pearly whites.

What follows is an increasingly frantic descent into the abyss, as Janet finds herself in a place that makes no sense and where everything she trusts and loves has becomes sinister and dangerous, including, eventually, her son, in an unforgettable moment that has haunted me for thirty odd years.

It is never explained why Martin has been ‘replaced’, or how. There's no quick tie up with some nonsense about aliens or doppelgangers or the compliant locals all being part of a coven. In actual fact, I don’t think there could be an adequate explanation, apart from the obvious answer that Janet is mad or concussed or dreaming, and everything that happens after the accident is a delusion, but I think that would be a cop out, and this is not a cop out sort of story – this is paranormal, primordial horror – urban myth, fairy tale, folk legend.     

One final note: in an apparently inexplicable story where a bizarrely dressed psycho stalks the land randomly ruining peoples lives, seemingly with the collusion of the authorities, is there possibly a clue to be had in the location?  

Witching Time

‘Hammer House Of Horror’ was a bit of an event when first shown on ITV. Filled with stars, thrills, sex, nudity and gore, it was broadcast on Saturday evenings in a prime slot. I remember every episode in great detail, which is not surprising as I was absolutely obsessed with the show. I was 12.

My interest started with first episode ‘Witching Hour’, originally shown on 13^th September, 1980. Sexy ginger Patricia Quinn plays Lucinda Jessup (I didn’t even need to look that up, it’s seared across my mind), an executed 16^th century witch who is brought back to life by a propitious lightning flash to wreak chaos upon grumpy horror film composer, Jon Finch, who now owns the cottage where she used to live.

Lucinda is a remarkably forward girl, and spends most of the show flashing bits of her milky white body and shagging Finch, who seems completely oblivious to the age difference between them (she’s about 330). When Finch’s cheating wife turns up, he realises that the strange supernatural affair must end, so he tries to give Lucinda the elbow but, as I have learned from bitter personal experience, you should never break up with an insane woman who can do witchcraft. The wife gets rid of the witch in the end, but it’s a hell of a job and, ultimately, you can't help feeling that, at some point in the future, Finch's character will start to remember that Lucinda was rather attractive and fun to have around, not to mention being rather outgoing in the bedroom, and he'll then think maybe his Missus was a bit hasty, silly cow.

This show was responsible for a long held tradition in our house. I have two younger brothers who, like me, were absolutely enthralled by the show, particularly the milky flesh bits. To this day, if any one of us bares a nipple we are cursed to cup it and purr in a West Country accent ‘is this the body of a witch?’ - even though the actual line was something quite different. 

Deadly stuff, this daft old telly - it leaves permanent scars, especially on the memory.  

My Life's Blood Is Yours

It's my birthday today, so here is probably my favourite magazine of all time, or at least the one I love the most. 'House Of Hammer' Number 17 came out in February 1978, but I didn't pick one up until Easter when my family and I went to Kessingland in Suffolk (a regular destination) for a very wet weekend in a ridiculously small caravan. I'd read it about a thousand times before we got home.

Aged 9, I found the 'Vampire Circus' adaptation endlessly involving, mainly because it was incredibly violent and I thought the artwork, by Brian Bolland, was brilliant. CHONK!