Growing up in the UK as a kid obsessed with movies, two titans of the British film industry were on my radar from a very young age: James Bond and Hammer Film Productions. They were names that constantly cropped up in the TV guide, and while I associate the former with lazy Sunday afternoons spent on the couch with my dad, the latter held an air of mystery for me for years, its film synopses read and re-read, conjuring feverish imaginings in my young mind.

All about Hammer horror

When I finally started watching Hammer horror in my late teens, I fell in love with these films, an infatuation that only grew as I ventured deeper into the company’s vaults. But talking about them to other horror fans in the U.S., I’m usually met with blank expressions. Some folks seem vaguely aware of Hammer and its biggest stars, sheepishly admitting they’ve never seen any of the films before asking, “Where do I start?”

That’s an important question, because picking the wrong entry point with Hammer can be off-putting. Never fear, though: you’ve got a well-traveled guide to accompany you on this journey. On this month’s Horror 101, take my hand as we travel through the hallowed halls of Hammer to find the right starter film for you — and explore why Hammer is still synonymous with Gothic horror excellence.

What are the origins of Hammer horror?

Hammer was founded in 1934 by music hall comedian William Hinds, better known by his stage name, Will Hammer. The following year, Hinds partnered with former cinema owner Enrique Carreras to form Exclusive Films, which would distribute Hammer’s output. A handful of movies came out of this early period, including one starring Bela Lugosi (1935’s The Mystery of the Mary Celeste), but a slump in the British film industry quickly caused Hammer to close its doors. They wouldn’t reopen until 1946, when the company began capitalizing on the demand for so-called “Quota Quickies,” films that would satisfy the then-requirement for UK cinemas to show material of domestic origin.

Hammer certainly wasn’t the only player in this arena. But where other film production companies of the day have fallen into obscurity, Hammer became a household name due in part to its uncanny knack for identifying opportunity. This began with adaptations of popular radio serials, then television shows, leading to Hammer’s fateful 1955 film The Quatermass Xperiment, released in the U.S. as The Creeping Unknown.

An adaptation of Nigel Kneale’s popular BBC sci-fi serial The Quatermass Experiment, Hammer’s Xperiment is a story of space exploration gone wrong. The film not only leaned into the rising popularity of sci-fi horror in the 1950s, but strategically dropped the “E” from the source material’s title to cash in on the British Board of Film Censors’ new X certificate. And X-rated it was: The Quatermass Xperiment features a haunting performance by Richard Wordsworth as an astronaut gradually mutating into a grotesque entity, enhanced by horrific body horror effects from makeup artist Phil Leakey.

Hammer had, somewhat to its surprise, struck gold. Up until now, the company had largely produced spy thrillers, comedies, and noir, but the positive response to The Quatermass Xperiment suggested that audiences were hungry for horror. To test the theory, Hammer turned its attention to an adaptation of Mary Shelley’s 1818 Gothic masterpiece, Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus.

This was by no means a sure bet. By the 1950s, the Universal Monsters were looking a little toothless, having largely given up scares in favor of Abbott and Costello comedies, so there was no guarantee that audiences would be interested in a return to the creaking castles and laboratories of yore. What’s more, Hammer was wary of getting sued by Universal, so it couldn’t even fall back on a nostalgic look for its creature.

This turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Rather than falling back on the iconic square-headed monster design that audiences were no longer scared of, Leakey created a creature that is almost as shocking today as it must have been to viewers in 1957, complete with rotting, misshapen flesh and one blind, milky eye. Combined with Hammer’s last-minute decision to shoot in color for the first time in the company’s history, making its house blood — the brilliantly red “Kensington Gore” — truly pop, this makeup job would ensure that The Curse of Frankenstein was met with much the same reaction that the Terrifier films are today. Critics called it gruesome and revolting, but audiences couldn’t look away.

What makes a Hammer horror film?

With The Curse of Frankenstein, Hammer had created a template that it would use to dominate the British horror film industry over the following decade. This included hiring director Terence Fisher, screenwriter Jimmy Sangster, and cinematographer Jack Asher who would collectively help shape the feel of Hammer horror, one that balanced surprisingly lush production value with frugal budgets and tight turnaround times.

But it was the two actors recruited to play the titular scientist and his creation who would become the faces of Hammer horror: Peter Cushing, the gentleman of horror, and the indomitable Christopher Lee.

By the 1950s, Cushing was already a household name in Britain thanks to his award-winning work on live TV. A fan of James Whale’s 1931 adaptation for Universal, Cushing was keen to appear in a Frankenstein film and, recognizing the potential for a TV star to lure audiences back to the theater, the ever-savvy Hammer was only too happy to oblige.

Lee, on the other hand, was a complete unknown. After a post-war stint hunting Nazis, he had spent a decade trying to break into the industry but was repeatedly told he was too tall to be a leading man. His intimidating height and experience with mime made him perfect for Frankenstein’s mute creation, which he portrays with a tremendous amount of pathos, but he was capable of so much more.

Lee’s big break came when Hammer cast him as the eponymous Count in its 1958 follow-up, Dracula (retitled Horror of Dracula for its U.S. release). Injecting an edge of brooding, sexy danger into the film that has inspired countless imitators, Lee would reprise the role of Dracula in six sequels for Hammer — often facing off against Cushing as various members of the Van Helsing bloodline — and is widely regarded in the UK as the definitive bloodsucking baddie.

After becoming fast friends on the set of The Curse of Frankenstein, Cushing and Lee would go on to star in dozens of Hammer horror films, sometimes together and sometimes apart, as well as numerous films for rival company Amicus. But they’re not the only familiar faces you’ll start to see as you explore the house of Hammer. Ralph Bates, André Morell, and Star Wars’ David Prowse pop up frequently, along with a slate of memorable leading ladies, including Barbara Shelley, Veronica Carlson, and Ingrid Pitt.

By building a stable of actors, writers, directors, and production personnel that it reunited time and again, Hammer established a distinctive look and feel for its films that, once you’ve watched a few, is not unlike slipping into a warm bath. Hammer horror films are, above all, cozy. But that doesn’t mean they can’t offer any thrills today.

Where should you start with Hammer horror movies?

Hammer is perhaps best known for its Dracula movies, and this series remains an excellent entry point. While some of the sequels are certainly better than others, 1960’s The Brides of Dracula is — for my money — one of the best (and queerest) films that Hammer ever made. Despite the title, it is one of only two films in the series that Lee did not star in, but actor David Peel is an admirable replacement as the polyamorous Baron Meinster in his swishy lavender cloak.

Lee returned for the series’ third entry, 1966’s Dracula: Prince of Darkness, giving a deliciously menacing performance despite being so dissatisfied with the script that he refused to speak any of his dialogue. He would grow weary with the role and the typecasting it entailed over the years, but that never stopped him from giving it his all. Later entries like Dracula A.D. 1972 (1972) are delightfully silly if you stick with the series, with the Lee-less final film —The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974) — even adding copious martial arts.

After you’ve had your fill of vampires, The Curse of Frankenstein is a personal favorite, though it admittedly takes a little while to get going. Cushing’s icy performance as Victor Frankenstein is something of a rarity, with the actor usually playing the kindly hero to Lee’s wicked villains, and the film’s visual influence on The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) is striking. Cushing resurrected Frankenstein in every sequel except the soft reboot (1970’s The Horror of Frankenstein), with the very last — 1974’s Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell — holding up especially well, despite Cushing’s regrettable wig.

Hammer’s other classic monster movies are also worth a watch, though perhaps not as your first course. The Mummy (1959) boasts another superb mute performance from Lee and some of Hammer’s most lavish production design, but the uneven pacing and overreliance on flashbacks bog it down. The Curse of the Werewolf (1961), meanwhile, marks the first starring role of Oliver Reed, playing Hammer’s only lycanthrope.

Once you’ve gotten a taste for Hammer’s style, consider taking a deeper dive into the company’s catalog with these top picks:

• For zombies: Plague of the Zombies (1966). Two years before George Romero’s landmark Night of the Living Dead (1968), Hammer was experimenting with an undead epidemic in rural Cornwall. Like many early zombie movies, this one involves voodoo rather than biting and brains, but you can see the bones of the soon-to-be zombie craze lurking in his atmospheric chiller.
• For satanic panic: The Devil Rides Out (1968). Good luck finding it streaming, but this cult Hammer film is one of director Terence Fisher’s best. Lee brings his usual suave flair to the Duc de Richleau as he faces off against the leader of a devil-worshipping cult (Rocky Horror’s Charles Gray). For more of Lee playing the good guy for once, check out 1964’s The Gorgon.
• For lesbian vampires: The Karnstein Trilogy, consisting of The Vampire Lovers (1970), Lust for a Vampire (1971), and Twins of Evil (1971). Twins has the least lesbianism but makes up for it with a razor-sharp performance from Cushing as the puritanical Gustav Weil. For more queer thrills, albeit of a somewhat problematic nature, 1971’s Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde delivers a campy, gender-bending take on the classic source material.
• For sci-fi scares: The Quatermass Xperiment. Hammer’s first foray into horror largely holds up, and the moody black-and-white look serves as an interesting contrast to the vibrant Eastmancolor that Hammer is known for. Quatermass 2 (a.k.a Enemy From Space) from 1957 is a little rockier, but Quatermass and the Pit (1967) is well worth a watch.
• For mystery, my dear Watson: Hound of the Baskervilles (1959). The first Sherlock Holmes adaptation to be shot in color, Hammer’s interpretation of the beloved novel ramps up the horror elements, though its hell hound leaves something to be desired. However, Cushing makes for a wonderful Holmes and would don the deerstalker multiple times throughout his career.

What happened to Hammer horror?

They say all good things must come to an end, and for Hammer, that end appeared nigh in the 1970s. The horror landscape was undergoing some seismic changes, and films like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) made Hammer’s brand of Gothic terror look positively quaint.

Hammer struggled onward for a few more years, taking advantage of Britain’s loosening censorship rules to amp up the sex and violence, but it was too late. After the weak Lee vehicle To the Devil a Daughter (1976) and the Hitchcock remake The Lady Vanishes (1979), the company made the shift to the small screen with the anthology series Hammer House of Horror (1980) and Hammer House of Mystery and Suspense (1984), before shuttering its windows, seemingly for good.

But much like the vampire that helped build it, you can’t keep Hammer down for long. In the early 2000s, the company began to stir in its coffin, starting with the release of Beyond the Rave on MySpace (remember that?) in 2008. Over the next few years, Hammer would remake the 2008 Swedish film Let the Right One In, cast a fresh-off-of-Harry-Potter Daniel Radcliffe in The Woman in Black (2012), and even welcomed Lee back into the fold one final time for The Resident (2011).

And it’s still going. In 2023, Hammer was acquired by theater producer John Gore, who states on the company’s website that he aims to “celebrate and preserve the unmatched legacy of Hammer and to usher in a new era of storytelling that captivates audiences worldwide.” The first film under Gore’s watch, 2024’s Doctor Jekyll, isn’t quite the return to form that fans like me hoped for, but the bewitching performance from Eddie Izzard is worth the price of admission alone.

What’s next for Hammer? At the time of writing this, it’s hard to say: Hammer hasn’t announced any new projects since the release of Doctor Jekyll. But if history has taught us anything, it’s that Hammer never stays dead for long — so it’s probably best to carry some garlic on your person, just in case.