Welcome to the Hammer Factory. This month we dissect Demons of the Mind (1972).

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.

The Context

While Hammer had built its reputation on a foundation of gothic horror, classic monsters and marketable stars, the demands of the 1970’s genre audience challenged their tried-and-true production strategies sparking change and innovation. With a desire to expand the scope of their talent both on screen and off, Michael Carreras and his son and successor James turned their attention to sources outside of their usual circles for pitches and potential productions.

Having worked with the studio tangentially by penning the lyrics to the title song “Strange Love” for Lust for a Vampire (1971), producer Frank Godwin was one such fresh face. Along with prolific screenwriter Christopher Wicking, who had penned AIP favorites The Oblong Box (1969) and Cry of the Banshee (1970) along with Hammer’s own Blood from the Mummy’s Tomb (1971), Godwin approached Hammer with a concept based on a legend of his own fabrication.

Claiming that he read about it in a museum in Germany, Godwin pitched the story Blutlust. A 17th century folk tale chronicling high born families prone to incest and cursed with polluted blood, those infected were supposedly driven by the full moon to revitalize themselves by devouring human flesh. Godwin claimed that the only recourse was to sever the left hand, sapping the soiled blood and to finally drive a cross aflame into the heart of the impure. Based on the story, a screenplay was ordered and a poster commissioned with the intention of leaning on a lycanthropic angle to provide the film a monster to capitalize on in its campaign.

Wicking wrote Blood Will Have Blood in response, a Shakespeare reference that went over producer’s heads and was ultimately altered due to the overuse of the word “blood” in the title. It was a script that expanded upon Hammer’s tradition of gothic moviemaking, embracing moral ambiguity in the face of conservative righteousness and seeking out psychological terror in the place of monsters and cavernous castles. Steeped in metaphor and melodrama, what became Demons of the Mind (1972) was truly an original, modern take on the classical gothic and more in line with Roger Corman’s AIP Edgar Allan Poe cycle of films than anything Hammer had made with Frankenstein or Dracula in the title.

Peter Sykes was invited to direct in light of his horror film Venom (1971) and Hammer staple Arthur Grant was brought on as cinematographer in what would be his final credited film. Casting had its complications as Eric Porter, James Mason and Paul Scofield all turned down the leading role of Zorn before Robert Hardy finally accepted the mantle. Elizabeth was cast as Marianne Faithfull but she too had to be substituted at the last minute with Gillian Hills, as her openness about her drug use made it impossible to insure her on set. The casting delays pushed production back several months. In the meantime, Michael Carreras requested the removal of all werewolf adjacent narrative components for fear of a similarly poor box office reception to Hammer’s only other werewolf outing The Curse of the Werewolf (1961).

When all was said and done Demons of the Mind emerged as a fresh and distinct imagining of Hammer’s traditional gothic style. With Sykes’ experimental, strikingly beautiful visuals and Wicking’s anthropological approach to the mythology, characters and science of the story, the atmospheric poeticism of the classic gothic evolved onscreen, ready to meet a new audience. Unfortunately, distributor Anglo-EMI had ordered a Hammer movie and had received a movie which lacked all of the studio’s hallmarks. It seemed the very elements which made it artistically successful would be its commercial doom.

The film was shelved for over a year and finally released as the bottom half of a double bill with gratuitous slasher Tower of Evil (1972). It wouldn’t see US distribution until 1974 and would ultimately land to unenthusiastic reviews, relegated to the exploitation drive-in circuit. It would take decades for Demons of the Mind to be rediscovered and reappraised, finding acknowledgment long after the studio it was meant to help rejuvenate had met its unfortunate demise.

Still, few of Hammer’s efforts, especially those that came in its final years, represent the metamorphosis and creative revolution the studio was capable of like Demons of the Mind. A Freudian psychological terror that bridged the smaller thrillers and grander gothic pictures of Hammer’s past, ushering in a new, almost modern approach that might’ve welcomed the sort of audience that Hammer Studios so desperately needed had it been given the chance.

The Film

“‘Blood will have blood,’ they say. Well, there must be no more blood on our souls.”

A bustling carriage makes its way through the wood as its driver whips the horses to haste. A young woman inside reaches through the window but is pulled back by her caretaker who forces medicine upon her. The young woman’s consciousness blurs as the surrounding world dilutes as though filtered through a watery prism. Visions begin to penetrate the carriage ride as the woman finds herself running through the trees, disoriented and afraid, before coming upon a young man and a cottage. The ride continues as the burgeoning romance flashes in and out of the young woman’s memory, finally halted by a hulking man and the carriage in question. She’s taken to an old manor where her father awaits, praying over his deceased wife’s grave and pleading that his flesh and blood might bring him light instead of darkness.

From the beginning, Demons of the Mind is a different breed of Hammer horror movie. With its quiet, introspective and near wordless opening, the film ushers in a psychological undercurrent that moves hand in hand with the mesmerizing visuals. Taking full advantage of Christopher Wicking’s thought provoking script and Arthur Grant’s eye for lush visualization, director Peter Sykes uses every frame and set piece to tell a story in pictures and mood, crafting a metaphorical fantasy-like gothic the likes of which Hammer had never seen.

The story concerns Baron Zorn, a repressed man of a long decayed nobility, torn asunder by the neurotic madness that can only come from generations of incest and isolation. Convinced of a centuries-old evil that plagues his bloodline, Zorn imprisons his incestuous children, Emil and Elizabeth, and hires a doctor named Falkenberg to help root out the psychological demons inhabiting the minds of his accursed offspring. All the while, the nearby village is under assault from an unknown killer targeting young women who bear a striking resemblance to Elizabeth.

Channeling themes of class, generational trauma and corruption, the story offers a modernized, allegorical approach to the conventional gothic dynamic. Mental and intellectual complexity accompany key sequences, like when Zorn is being hypnotized by Falkenberg with a slowly rotating candle as images of violence and sexual duress play with liquidity over Zorn’s struggling eyes. It’s this sequence that sheds light on the origins of Emil and Elizabeth’s manias, for it reveals that Zorn’s wife killed herself in front of them after years of forced sexual repression and mental abuse.

The cast is made up of performers mostly new to Hammer, an effort that was purposeful and perhaps detrimental to its eventual release. Robert Hardy plays Zorn, a role akin to Vincent Price’s Roderick Usher and one that might have been better suited to Peter Cushing or Christopher Lee had Hammer been willing to consider it. Hardy’s take is heightened and exaggerated, at times feeling like an unflattering imitation of a gothic horror patriarch rather than an authentic performance embodying one. While serviceable throughout and a fine actor on the whole, Hardy’s turn in Demons of the Mind is easily its weakest element.

Conversely, Shane Briant and Gillian Hills are wonderful as Emil and Elizabeth. Briant’s lustful desperation and emotional confusion comes through with every pale and pathetic glance while Hills’ otherworldly disconnectedness and fluctuating emotional frailty shimmers throughout the film. Patrick Magee as Falkenberg is also a standout. Based on the real life story of German physician Franz Mesmer, Magee brings a pointed confidence and acuity for curiosity that a man pushing the boundaries of human understanding and consciousness would most certainly require. Rounding out the core cast is the great Yvonne Mitchell’s Aunt Hilda, obeying Zorn’s insane demands with cult-like belief and understated pathos.

Instead of supplemental, the nearby village serves as its own world, separate from the walls Zorn has constructed around himself. In this way, the film can explore the greater impact of the murders and the belief systems which arise to protect those that do not have the luxury of wealth or title. A traveling Priest presides there, played wonderfully by Michael Hordern, Hellbent on ridding the village of the terror that haunts it. There’s even a sequence depicting a ritualistic ceremony, born out of actual practices, complete with chanting, jeering and the burning of a pagan totem in the face of the village’s most sexually active occupant Inge, as portrayed by Virginia Wetherell. The scene is the type of proto-folk horror that one might expect to find in The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) or The Wicker Man (1973) and serves to further diversify the genre-bending approach Demons of the Mind takes to gothic horror.

Even the death sequences are handled with artistic care as the killer always sprinkles the bodies with rose petals, calling attention to the fragility and beauty of life and the physical form. The flowers seem to represent the stunting of a life in bloom, the pieces of potential lost in blood red shreds just as they achieve peak physicality. Emil is soon revealed to be the perpetrator, murdering Inge in the heat of passion after he was tricked into believing she was his sister Elizabeth.

The crux of his violent acts hangs on one fact. His broken, forbidden lust for his sister drives him to seek women who resemble Elizabeth. The truth of who they are shatters his fantasy and then he kills.

The film climaxes and concludes in tragedy, a nihilistic finish that has our fractured protagonists find no reward. Carl, played somewhat blandly by Paul Jones, is the closest thing the film has to a traditional hero, but he amounts to a non-entity in the film, an afterthought and reverie for Elizabeth to cling to but that offers little comfort against the horrors of her heritage. It’s a decision that feels purposeful and in line with the motivations of the story— it’s not about good triumphing over evil, rather the poisonousness of hysteria and its capacity for ruination.

Demons of the Mind contains some of the most grotesque and affecting sequences in Hammer’s canon, but not because of the onscreen effects. Rather, it’s the burrowing nature of its psychological horrors that make it so affecting along with the dreamy lyricism of its visual pallet. Like Elizabeth’s disorienting carriage ride in its opening moments, the film is a vision dancing in and out of darkness and light, unable to find footing in either shadow or sun.

The Special Features

This release comes equipped with the 2017 StudioCanal transfer that was released in the UK in its 1.66:1 aspect ratio. The transfer handles contrast well, accenting both the shadows and vibrant splashes of color that coexist throughout. The DTS-HD Master Mono track is crisp, servicing the dialogue and atmospheric score. A solid presentation for this underrated gem from Hammer’s vast catalogue.

Audio Commentary, by Steve Haberman

(Shout! Factory, 2020)

Author and film historian Steve Haberman returns to deliver an insightful track chronicling the history of the production and the many creatives who coalesced to bring the film together. He details Frank Godwin’s faux legend of Blutlust and the way in which Christopher Wicking and Peter Sykes transformed it into what would become Demons of the Mind. He provides a detailed history of the actors and crew along with his own personal analysis of the film’s themes and evolved gothic stylings. It’s a wonderful, informative listen that any fan of Hammer or the film would benefit from hearing.

Audio Commentary, by Director Peter Sykes, Writer Christopher Wicking, Actress Virginia Wetherell— Moderated by Author Film Historian Jonathan Scott

(Anchor Bay, 2002)

Ported over from the original US DVD release, this commentary collects many of the film’s key creatives to provide a more anecdotal history of Demons of the Mind. Virginia Wetherell recalls working with Stanley Kubrick and Peter Sykes muses on the creative decisions at work on the screen, not to mention the purported criminal who owned the manor they were shooting in. From Christopher Wicking’s dealings with Vincent Price at AIP to his efforts to connect Hammer with Marvel Comics, a great deal of stories are told. It’s a fun and fascinating track that offers an inside look into the film, the studio and the industry at the time.

Blood will have blood: Inside Demons of the Mind (15:42)

(StudioCanal, 2017)

A collection of renowned Hammer historians, including Kevin Lyons, Jonathan Rigby, Alan Barnes and John Johnston, discuss the film and its place in Hammer history on this brief reflection ported over from the UK StudioCanal release of the film. Beginning with the disparate elements that formulated the script to the film’s eventual issues with release and distribution, this high level discussion covers a lot of ground. As is usual with these types of vignettes, it offers a satisfying and digestible overview.

Interview with Camera Operator Neil Binney (3:41)

(Shout! Factory, 2019)

Excised from an interview that was included on Shout! Factory’s release of Blood From the Mummy’s Tomb, this chat with Neil Binney provides a short and sweet recollection. He recalls shooting the rotating candle, issues with laughing on set and the consummate professionalism of Arthur Grant. It’s quick and airy, but a nice inclusion.

Theatrical Trailer (2:57)

“What madness lies like a curse upon this family?” the voice asks as people hurry down a hallway while a caretaker fumbles with keys in hot pursuit. Images of a man cornering a woman in the woods and a spinning candle accompanied by odd, off-putting music passes by whilst the same voice speaks of secrets and conspiracies binding brother and sister together. A pagan ritual unfolds “as old as the druids” as the players are introduced with title cards, leading to the bold, red words: A NIGHTMARE OF TERROR. An eye fills the frame as a girl runs out of breath in the background— DEMONS OF THE MIND.

Final Thoughts

Despite Hammer’s efforts to escape their gothic laden past as the 1970’s dawned, it seems that their future could well have been solidified in embracing and progressing their foundational design rather than suppressing it. The creatives behind Demons of the Mind understood that sentiment, even if the studio and distributors did not.

Shout! Factory preserves this piece of somewhat forgotten Hammer history for the US audience in a release that ports over the transfer and special features from the StudioCanal UK Blu-ray of the film. Steve Haberman’s commentary track is the standout benefit of the disc, arriving as an invaluable resource to those seeking to understand the machinations and thematics of the film and its production. All told, this is a fine release and an essential title for any Hammer enthusiast’s collection.

Over the years, Hammer’s horror films delved ever deeper into the murky depths of morality and the magnetic allure of the occult. Still, their key titles and directors tended to stick to more conservative perspectives, as is the case in something like Terrence Fisher’s The Devil Rides Out (1968). While the 1970s brought about the studio’s downfall, it also marked the exciting collision of their classic “Golden Age” methodologies with a more modernized approach to psychological terror that traversed far more ground than “right” or “wrong”.

With movies like Countess Dracula (1971), Twins of Evil (1971) and eventually Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1974), Hammer was combining fresh voices with their signature style and forging new genre possibilities out of tired trends. Demons of the Mind is further proof that, even toward the end, Hammer was a studio with something to add to the broader creative conversation and one can’t help but wonder what might’ve been had the audience been given the opportunity to properly hear what they had to say.