The first book on Hammer Horror I ever read was A Thing of Unspeakable Horror. Sinclair McKay's study is a thorough, witty, and critically astute trek through the history of Britain's most important and adored purveyor of blood and beastliness. It's a great read, but the little paperback barely tries to convey the ghastly, often sexy, always vibrant imagery that usually outweighed mere matters of storytelling in Hammer pictures. For that you'd have to dig in to The Hammer Story (or, you now, watch the movies).
What is there to say about Frankenhooker that Bill "If you see one movie this year, it should be Frankenhooker" Murray hasn't already said? Needing to explain to someone why they should see a movie about a grieving mad-scientist who uses the body parts of prostitutes to rebuild his fiancée recently deceased due to a routine lawnmower accident doesn't seem like something a grown man should be doing, even if Patty Mullen comes right to the precipice of genius in her face-contorting performance as the title creature. Will this kind of thing fly amongst those with 2026 sensibilities and sensitivities? What am I, a psychiatrist? All I know is that, much as it is with Bush-era terrorists, you're either with Frankenhooker or against Frankenhooker. If you fall into the latter camp, you probably do enjoy your bong hits.
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