By Ben Bussey
Talk about the early days of Hammer Horror, and we all know the usual suspects: 1955’s Quatermass XPeriment paved the way, 1957’s The Curse of Frankenstein blew the doors open, 1958’s Dracula proved they were here to stay. However, one film that is rather less well-remembered – indeed, one film which I must confess to having been totally unaware of before getting word of its Blu-ray release from Eureka – is 1959’s The Man Who Could Cheat Death. It’s something of an oddity for Hammer’s breakthrough period; while it carries distinct overtones of Dr Jekyll and Mister Hyde as well as The Picture of Dorian Grey – either of which would have been a totally logical choice for Hammer to film at the time – it’s instead a loose remake of a comparatively forgotten 1945 Paramount picture, The Man in Half Moon Street, which was itself a loose adaptation of Barré Lyndon’s comparatively forgotten stage play. Factor in that Peter Cushing doesn’t appear and Christopher Lee only gets a supporting role, and it’s small wonder The Man Who Could Cheat Death has faded into obscurity, even with Hammer stalwarts director Terence Fisher and screenwriter Jimmy Sangster on board.
This is a shame, however, as there’s a great deal to appreciate here. It might relay a less familiar story with some less familiar players, but The Man Who Could Cheat Death hits plenty of the right notes for the lurid brand of Gothic melodrama Hammer have always been known and loved for, and any admirers of the company’s work would do well not to pass it by.
Anton Diffring takes the lead as Dr. Georges Bonnet, a brilliant physician as well as a sculptor, who’s the toast of 1890s Paris – and, it seems, quite the heartbreaker. As we meet him at the unveiling of his latest sculpture – a female bust (in both senses) – he quietly, some might say callously informs his latest ‘model’ that he won’t see her any more. Around the same moment, another of his previous ‘models,’ Janine Du Bois (Hazel Court of The Curse of Frankenstein), shows up unexpectedly – and though she’s in the company of another quite dashing young doctor, Pierre Gerrard (trusty old Chris Lee), it’s readily apparent that things between her and Georges are far from resolved. A love triangle of sorts ensues, which might prove problematic enough for all involved, but it’s made even trickier by the deep, dark secret that Georges is hiding: namely, the fact that he’s a great deal older he looks, his pioneering research having kept him young for an unnaturally long time – and if he doesn’t have a specific operation in the days ahead, the years are going to come catching up very quickly indeed.
With its foggy, turn of the century city setting and brilliant but troubled young (or, in fact, not so young) anti-hero, The Man Who Could Cheat Death pretty well ticks all the boxes for your classic mad scientist yarn, and while it’s perhaps not so compelling a concept as Jekyll and Hyde, the story is still utilised to suitably grotesque and saucy ends, by the standards of the day at least. Diffring’s Georges must consume a frothing potion at regular intervals in order to keep his escalated ageing process at bay – but if he’s a little late he temporarily goes into a homicidal rage, turns green, and somehow can burn off the flesh of whoever’s unfortunate enough to be nearby with a touch alone (which doesn’t necessarily make much sense, but is a nice effect nonetheless). His motives behind keeping himself alive indefinitely come into question as his old friend and collaborator, Arnold Marlé’s Ludwig Weiss, comes into the picture. It’s fascinating to see two men with such a large age gap playing friends on an equal footing without any sense of father-son relationship (though perhaps a vague hint of homoeroticism), and Diffring and Marlé convey this brilliantly. As is perhaps reflective of its stage origins, this is an unusually dialogue-based affair by Hammer standards, and – as again befits any great mad scientist tale – there are many heated and intriguing debates as to whether our forever young doctor is really concerned with the betterment of mankind, or his own selfish indulgence.
One key element of that indulgence, alluded to in a perhaps surprisingly frank manner for the time, is of course Georges’ sexual appetites. There’s no getting around how voluptuous Hazel Court is, and the way they dress her in this it’s screamingly obvious Hammer were counting on the audience noticing. While of course there are no full-on sex scenes – Hammer, and the cinema in general, weren’t quite that liberal yet – the mutual desires of Georges and Janine are readily apparent, and the lack of intimacy issues between this pointedly unwed couple are made clear when she poses topless for him in a sculpting scene. Curiously, in an interview on the disc’s extras Kim Newman claims that one of Hammer’s near-mythic continental versions feature Hazel Court’s uncensored nudity has never been found, although a quick Google brings up photos that would suggest otherwise. It’s also curious to note from Marcus Hearn’s trusty tome Hammer Glamour that Court herself became a sculptress after retiring from acting.
Kim Newman also remarks in the aforementioned interview that The Man Who Could Cheat Death would most likely have a stronger reputation today if only Peter Cushing was in it, as Anton Diffring’s role had originally been intended for him. Newman’s probably right; if the film was a required point of call for Cushing completists, it would almost certainly be much better known. Even so, I struggle to envisage Cushing in the role; the legendarily proper English gentleman never seemed at ease conveying sexual desire, and that’s a fairly vital component of what makes Diffring’s performance work. Yes, Diffring does get a bit hammy – you can almost see the teeth marks in the scenery at times – but this is melodrama after all. This leaves our beloved Christopher Lee to bring up the rear as the fundamentally decent supporting man, and though those roles tend to be rather more bland and forgettable, Lee was of course incapable of being anything other than magnetic. Does leave one rather wondering just why Hammer didn’t give him the lead, but then good guy roles were a tad less common for Lee, making his turn here that bit more special.
The disc boasts another insightful interview into the history and legacy of the film with Jonathan Rigby. All in all, this is a purchase Hammer aficionados won’t want to miss.
The Man Who Could Cheat Death is released in a dual format Blu-ray & DVD set on 21st September, from Eureka Entertainment.