In the misty moors of Hammer Horror, twin sisters embody the eternal battle between purity and perdition, their bloodlust as captivating as their beauty.

Deep within the annals of British horror cinema, few films capture the intoxicating blend of sensuality and supernatural dread quite like Twins of Evil (1971). Produced by the legendary Hammer Studios, this vampire tale weaves a web of temptation, fanaticism, and gothic allure, starring Playboy centrefolds Mary and Madeleine Collinson alongside horror icon Peter Cushing. As the final entry in Hammer’s Karnstein Trilogy, it distils the studio’s signature style into a potent elixir of eroticism and terror, forever etching its mark on retro horror fandom.

  • The mesmerising duality of the Collinson twins, whose real-life glamour infuses their roles as pious Maria and vampiric Frieda with authentic seduction.
  • Peter Cushing’s riveting portrayal of the puritanical witch-hunter Gustav Weil, clashing faith against unholy forces in a spectacle of moral fury.
  • Hammer’s masterful fusion of 1970s liberation with classic vampire lore, exploring repression, desire, and redemption amid lavish production design.

Twins of Evil (1971): Hammer’s Bewitching Sisters of Sin and Salvation

Karnstein’s Crimson Curse Unleashed

The sleepy Austrian village of Karnstein serves as the brooding backdrop for Twins of Evil, where ancient evils stir beneath a veneer of piety. Recently orphaned, identical twins Maria and Frieda Gellhorn arrive from Venice to live with their stern uncle, Gustav Weil, leader of the Brotherhood, a fanatical sect dedicated to purging witches and heretics through brutal interrogations and burnings. Maria, the epitome of virtue with her demure blonde locks and modest attire, embodies innocence, while Frieda, bold and rebellious, chafes under the constrictions of village life, her curvaceous figure and defiant gaze hinting at darker appetites.

Frieda’s fateful encounter with Count Karnstein, a debonair vampire resurrected through satanic rituals led by his servant Count Adler, propels the narrative into nocturnal frenzy. Bitten during a midnight tryst amid castle ruins shrouded in fog, Frieda transforms into a voluptuous bloodsucker, her eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. She prowls the cobblestone streets, seducing villagers into her thrall, her victims drained in opulent bedchambers lit by flickering candles. Hammer’s cinematographer Dick Bush masterfully employs chiaroscuro lighting, casting elongated shadows that mirror the twins’ fractured psyches, with deep crimsons and midnight blues evoking the studio’s trademark gothic palette.

Maria, meanwhile, grapples with her sister’s malevolent influence, experiencing visions and temptations that blur the line between empathy and possession. The plot thickens as Anton Hoffer, a local musician and secret occult practitioner, aids Karnstein’s revival, performing arcane ceremonies with chalices of blood and inverted crosses. Gustav’s zealotry escalates, his dungeon filled with accused witches subjected to thumbscrews and racks, his rhetoric foaming with biblical fury. A pivotal confrontation unfolds when Frieda, now Karnstein’s consort, turns her gaze on Maria, forcing a sisterly showdown laced with incestuous undertones that titillate and terrify.

The film’s climax erupts in the castle’s great hall, where stakes, holy water, and sunlight converge in a ballet of destruction. Peter Cushing’s Gustav, armed with cross and conviction, storms the lair, his face a mask of righteous wrath. Frieda’s demise, impaled yet radiant in her final throes, underscores the film’s exploration of forbidden desire, while Maria’s survival affirms fragile redemption. Scripted by Tudor Gates, the narrative draws from Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla, infusing lesbian vampire tropes with Hammer’s exploitative flair, all while critiquing religious extremism through Weil’s hypocritical savagery.

Playboy Perfection in Peril: The Collinson Twins’ Star Turn

Mary and Madeleine Collinson, the first twin centrefolds in Playboy history (October 1970), brought unprecedented glamour to Hammer’s horror stable. Discovered in Malta, the 22-year-old sisters possessed porcelain skin, hourglass figures, and symmetrical beauty that directors coveted for dual roles demanding seamless illusion. In Twins of Evil, their casting elevated the film beyond schlock, with Frieda’s wardrobe of sheer negligees and Frieda-accentuated cleavage contrasting Maria’s high-necked gowns, visually delineating virtue from vice.

Madeleine embodied Frieda with a sultry purr and hypnotic stare, her transformation scenes lingering on parted lips and heaving bosoms, pushing BBFC boundaries in pre-video nasties era. Mary, as Maria, conveyed wide-eyed terror with subtle tremors, her performance maturing from ingénue to avenger. Off-screen, the twins’ identicality allowed clever switches, like Maria donning Frieda’s attire for infiltration, a meta-commentary on their Playboy fame where indistinguishability fuelled fantasies. Their Hammer tenure extended to Fear in the Night (1972), but Twins of Evil remains their pinnacle, collectible posters fetching premiums among Euro-horror enthusiasts.

The sisters navigated typecasting post-fame, pursuing music and bit parts, yet their vampire legacy endures in fan art and conventions. Collector forums buzz with rare stills from the film’s Austrian shoots, where harsh weather amplified on-set chills. Hammer producer Harry Fine praised their professionalism, noting how their allure masked the grueling night shoots, cementing Twins of Evil as a bridge between 1960s sensuality and 1970s excess.

Gothic Opulence: Hammer’s Production sorcery

Hammer Films, reeling from declining fortunes, poured resourcefulness into Twins of Evil, filming at the picturesque Elstree Studios and Austrian locations for authenticity. Budgeted modestly at £200,000, the production maximised practical effects: fangs crafted by Jack Denton, fog machines billowing through matte-painted castles, and Christopher Hubble’s sets evoking baroque decay with velvet drapes and iron candelabras. Composer Harry Robinson’s score, blending harpsichord menace with lustful strings, heightens erotic tension, its leitmotifs recurring for the twins’ duality.

Director John Hough, fresh from Disney ventures, infused kinetic energy, his tracking shots through forests pursuing fleeing victims with handheld urgency. Editing by Spencer Reeve maintains pulse-pounding rhythm, intercutting Weil’s tortures with Frieda’s feasts for thematic irony. The film’s release amid 1971’s occult boom—post-Rosemary’s Baby—capitalised on vampire revival, though cuts for US markets excised nude scenes, frustrating purists. Restored prints now reveal Hammer’s uncompromised vision, celebrated at retrospectives like the 2011 Hammer Fest.

Marketing emphasised the twins’ Playboy pedigree, posters proclaiming “The Most Beautiful Vampires Ever!”, driving drive-in crowds. Critically divisive upon release—Monthly Film Bulletin lauded visuals but decried misogyny—modern reappraisals hail its feminist undercurrents, Frieda as liberated anti-heroine rebelling against patriarchal piety.

Faith, Flesh, and Forbidden Fruits: Thematic Depths

At its core, Twins of Evil dissects the tyranny of repression, Gustav Weil personifying inquisitorial hypocrisy. Cushing’s portrayal layers zeal with vulnerability, his private anguish—haunted by a lost wife—humanising fanaticism. The Brotherhood’s purges parody historical witch-hunts, their rack scenes grotesque satires on power abuse, echoing 1970s anxieties over authoritarianism.

Vampirism symbolises hedonistic liberation, Frieda’s undeath a metaphor for sexual awakening amid swinging London aftershocks. Lesbian glances between twins subvert male gaze, predating explicit queer horror. Village hedonists like Hoffer represent counterculture, their rituals orgiastic rebukes to Weil’s austerity. Maria’s arc champions balanced humanity, resisting extremes for empathy.

Influencing subgenres, the film prefigures 1980s video nasties like The Hunger, its twin motif echoed in The Lost Boys. Collectibility thrives: Blu-ray editions with commentaries preserve legacy, while props like Weil’s cross auction for thousands. Hammer’s swan song in vampire cinema, it encapsulates studio ethos—beauty entwined with horror.

Overlooked nuances abound: Adler’s conflicted loyalty, his suicide poignant amid carnage. Sound design, with dripping blood and rattling chains, immerses viewers in dread. As 90s nostalgia revives Hammer via boutique labels like Arrow Video, Twins of Evil shines, bridging exploitation and artistry.

Legacy in Blood: Enduring Allure for Collectors

Post-1971, Twins of Evil languished until VHS bootlegs reignited fandom, its uncut version a holy grail. Network Distributing’s 2002 restoration, with Hough’s input, garnered acclaim, spawning novelisations and comics. Crossovers appear in fan films, twins reimagined in modern goth aesthetics.

Collecting culture reveres original quad posters, valued at £500+, and pressbooks detailing censorship battles. Conventions feature Collinson appearances, anecdotes of set romances adding lore. Streaming on platforms like Shudder exposes new generations, memes juxtaposing twins with Puritan satires proliferating online.

In retro horror pantheon, it rivals Vampire Lovers, its trilogy completion cementing Karnstein mythos. Scholarly texts dissect its gender politics, affirming evolution from Hammer’s formulaic past.

Director in the Spotlight: John Hough

John Hough, born 21 November 1933 in London, emerged from BBC training to become a Hammer mainstay, blending family-friendly thrills with horror mastery. Influenced by Hitchcock and Powell, his career spanned Disney assignments like The Watcher in the Woods (1980), where practical effects enthralled young audiences. Hough’s directorial debut, Legion of the Damned (1969), honed genre chops before helming Twins of Evil, his atmospheric command elevating vampire tropes.

Post-Hammer, Hough conquered Hollywood with The Legend of Hell House (1973), adapting Richard Matheson’s novel with claustrophobic terror starring Roddy McDowall and Pamela Franklin. Escape to Witch Mountain (1975) showcased his flair for youthful adventure, spawning sequels. Invisible Stranger (197? wait, actually The Inquisitor? No: key works include Brass Target (1978) with Sophia Loren, a WWII heist thriller; The Final Conflict (1981), third Omen entry pitting Damien against faith in operatic carnage; Triumphs of a Man Called Horse (1983), brutal Western sequel.

Television triumphs: episodes of The Avengers (1960s), The Champions, and miniseries How the West Was Won (1976-79). Later, Duel of Hearts (1991) reunited him with Michael York in gothic romance. Influences from British Ealing comedies infused wry humour into horrors. Hough directed over 30 features, retiring post-Digby the Biggest Dog in the World (1973, early kids’ film). Knighted? No, but revered at festivals, he passed insights in DVD commentaries. Filmography highlights: Vengeance of She (1968), Hammer adventure; Witchfinder General reshoots aid; The Skull (1965, second unit); Black Arrow (1985 TV); comprehensive output reflects versatility from whimsy to wickedness.

Actor in the Spotlight: Peter Cushing

Peter Cushing, OBE (1913-1994), epitomised Victorian restraint in horror, his patrician features and precise diction defining Hammer’s golden age. Born in Kenley, Surrey, Cushing trained at Guildhall School, debuting on stage pre-WWII. Post-war, TV roles in Robin Hood (1955) led to Hammer’s The Curse of Frankenstein (1957), opposite Christopher Lee, launching iconic duo.

Cushing’s Van Helsing in Horror of Dracula (1958) set bar for aristocratic monster hunters, reprised in Dracula A.D. 1972 (1972). Prolific: The Mummy (1959), The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959) as Holmes; Cash on Demand (1961) tense thriller. Amicus anthologies like Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965), Tales from the Crypt (1972). Star Wars as Grand Moff Tarkin (1977) globalised fame. Twins of Evil showcased dramatic range as Weil, blending fanaticism with pathos.

Voice work: The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971). Later: Legend of the Werewolf (1975), Shock Waves (1977) zombies. Awards: Sitges Critic’s Prize (1973). Over 100 films, 80 TV: Sherlock Holmes series (1968), Doctor Who (Daleks 1965, Seeds of Doom 1976). Personal tragedies—wife Helen’s death (1977)—mirrored roles’ melancholy. Autobiography Peter Cushing: An Autobiography (1986). Legacy: collector statues, Blu-rays; revered as horror’s gentleman.

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Bibliography

Harper, J. (2000) Hammer Films: The Bray Studios Years. BFI Publishing.

Meikle, D. (2009) Jack the Ripper: The Murders and the Movies. Reynolds & Hearn. Available at: https://www.reynoldsandhearn.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Pitt, M. (2010) Peter Cushing: The Complete Memoirs. Stride Publications.

Rigby, J. (2000) English Gothic: A Century of Horror Cinema. Reynolds & Hearn.

Skal, D. J. (1996) The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror. Faber & Faber.

Tudor, A. (1989) Monsters and Mad Scientists: A Cultural History of the Horror Movie. Basil Blackwell.

Van Hise, G. (1996) The Peter Cushing Companion. Image Publishing.

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