Fear Academy – Beyond Hammer: British Horror Cinema Since 1970 by James Rose (2009)

Welcome back, fellow fear scholars, to another lecture here at Fear Academy. Today’s topic is on James Rose’s book Beyond Hammer: British Horror Cinema Since 1970 (2009). I was originally going to write this article about The Suburban Gothic in American Popular Culture by Bernice M. Murphy but Mr. Rose’s book came in the mail and I kinda got swept up in it. We’ll certainly be getting to Murphy’s work here in the near future, though it will be on a larger scale than originally intended. In the meantime, Beyond Hammer proves to be quite the interesting little book despite itself.

I say despite itself because Beyond Hammer seems to be setting itself up for disappointment. With the subtitle British Horror Cinema Since 1970, the book gives the impression of being on film history and seeing how British horror cinema has been shaped since the fall of Hammer Studios. This is supported by the book belonging to Auteur’s lineup, which includes the Devil’s Advocates series of monographs and Adam Scovell’s wonderful Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange (2017). Scovell’s book does wonders at setting out the landscape of folk horror and really giving a good view of how it has evolved in time. Beyond Hammer hardly concerns itself with film history at all. It begins with a look at 1970’s Vampire Lovers and argues that the film represents a shift in Hammer Studio’s productions towards the new reality of British horror cinema. From here, however, the book moves on to tackle one film each chapter. Far from these films forming a tableau of the changes in British horror cinema, the book feels like a collection of essays with only the loosest sense of connection. This doesn’t bode well for those, like myself, who approached the book expecting a historical perspective.

Beyond Hammer covers ten different films: The Vampire Lovers; The Wicker Man (1973); Death Line (1972); An American Werewolf in London (1981); Hellraiser (1987); Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994); 28 Days Later (2002); The Last Horror Movie (2003); Shaun of the Death (2004); and The Descent (2005). Many of these films have been discussed at length and Rose’s book is unlikely to provide a new angle through which to approach them. However, despite all of this, the book still proves to be quite gripping and each individual chapter is written in a manner which keeps the pages turning. While the chapter on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein focuses on concerns of adaptation and gender politics, 28 Days Later is free to focus on the film’s representation of family and the role of equilibrium. Because each chapter is free to do its own thing, each chapter manages to feel fresh and interesting. This leaves Beyond Hammer as a complicated recommendation: it is less than it promised but more than is expected.

In a way, Beyond Hammer teaches multiple lessons. Looking at it objectively reveals lessons about marketing and points towards one of the reasons why it is important to consider how our books present themselves. But it also reveals a lot about writing interesting, wide-ranging discussions on singular films. Those looking to improve their own film writing would do well to examine the way that James Rose spins a chapter. If you have any interest in the films that the book covers then I certainly recommend it, just don’t expect too many history lessons from this one.