Hammer House of Horror – has there ever been a studio since Universal that has become synonymous with horror as much as the esteemed English production company? Watching any of their films, you can easily divide them into two broad categories – there are the highly-influential ones that helped define mid-century horror and push the genre in unexpected new boundaries, and then there were the absolutely dismal, trashy works of cheaply-produced terror that were essentially just strung together from a few meagre concepts that, when placed alongside each other, form a vaguely coherent story. The quality varied and the films themselves ranged from absolutely incredible to laughably bad – yet something that they all had in common was that they offered nothing but the finest, most precise entertainment imaginable. They provided audiences with such enthralling, captivating stories, even when the filmmaking itself was clearly not the most refined or sophisticated. The Reptile is a mostly forgotten entry into the studio’s prolific output, but it certainly embodies the latter in terms of being a delightfully deranged and exceptionally peculiar 90 minutes of perverse entertainment. Directed by John Gilling (and written by Anthony Hinds, who worked under a nom de plume, which gives an idea of how prestigious this film was), who worked with a cast of now-obscure character actors, the film is a joyfully strange horror that ventures into the realm of bad taste, while keeping a straight face throughout, which only adds to the overall impact made by this strange and disquieting supernatural horror, which offers more entertainment per minute than many more prestigious films produced around this time.

The film is set in the early 20th century, in a small English hamlet known as Clagmoor Heath. At first glance, it looks like any ordinary village, populated by people going about their daily lives. However, beneath the pastoral setting lurks a dark secret – for years, the village has been terrorized by some bizarre entity known only as “the Black Death”, which attacks people at random, causing them to die brutally painful deaths. At the centre of the conspiracy is Dr Franklyn (Noel Willman), a mysterious man who claims to be an expert on religious cultures and beliefs, a line of work that doesn’t quite fit in with the conservative, god-fearing English society in which he has taken his home. No one finds this stranger than Harry George Spalding (Ray Barrett) and his wife, Valerie (Jennifer Daniel), two city-dwellers who arrive in Clagmoor Heath after a recent death in their family bequeaths a small cottage on the couple, who make the decision to voyage to the countryside and make their new home amongst the natural utopia waiting for them. However, this is far from the idyllic slice of heaven they expected, since it isn’t long before they’re confronted with the terror themselves, as well as learning the dark secrets that lurk beneath this otherwise quaint corner of the country.

Based on the premise above, you can immediately tell that The Reptile is something quite unpredictable – and which studio would have the courage to make an entire horror film about an enormous snake that infiltrates the body of a panicked young woman, slowly transforming her into a grotesque reptile-human hybrid that wreaks havoc on an idyllic English countryside village? Hammer had their work cut out for them with this story, but never once does it feel as if the film is going off the rails in a what that feels unintentional. Ultimately, what Gilling is doing here is crafting a bizarre film that capitalizes on many of the most popular horror and science fiction genres, with aspects of body horror, animal-based terror and the fear of the cultural unknown all being woven into this very strange film that feels, quite appropriately, like a cinematic Frankenstein’s Monster, a variety of small components from now-dormant entities cobbled together to form something entirely new. It may be rough around the edges, and quite savage in nature, but the film is a worthwhile experiment that may not always work in the way the filmmakers may have intended, but frequently provides the necessary thrills that embody such a story and make it as enthralling an experience that is filled to the brim with the kind of madcap energy that is really only found in this particular era of horror filmmaking, where directors were given carte blanche to do whatever they felt was most appropriate to their vision, despite the fact that very few of these filmmakers had artistic visions that lined up particularly well with what was considered conventional – but if there was ever going to be a solid breeding-group for ambition, Hammer was the perfect place to facilitate such strange ideas.

Another aspect worth noting (and perhaps even celebrating) about Hammer is how, regardless of the premise, they always delivered what they promised, with almost stark regularity. In the case of The Reptile, we were led to believe that this is going to be a film where characters are terrorized by some deranged lizard-like creature, and this is essentially exactly what we got. Horror is a genre that either gives us exactly what we expect, or become incredibly unpredictable – and regardless of what we anticipate coming out of The Reptile, there’s always something there to entertain us. It only makes it more compelling considering how this film never seems to be in on the joke – it genuinely believes that it is an endlessly frightening, bizarre array of terror-fueled images, rather than just 90 minutes of characters being stalked by a large lizard and its maniacal, exotic “handler”. The fact that this film takes itself so seriously is part of the charm – it is entirely oblivious to the absurdity of its premise, and often seems to be under the impression that it is revolutionary. In isolation, it’s laughable – but considering how nearly every film produced by Hammer took a similar mindset in its approach to telling their stories, and you find a studio driven by a healthy combination of delusion and brilliance, a pairing that would not work without the earnest belief that what they were doing was revolutionary and changing the face of horror as a whole. In many ways, it did – it allowed for an unprecedented collision between the gothic and the grotesque, which really took shape under the careful direction of such deranged artists.

The Reptile is pure absurdity masquerading as formalism, which is part of why it’s such an unconventional success. It’s not well-known (and for good reason – I can’t imagine anyone genuinely would seek this film out without already being invested in this kind of genre storytelling), and it can sometimes be quite off-kilter in its attitude towards the subject matter. However, what it lacks in precision it more than makes up for in ambition, which is part of the charm of the film, which is truly the epitome of madness, in the best way possible. It’s not the best representative of Hammer’s output (so neophytes would be better off choosing something a bit more traditional and well-regarded), but for seasoned veterans of the studio, or simply those with the kind of demented sense of humour that finds joy in such abstract works of unhinged terror. The Reptile is a lot of fun – at only 90 minutes its a breeze to get through, and while the story itself may be deeply absurd, the performances that surround it are committed (especially for actors who were more known for lower-budget, less-precise fare, rather than major stars shoehorned into appearing in such a film), and the execution is bizarre enough to consistently pique our curiosity and keep us invested, even when we know exactly where the film is heading. A peculiar oddity of a film, but one that is difficult to not love, The Reptile is a tremendously weird film that reminds us of the more unconventional side of horror.