Bernard Bresslaw had already appeared in Hammer's 'The Men of Sherwood Forest' in 1954, and only lost the role of Frankenstein's monster to Christopher Lee because his agent asked for more money. Ironically his best known horror role was in the Carry On spoof 'Carry On Screaming' (1966)' and it was in comedy that he was making his name in TV's 'The Army Game' when Hammer invited him back to star in their big screen version, 'I Only Arsked' in 1958; which was sufficiently successful to spawn this sequel of sorts in which he became the first actor to play Jekyll & Hyde for Hammer.
Reversing Hammer's 'straight' version, 'The Two Faces of Jekyll' (1960), he sprouts facial hair in the form of a rakish moustache as part of the transformation; and like Jerry Lewis's 'Buddy Love' in 'The Nutty Professor' (1963) also acquires a slick new wardrobe in which he wows the girls and develops an amoral new persona.
So far, so good, and under veteran director Lance Comfort's assured tutelage the first two thirds is enhanced by vivid black & white photography by Michael Reed and an almost expressionist rooftop set by Bernard Robinson. But it's at this point it rather loses its way and begins to fizzle out; although it lingered strikingly in the memory when I originally saw it aged about 10 over half a century ago; and Jean Muir makes an appealingly elfin little beat chick.
Despite her name Miss Muir's not the fashion designer, although the rather patrician vowels she's inclined to occasionally slip into would better accompany one of the latter's creations than the fetchingly boyish short hair and slacks she wears for much of the film.
Reversing Hammer's 'straight' version, 'The Two Faces of Jekyll' (1960), he sprouts facial hair in the form of a rakish moustache as part of the transformation; and like Jerry Lewis's 'Buddy Love' in 'The Nutty Professor' (1963) also acquires a slick new wardrobe in which he wows the girls and develops an amoral new persona.
So far, so good, and under veteran director Lance Comfort's assured tutelage the first two thirds is enhanced by vivid black & white photography by Michael Reed and an almost expressionist rooftop set by Bernard Robinson. But it's at this point it rather loses its way and begins to fizzle out; although it lingered strikingly in the memory when I originally saw it aged about 10 over half a century ago; and Jean Muir makes an appealingly elfin little beat chick.
Despite her name Miss Muir's not the fashion designer, although the rather patrician vowels she's inclined to occasionally slip into would better accompany one of the latter's creations than the fetchingly boyish short hair and slacks she wears for much of the film.