“Callistratus, leave her alone! If you must experiment on someone, why not me?”

Transylvania! 1874! And the countryside is in the grip of vampirism. In fact, it’s more than a grip, it’s a “loathsome scourge”. Although as we’ll find out later on, the main baddie isn’t exactly a vampire in the commonly accepted definition of the term. Or, in fact, at all. So whatever this “scourge” might be, it doesn’t actually have anything to do with the forthcoming story. Even if that story might be (or actually is) called “Blood Of The Vampire”.

Which begs the question – why start a film that’s not actually about a vampire with a funeral where a body is unceremoniously kicked into a grave and then staked? Hang on a minute, the Transylvanian dude doing the staking is wielding what can only be described as an enormous HAMMER. I wonder if that’s a none-too-subtle reference to the main driver for creating this film in the first place?

The grave digger is attacked and killed, and before you can say “it seems to me that in films such as these, ‘unsuspecting grave digger’ is one of the most dangerous occupations alongside ‘terrified Burgermeister’, ‘over-enthusiastic coach driver’ and ‘drunken doctor’”, we’re at a very lively party. In this town there ain’t no party like a “wanton harlots dancin’ on the tables” party, unless you happen to be a hunchback with a wonky eye and Ramones haircut. But what’s the chance of one of THOSE fun-sponges being around?

Well, 100 per cent as it happens, because here one is. The music dies the moment he enters and on identifying the drunkest doctor in the room, Joey Cheek-eye (actual name: Carl, played by an unrecognisable Victor Maddern) departs with said doctor, allowing the health-and-safety bating table shenanigans to continue.

The drunken doctor has been called on to perform surgery on the recently deceased, buried, staked and disinterred body of Carl’s boss, the former resident of the recently dug grave. This appears to involve the invention of heart transplant surgery, so it’s a good job Carl has found a completely inebriated village doctor to take on the task.

“I know what to do,” the doctor slurs. “We discussed this together several times.” Discussed, eh? Several times, was it? Well, that’s okay then. Bring on the incredibly difficult, never-before-done surgery!

Then showing us that his negotiating skills aren’t on the same level as his ability to perform pissed-up heart transplants, the doctor tries to get more money for his work only to suffer some impromptu surgery on his own heart, courtesy of Carl. Unlike his patient, he’s not destined to survive.

But lo, it’s now six years later – and here’s ANOTHER doctor! Not of the pissed-up variety, but more of the pissed-off type. Dr Pierre (for tis he, our hero, Vincent Ball) is up before the judge (John Le Mesurier) for some kind of trumped-up malpractice charge and finds himself imprisoned for life. He vents his anger at the unjustness of the world by punching out a sarcastic Bernard Bresslaw before being taken (without leg manacles, him being a gentleman) off to a PRISON FOR THE CRIMINAL INSANE.

His new cellmate greets him with a cheerful “You can curse the fates that sent you here, for this is the abyss the bottomless pit of hell itself!” and the guards show him their fancy remote dog control mechanism*, “Just in case you were thinking of leaving us”.

After Dr Pierre is relieved of a locket containing a photo of his fiancée Madeleine (Barbara Shelley), he’s taken through the prison corridors, the guards showing just what complete bastards they are by whacking any outstretched hands with their truncheons.

“Eat well,” Pierre is told. “I have some work for you to do later.”

Said work is digging graves – for people who haven’t died yet! Which is proper evil, I’m sure you’ll agree.

The prison is run by a Dr Callistratus, whose name is a combination of calisthenics and Blue Stratos – and you don’t get more evil a mixture than that.

When he finally appears properly on-screen, Callistratus (Donald Wolfit) may have the eyebrows of a fiend, but comes across as decidedly meh. More of a grumpy scientist intent on teaching Pierre about blood groupings than the vampiric maniac we’ve been promised. But down in his laboratory it isn’t long before he’s evilly stabbing needles into patient’s necks and threatening his nosey housekeeper with some forced surgery. So evil, then.

Pierre agrees to help Callistratus with his blood grouping work, unaware of the more shady aspects of the evil doctor’s work, which take place in a second, secret laboratory full of chained-up, busty women for some reason.

As well as being unaware of Callistratus’ underground crumpet factory (or whatever it is he’s got going on down there, it’s never adequately explained although I’d suggest what we’re talking about here is a simple upping of the cleavage ratio for the film), Pierre is also unaware that Madeleine is working tirelessly on his behalf and has secured a case review. But it turns out that the inspector of prisons is in cahoots with Callistratus and Pierre ain’t going anywhere.

After Pierre’s only friend in the prison makes a failed escape attempt and is torn apart by the dogs, Madeleine is told that it was Pierre who was killed trying to escape. Wanting to get to the bottom of what actually happened, she packs up her astonishingly overblown negligee (just the thing for a prison full of the CRIMINAL INSANE) and applies for the now-available job as Callistratus’ housekeeper (the previous encumbent having fallen foul of Callistratus’ questionable human resources methods).

Meanwhile Pierre has made yet another astonishing medical breakthrough for the 19th century, by discovering blood types. One quick look through the microscope and Callistratus has it all figured out – and if there wasn’t enough nonsense going on, things REALLY kick up a gear as Madeleine discovers her love is still alive, Pierre plans his own daring escape, the prison inspector decides enough is enough and he simply HAS to sexually assault Madeleine, and everyone starts running around like lunatics and killing each other. By the way, did I mention that Carl the murderous hunchback with the variable facial disfigurement has fallen in love with Madeleine after purloining Carl’s locket? Yup, that’s going on as well.

So, as you’d imagine, things aren’t going to end well for most of the current residents of the PRISON FOR THE CRIMINAL INSANE. Watch out for the remote-control dogs, everyone!

God, I love this film. It’s got everything. Blood, eyebrows, spectacular nightwear, lots of questionable motives going on, vicious prison guards, criminally insane prisoners with impeccable manners, suspicious bottles with gigantic skull and crossbones on the side… you name it. A veritable secret-laboratory-sink of gothic cliches. Okay, so it was clearly bunged out as a quick win in the wake of Hammer’s success with Curse Of Frankenstein, but when a film is as entertaining as this, who cares? And in case you were wondering, Callistratus’ motivations for all his hijinks ARE made clear – although given the opening scenes of the film, they make not one bit of sense.

*You pull a lever and the dogs’ chains retract into the wall. Okay, this bit makes vague sense. But then somehow they’re ALSO released from their chains as this happens. How? Infra-red? Bluetooth? And how do they get these dogs – obviously incredibly dangerous, given the trouble they’ve gone to by inventing either Bluetooth or Infra-red in 1880 to release them – back ONTO the chains? It’s things like this which keep me awake at night.