Every once in a while, a film emerges from the foggy graveyard of mid-century British horror that doesn’t just embrace the genre’s tropes—it wrestles them to the ground, bites their neck, and asks them to dinner. Devils of Darkness is one such glorious undead relic.
Directed by Lance Comfort (in his cinematic swan song) and written by Lyn Fairhurst, this 1965 Gothic romp may not have been a box office powerhouse, but it drips with the sort of moody atmosphere and weird panache that makes horror fans howl in delight. Plus, it has a vampire named Count Sinistre—because apparently Count “Slightly Evil” didn’t test well with audiences.
Count Sinistre: Your Friendly Neighborhood Vampire-Cultist-Occultist-Marriage Counselor
The film begins where all good romances do: in the 16th century, with a vampire murdering a gypsy woman and raising her from the grave to marry her. Yes, Count Sinistre (Hubert Noël, channeling every Eurotrash Dracula ever imagined) is a man of commitment. Sure, his vows come with a little light necromancy, but who among us hasn’t tried to spice things up with a resurrection or two?
Fast-forward to 1964, where an unsuspecting British tourist named Paul Baxter (William Sylvester, a.k.a. the man who once told HAL 9000 to open the pod bay doors) finds himself in a quaint French village. What could possibly go wrong?
Spoiler: everything.
Tourism Tip #1: Don’t Steal From a Vampire
Paul and his pals are just trying to enjoy a relaxing holiday—probably sipping Pernod, eating croissants, and being aggressively British in rural France. But when Paul swipes a shiny talisman from a murder scene (as one does), he becomes the unwitting focal point of Count Sinistre’s supernatural revenge tour. It’s less “Eat, Pray, Love” and more “Stake, Burn, Scream.”
Sinistre, like all classic villains, wants his talisman back. And what’s a few murders along the way? It’s not personal. It’s just undead business.
Moody Villages, Mesmerized Locals, and Vampiric Vibes
The film nails its Gothic vibe. Foggy streets? Check. Creepy crypts? Check. Locals who look like they’re keeping at least four generational curses to themselves? Absolutely. Every frame drips with that charming Hammer-adjacent aesthetic—only on a budget that probably couldn’t afford Christopher Lee’s cape.
Carole Gray plays Tania, the undead bride, with just the right balance of seductive glaze and undead confusion, while Tracy Reed (yes, Dr. Strangelove’s Miss Scott) appears as Karen Steele, adding a hint of glam and mid-century sass to a film otherwise buried under cobwebs and brooding.
Also, huge props to the production team for naming the vampire “Sinistre.” It’s subtle. It’s nuanced. It’s the kind of name you’d give a goth metal band or a haunted candle.
William Sylvester: Horror’s Most Reluctant Hero
Let’s talk about Paul Baxter. He’s no Van Helsing—he’s more of a curious accountant with a good tan. But Sylvester plays him with straight-faced conviction. As his friends drop dead one by one and the vampire cult gets real handsy, he never once says, “You know what? I’m going home.” That’s true British stubbornness right there.
By the third act, he’s charging into ancient ruins with the talisman clutched like a lunch voucher, facing down Sinistre like a man who really wants to finish his vacation without being eaten. Respect.
Satanic Rites & Swinging ’60s Silliness
What sets Devils of Darkness apart from other coffin-ready horrors of its time is its blend of occult madness and straight-laced melodrama. There’s a weird charm to how seriously it takes itself while simultaneously tossing in blood cults, magical relics, and a scene where someone essentially says, “I bet those murders were caused by… Satanism.”
It’s like an episode of Midsomer Murders if you replaced the gardening club with a death cult and turned the local vicar into a ghoul.
Final Verdict: A Bloody Good Time (in Every Sense)
Is Devils of Darkness a lost masterpiece? Not quite. But is it a wonderfully atmospheric slice of 1960s Euro-horror with enough fog, fang, and funeral dirges to warrant a viewing? Hell yes. You’ve got vampires, graveyard weddings, dead-eyed brides, culty townsfolk, and a protagonist who survives by virtue of sheer curiosity and a good suit.
This was Lance Comfort’s final film, and while it didn’t change the horror landscape, it definitely gave us one last howling moonlit ride. It’s Gothic, it’s gory, it’s gloriously goofy—and Count Sinistre deserves to be remembered in the pantheon of villains who just wanted their stuff back.
★★★★☆ – Come for the coffins, stay for the cult. And if you ever find a creepy talisman in a murder scene… maybe just leave it there.
