If Amicus ever had a fever dream about outclassing Hammer Studios, I, Monster was it: Christopher Lee in a Jekyll-and-Hyde riff, Peter Cushing lurking with polite suspicion, and a whole lot of smoke machines working overtime. The result? A movie that bombed at the box office but still feels like a velvet-gloved punch of gothic weirdness—with just enough sleaze and melodrama to keep it from being embalmed alongside the other dusty Victorian adaptations.
Plot in a Nutshell
Dr. Charles Marlowe (Christopher Lee, whose cheekbones should’ve been billed separately) is a psychologist who takes Freud’s theories a little too literally. Instead of just making people talk about their repressed desires, he brews up a serum that lets them act them out. Naturally, the first patient he tries it on is himself, because why publish a paper when you can destroy your life?
Enter Edward Blake, the Hyde stand-in—a hairy, snarling, increasingly unhinged version of Lee who looks like he fell face-first into a makeup kit labeled “Neanderthal Chic.” Blake quickly graduates from pub brawls to cold-blooded murder, all while Marlowe insists he’s still in control. Spoiler: he isn’t.
Meanwhile, Utterson (Peter Cushing) wanders around like the world’s most suspicious dinner guest, piecing things together with a lawyer’s knack for sniffing out wills and trouble. By the time Blake comes for him, the mask is fully off, and we get the climactic tumble down the stairs where Hyde’s brutish mug melts back into Lee’s refined features. Freud would’ve had a field day.
Performances: Hammer, But Moodier
Lee is terrific, as always—he plays both sides of the coin with the kind of commitment that makes you forgive the budget latex on his “Blake” face. He starts suave, refined, and gently menacing as Marlowe, then slides into a swaggering brute with the gleeful energy of a man let off the leash. Cushing, ever the professional, grounds the whole thing by reacting with horror and dignity in equal measure.
Mike Raven turns up as Enfield, managing to look like Vincent Price’s younger, less talented cousin, which is exactly the energy this film needed.
Style: When Freud Meets Fog
Director Stephen Weeks, only 22 at the time, leans into atmosphere. Shadowy alleys, fog-drenched streets, and candlelit interiors abound. The cinematography by Moray Grant makes everything look like it’s been painted with nicotine stains, which works for Victorian London. The movie was supposed to be released in 3D using the Pulfrich effect (yes, really), but the gimmick was abandoned, leaving the film to be viewed the old-fashioned way: flat, but still moody.
The Dark Humor Angle
The film is straight-faced, but unintentionally funny in its dedication. Watching Christopher Lee transform into Blake is like watching the world’s most dignified man try to cosplay as a rugby hooligan. And while it was marketed as shocking horror, it often feels more like a cautionary tale about why you don’t self-medicate with experimental drugs—basically Victorian Breaking Bad, if Walter White’s Heisenberg alter-ego had worse posture and longer sideburns.
Final Verdict
I, Monster may not have scared audiences into theaters, but it’s a delicious slice of Amicus ambition. It’s got Christopher Lee snarling, Peter Cushing frowning, and a vibe that suggests Freud moonlighted as a screenwriter. If you like your gothic horror draped in velvet with a touch of unintentional camp, this is your kind of nightmare.
⭐ Rating: 4 out of 5 dodgy serums.
Because any movie where Christopher Lee growls in fake teeth while Peter Cushing raises an eyebrow deserves better than the obscurity it got.
