There are movies that straddle genres. Then there’s Twins of Evil—a film that proudly pirouettes between Gothic horror, Puritanical hysteria, softcore sleaze, and accidental Monty Python sketch, all while wearing a satin cape and cleavage down to here. It’s the third installment in Hammer Films’ Karnstein Trilogy, and boy, does it go out with a whimper and two identical whimpers after that.
Directed by John Hough, this 1971 British mess stars horror legend Peter Cushing, a confused Damien Thomas, and the Collinson twins, Madeleine and Mary—whose acting careers were mercifully euthanized after this performance. Based extremely loosely on Sheridan Le Fanu’s lesbian vampire novella Carmilla (and by loosely, I mean the same way a burrito is “based on” a tortilla), the film gives up on narrative cohesion about ten minutes in and starts throwing bosoms, bonfires, and black masses at the screen like it’s afraid you’ll get bored and leave to watch The Wicker Man instead. (Which you should.)
The Plot: More Necklines Than Narrative
Set in a version of “Central Europe” that looks suspiciously like a backlot in Kent, Twins of Evil opens with two orphaned girls—Maria and Frieda Gellhorn—sent to live with their deeply unpleasant uncle Gustav Weil (Peter Cushing, looking like a haunted pencil). Weil leads the Brotherhood, a group of hat-wearing, torch-waving religious zealots who spend most of the film running around setting women on fire and misidentifying witches with the enthusiasm of a Yelp reviewer in Salem.
Maria is pure, meek, and blonde. Frieda is sultry, moody, and—cue ominous organ music—interested in boys. Clearly, that makes her the evil twin, because in Hammer Films logic, sexual curiosity = demonic possession. And just in case you weren’t sure which twin was which, don’t worry—the movie will remind you via cleavage angles, soft lighting, and Frieda’s frequent habit of snarling like a rabid cat in eyeliner.
Things take a turn for the dumb when Frieda sneaks off to Castle Karnstein, home to Count Karnstein, a man so evil he does satanic rituals in velvet robes while looking like he just got off a tour with Black Sabbath. He kills a woman on an altar, summons a vampire from the dirt (played by a woman actually named Ultra Violet in real life, because of course), and is turned into a vampire himself via forehead kissing. It’s like watching a Hammer version of a Hot Topic employee being knighted.
Karnstein then bites Frieda, who is delighted to be undead. Maria, meanwhile, keeps sighing a lot and falling in love with Anton, a handsome music teacher and self-described “expert in superstition,” which is 1970s script-speak for “I read one page of Dracula and now I carry a cross around.”
From there, it’s a series of mistaken identities, fake-outs, fiery stakes, and more gaslighting than an entire season of The Bachelor. Frieda bites someone, gets caught, and is swapped out for Maria in a prison cell because apparently no one in this village can tell twins apart—even when one of them hisses like a feral bat and the other weeps gently into her corset.
Eventually, Peter Cushing decapitates Frieda, Anton spears Karnstein like he’s auditioning for American Gladiators: 17th Century Edition, and Maria lives happily ever after with her boyfriend and absolutely no therapy for the trauma of being stalked, framed, nearly burned alive, and discovering that her identical sister was turned into a blood-sucking predator in fishnet sleeves.
Peter Cushing Deserves a Raise (And a Nap)
You have to hand it to Peter Cushing. Even when surrounded by wooden performances and a plot that flaps like a torn curtain, he delivers his lines with conviction. His Gustav Weil is a judgmental religious nut who treats every woman under 30 like they’re seconds away from setting the world on fire with their breasts. He’s awful—and Cushing makes him fascinating.
But you also get the sense that halfway through filming, he realized he was in a movie where Playboy twins were the stars and just decided to power through it by imagining himself somewhere else. Possibly in a better movie. Possibly on vacation.
The Twins: Beauty, Yes. Believability, No.
Let’s be honest: Madeleine and Mary Collinson were not cast for their acting chops. They were the first identical twin Playmates in Playboy history, and Twins of Evil wastes zero time reminding you of this fact. Their wardrobe is half Victorian mourning gowns, half renaissance faire lingerie. Their performances, meanwhile, range from “lost in a parking lot” to “vaguely startled swan.”
It’s not entirely their fault. The script gives them nothing to work with beyond giggling, fainting, and hissing. Frieda is evil because she wears eyeliner and goes to parties. Maria is good because she looks like she’s perpetually trapped in a Jane Austen fever dream. Subtlety was not in the costume department’s budget.
Style Over Substance, and Not Much Style Either
Yes, the sets are moody, the fog machines work overtime, and the castle has some gorgeously cobwebbed drapery. But the editing is clunky, the special effects are laughable, and the blood looks like melted Jell-O. The cinematographer’s name is Dick Bush, which may be the most entertaining thing about the entire production.
Also, why is it called Twins of Evil when only one twin is evil? This isn’t Parent Trap: Satan Edition. It’s just Evil Twin and Confused Twin. But I guess Singular Twin of Evil Who Gets Decapitated by Her Uncle didn’t test well with focus groups.
Final Thoughts: Carnage, Cleavage, and Complete Confusion
Twins of Evil is like a fever dream that starts with good intentions, gets distracted by a corset, and ends with a flaming stake through the heart of narrative coherence. It’s a film caught between exploitation and Gothic horror, unsure whether it wants to titillate or terrify, and ending up doing neither particularly well.
You’ll watch it for Peter Cushing, stay for the camp value, and leave wondering if this was all a long, sad commercial for vampire-themed twin cosplay. If you’re looking for something sexy, scary, and stylish… well, look elsewhere. But if you’re in the mood for unintentional comedy wrapped in lace and misogyny, Twins of Evil will bite you right on schedule.
★½ out of 4.
File under: “Historically inaccurate, hormonally confused, Hammer horror-lite.”
