The Ultimate Hammer Collection Box Set is out to own on 23rd October from Optimum Releasing.

From the vaults of the legendary Hammer production house come these twenty-one classic films, the cream of Hammer's Horror, Science Fiction and Fantasy productions, featuring iconic performances from Vincent Price, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee among a host of others.  This box-set also includes The Nanny, a Hammer classic starring the legendary Bette Davies in her most terrifying role for the big screen.

Also including a legion of extras including audio commentaries, trailers, interviews and the full-length documentary To the Devil: the Death of Hammer this definitive box-set is a must for any Hammer fan.

With a total running time of 1973 mins (RRP �149.00), this ultimate box set features the following 21 titles:

SHE
THE NANNY
DRACULA PRINCE OF DARKNESS
THE PLAGUE OF THE ZOMBIES
RASPUTIN THE MAD MONK
THE REPTILE
THE WITCHES
ONE MILLION YEARS B.C.
THE VIKING QUEEN
FRANKENSTEIN CREATED WOMAN
QUARTERMASS AND THE PIT
THE VENGEANCE OF SHE
THE DEVIL RIDES OUT
PREHISTORIC WOMEN
SCARS OF DRACULA
THE HORROR FRANKENSTEIN
BLOOD FROM THE MUMMY'S TOMB
STRAIGHT ON TILL MORNING
FEAR IN THE NIGHT
DEMONS OF THE MIND
TO THE DEVIL A DAUGHTER

The Devils Rides Out
(Dir, Terence Fisher 1968, UK, 95 Mins; Cast Christopher Lee, Charles Gray, Leon Greene, Patrick Mower; Review by Jonathan Wilkins)

Based on the novel by Dennis Wheatley and set in England during the 1920s, the story follows the Duc de Richleau (Lee) and Rex van Ryn (Greene) as they attempt to rescue their friend Simon Aron (Mower) from a devil worshipping cult. Over the course of the narrative they disrupt a ceremony in which Satan himself appears and are forced to defend themselves through a night of terrifying black magic assaults.

Made after Lee suggested it as a worthwhile project for Hammer to cover (he cites it as the best of the studio's extensive output) he is cast here as the protagonist subverting his well established image.

The films major success is the superb sense of atmosphere that remains consistent throughout. It is to Terence Fishers credit that the film has a troubling, unsettled feel to it. Even though certain elements might seem dated to a modern audience (we are spared the over reliance on gore, jump cuts and other such shock tactics that would later become familiar to viewers) this never seems quaint.

From the first encounter with a diabolical creature in the mansion's attic to the car chase through the countryside via a baptism-ritual in the woods and the s�ance with Richleau's niece, it's hard not to disagree with Lee's view that The Devil Rides Out is Hammer at it's very best.

The Reptile
(Dir. John Gilling, 1966, UK, 90 mins; Cast: Noel Willman, Jennifer Daniel, Ray Barrett; Reviewed by Angus Macdonald)

Something is murdering the residents in a nineteenth-century Cornish village, causing them to foam at the mouth and turn black from poisonous bites. After his brother falls victim to "the black death", dashing ex-army man Spaulding (Barrett) inherits his cottage, moves in with his beautiful young wife (Jennifer Daniel) and sets about trying to solve the mystery of his brother's death. Shunned by the locals who "don't like strangers round here" (including John Laurie as the local oddball Mad Pete in full "you're doomed!" mode), his investigations lead to the suspicious and guarded Dr Franklyn (Willman), a mysterious staring Indian servant and the Doctor's sad daughter Anna (played by the beautiful Jacqueline Pearce), who has been cursed by an Indian cult to become a killer-snake-creature.

Shot back-to-back with The Plague of the Zombies and using many of the same sets, The Reptile doesn't manage to hit the same horror high-notes of Plague but is certainly Hammer horror at their gothic, atmospheric best. While the story is more reminiscent of an Arthur Conan-Doyle-style mystery, the film doesn't skimp on all-out horror, offering gruesome foaming murders on foggy moors, the exhumation of bodies, and a mysterious monster in the shape of Pearce in effective (if perhaps dated) cobra-woman make-up by Hammer regular Roy Ashton. There's a wonderful scene of the cobra-girl writhing on the bed being calmed by the chanting of the servant. This atmospheric and oddly sad film is as much about guilt-filled father/daughter relationships as it is about murderous snake-monsters.

The Nanny
(Dir. Seth Holt, 1965, UK, 91 mins; Cast: Bette Davis, Wendy Craig, William Dix; Reviewed by Angus Macdonald)

Written and directed by two of Hammer's finest but under-rated collaborators, Jimmy Sangster and Seth Holt, The Nanny is one of the most accomplished and effective Hammer films and also one of the best psycho-thrillers Britain has ever produced. Bucking the trend of the traditional Hammer horror film, this is shot in crisp black and white with a contemporary setting and consciously avoids scenes of major violence or gore, opting instead for a slow-burning and twisting atmosphere.

10 year old Joey (Dix) is coming home after two years in a psychiatric hospital for drowning his baby sister. His emotionally unstable mother (Craig) is terrified of his return, his stiff-upper-lipped father (James Villiers) isn't going to tolerate any nonsense, and the almost-unflappable, endlessly patient family nanny (Davis) has bought a nice cake for his return. Joey, however, hates nanny and tries to convince everyone she is actually trying to murder him.

While Dix gives a great performance that promotes a rethink in parental laws against smacking, it's Davis's performance as loyal, put-upon Nanny that simply dominates the film. The battle of wills between Joey, the demanding spoilt brat with a penchant for gruesome tricks and the seemingly saint-like, caring Nanny pushed to her wits end, is played out with a wonderful sense of mystery and suspense � who's the cat, who's the mouse? With an exciting, tense and creepy finale, try not to focus on the utterly pointless and unconvincing final minute "happy" ending tacked on by distributors 20th Century Fox.

Quatermass and the Pit
(Dir. Roy Ward Baker, 1967, UK, 97 mins; Cast: James Donald, Andrew Keir, Barbara Shelley; Reviewed by Angus Macdonald)

The third of Hammer's Quatermass films (based on the television plays written by Nigel Kneale), following The Quatermass Xperiment (aka The Creeping Unknown, 1955) and Quatermass II (1957), this outing takes the Professor (with Donald taking over the role from Brain Donlevy) down to the London underground to what is first believed to be the discovery of an ancient archaeological site and an unexploded German bomb left over from the war. Of course, as this is Professor Quatermass, the skeletons unearthed turn out to be 15 million year-old human remains genetically-modified by Martians and the unexploded bomb actually a space craft containing Martian explorers killed by Earth's unhealthy atmosphere. The ship, however, is anything but benign, powered by telepathically captured energy and bent on channelling a long-dormant programming within the human race to turn violently against each other in a ritual of Martian ethnic cleansing.

All heady stuff, but as deep as the ideas go the special effects do let it down (the images of the Martian holocaust is particularly cheaply done) and Hammer certainly does enjoy its unapologetic scientific hokum (a device that can record memories onto film). Despite all that, Quatermass and the Pit is a richly atmospheric, imaginative and in the final apocalyptic scenes, an extremely creepy film. The scene in which Quatermass learns from a policeman about the ghostly history of the area (which leads him to believe that the Martians telepathic abilities may have inspired our ancient myths about ghosts and hauntings) is especially chilling.

Rasputin, the Mad Monk
(Dir. Don Sharp, UK, 1966, 91 mins; Cast: Christopher Lee, Barbara Shelley, Francis Matthews, Suzan Faramer; Reviewed by: Hyan Thiboutot)

Directed by Don Sharp, Rasputin, the Mad Monk stars Christopher Lee as Grigori Rasputin, the Russian peasant-mystic notable for gaining great influence with the Tsars prior to the Russian Revolution. Loosely based on Prince Yusupov's account, the story is largely fictional.

The story begins in the Russian countryside, where Rasputin heals the sick wife of an innkeeper (Derek Francis). When he is later hauled before an Orthodox bishop for his sexual immorality and little indiscretion of chopping a man's hand off, Rasputin claims to have healing power. And thus begins the rise and fall of Grigori Rasputin as he journeys to Moscow and manipulates the Tsarina's lady-in-waiting, Sonia (Shelley), whom he uses to satisfy his voracious sexual appetite and gain access to the Tsarina.

The strength of this film lies in Lee's kinetics performance. Acknowledged as his favorite performances, Christopher Lee is mesmerizing. Incredibly evil and selfish, Rasputin escapes to the local pub to drink people under the table; to engage in conversations; to dance; to chase the ladies, with only the brief interruptions to suggest Sonia go kill herself, or throwing acid in Sonia's brother's face. Lee obviously had a ball breaking away from playing the ever classy and quiet Count Dracula.

Rasputin, the Mad Monk was filmed back-to-back in 1965 with Dracula: Prince of Darkness, using the same sets at Hammer's Bray Studios, as seen from the outside of the Czar's castle.

The main fun here is watching Lee's Rasputin seeping evil as he uses his powers to lure women to bed, and kill anyone in his way in his quest for power.

Dracula: Prince of Darkness
(Dir. Terrence Fisher, 1964, UK, 90 mins; Cast: Christopher Lee, Andrew Kier, Barbara Shelly, Suzan Farmer; Reviewed by: Hyan Thiboutot)

Disregarding director Terence Fisher's Brides of Dracula in which the Count doesn't appear, Dracula: Prince of Darkness was the eagerly awaited sequel to Hammer's groundbreaking Dracula, also directed by Fisher in 1958.

Dracula: Prince of Darkness begins where Dracula left off.  Hammer Studios staple actors Barbara Shelley, Francis Matthews, Suzan Farmer and Charles Tingwell are four travelers who become guests at Dracula's castle. Philip Latham plays servant Klove and Christopher Lee is literally resurrected to play Dracula. Scottish actor and Hammer stalwart Andrew Keir plays vampire-hunter Father Sandor, an echo of Van Helsing. Thorley Walters also appears as Ludwig, an eccentric, bug-eating lunatic based on the character of Renfield in Bram Stoker's original novel.

Fisher was arguably one of the most influential horror directors of the second half of the 20th century. He was the first to bring gothic horror alive in full Technicolor, and the gore, sexual overtones and explicit horror in his films, while mild by today's standards, were unprecedented in his day. Given their subject matter and lurid approach, Fisher's films, though commercially successful, were largely dismissed by critics during his career. It is only in recent years that Fisher has become recognized as an auteur in his own right.

A popular myth alleges that the lines written for Dracula were so bad that Christopher Lee chose to play the film silent. In fact, Lee says as much in the documentary The Many Faces of Christopher Lee, featured on the DVD.

Dracula: Prince of Darkness is one of the very best entries in the Hammer Horror series, if not the best. Dracula doesn't put in an appearance until half way through the movie, but he's worth waiting for. Christopher Lee gives his most memorable performance. With no spoken dialogue, it's a great piece of acting. Christopher is truly a master of his craft. 

Demons Of The Mind
(Dir. Peter Sykes, 1971, UK, 84 mins; Cast: Robert Hardy, Patrick Magee, Michael Hordern; Reviewed by: Matt Glasby)

It begins, as these things must, with a black horse and carriage thundering through pastoral Middle England greenery to a creepy mansion. It ends, as these things also must, with a torch-wielding mob dispensing brutal peasant justice. In between, however, despite the comforting presence of plump-breasted wenches, orange blood, day-for-night photography, feudal ills played out in garish panto and a nasty baron (Hardy) with a stupid name (Zorn), Demons Of The Mind is something of an oddity.

In a bid to curb the congenital evils of his rampant id monster, which claimed his wife's life and rendered him impotent, Zorn has locked his flame-haired offspring away from the world, although as a multitude of cracked mirrors and phallic keys denotes, this can only end in tears.

And so it does. Before then, Demons Of The Mind does for gingers what The Midwich Cuckoos did for blondes. Unfortunately, besides some striking cinematography and a trippy, slash-happy final reel, it does so in a ponderous, pretentious manner.

Hardy and Hordern ensure there's still plenty of 'ham' in 'Hammer', and Magee's psychiatrist is on hand to explain EV-ER-Y-THING VERY CLEARLY, but otherwise this is a poor cousin to Peter Sasdy's excellent Hands Of The Ripper, and best thought of as slightly rubbish, but reassuring, Sunday night viewing for the terminally strange.

To The Devil a Daughter
(Dir. Peter Sykes. 1976, UK, Britain, 95 mins; Cast: Richard Widmark, Christopher Lee, Nastassja Kinski, Denholm Elliott, Honor Blackman, Michael Goodliffe; Reviewed by: Matt Goddard)

Though To the Devil a Daughter marked the 1970s catching up with Hammer, it still managed to go out on a high, with one of its most ambitious projects.

Launching a battle of wills, Henry Beddows (Elliott) recants a pact he made, convincing John Verney (Widmark) to rescue his daughter (Kinski) from Father Michael Rayner's (Lee) Satanists, and her eventual fate as the devil's avatar on Earth.

To say the film is indebted to The Omen and Rosemary's Baby is unfair, taken as it is � but barely resembling  - Dennis Wheatley's original novel.  Still, Hollywood cast a long shadow across the British studio and the effect is evident: location shooting abroad (a Hammer first), fantastic choreography and a great cast (including American lead), which elevated the film above other offerings.

There is enough suspense, gore and even bizarre puppet work to keep most horror fans happy, despite a lack of scares.  It is a shame that Lee and Widmark's encounters are not expanded beyond a taught telephone conversation and a western stand-off but, that said, the film's short run time keeps the plot moving at a pace, and the considerable cast of characters are handled deftly.  Things step-up a notch in the final act and, though the ending is abrupt, it makes for a satisfying climax; from church to open air altar.

Certainly a great film from the House of Horror, but sadly too late, as with "Catherine, Catherine," the hammer fell.

The Horror of Frankentstein
(Dir: Jimmy Sangster. 1970, UK, Britain, 95 mins; Cast: Ralph Bates, Kate O'Mara, David Prowse, Veronica Carlson, Jon Finch, Dennis Price, George Belbin; Reviewed by: Matt Goddard)

First, a disembodied hand mutilates an anatomical sketch and then, with a desk slam, we see Bates' smug Frankenstein in a classroom.  Yes, Frankenstein Begins, in which he offs his father (Belbin) while hunting, sleeps his way around University and then returns home to try a certain little experiment.

Thirteen years and six films in it was reboot time, and out was Peter Cushing, for perhaps the franchise's most curious film.  Though gothic stylings are retained, Bates is a hip Frankenstein, who's added womanising to his singular, amoral detatchment.  Though Bates is surprisingly effective, the love triangle between him, his maid (O'Mara) and school sweetheart (Carlson) is wasted and his predilection for homicide such, that when the monster finally appears, he seems a little redundant.  Still, Hammer had always shown the Baron as the true monster. 

Though the pace is a little sluggish, there are more flashes of comedy than before, topical references, and effective make-up covering Prowse's monster, even if the reanimation looks a bit by the numbers.

Tellingly, despite a sequel-baiting (anti-)climax, it was business as usual a film later as Cushing returned to conclude the franchise in 1973.  A curious addition then: certainly a franchise alive, though the lightening bolts were becoming harder to find.