The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967) – Review

Roman Polanski’s The Fearless Vampire Killers is a Gothic romp, a parody of Hammer-style horror that plays like a Looney Tunes cartoon trapped inside an old German Expressionist nightmare. It’s silly, stylish, sometimes aimless, and yet oddly charming, like a vampire who insists on wearing a cape to dinner but can’t find his fangs. Uneven though it is, the film manages to be both an affectionate send-up of vampire lore and a surreal comedy of errors that stakes itself somewhere between slapstick and arthouse.

Professor Abronsius (Jack MacGowran), a mothballed vampire scholar, drags his bumbling apprentice Alfred (Roman Polanski) into the snowy heart of Transylvania. At a village inn where the mere mention of vampires sends everyone into fits, Alfred promptly falls for Sarah Shagal (Sharon Tate), the innkeeper’s bath-loving daughter. Unfortunately, Count von Krolock (Ferdy Mayne)—all aristocratic menace and razor cheekbones—whisk her away before Alfred can stammer out a hello.

He just stopped in for a bite.

The innkeeper Shagal (Alfie Bass) charges after her with garlic in hand but winds up frozen and later reborn as an even sleazier vampire, proving undeath can’t fix bad habits. Abronsius and Alfred pursue Sarah to Krolock’s lavish castle, where they meet hunchbacked servant Koukol (Terry Downes) and the Count’s flamboyant son Herbert (Iain Quarrier), who develops an instant crush on Alfred. While Abronsius blunders through escape plans, mostly getting stuck in windows, Alfred finds himself dodging Herbert’s advances as Sarah prepares for the grand vampire ball. Could things get any worse?

“What do you, the viewers, think?”

The hunters sneak into the crypt, fumble the staking, and ultimately crash the undead gala in disguise. But when a mirror reveals their inconvenient reflections, the jig is up. They barely escape with Sarah in a sleigh—only for her to reveal she’s already turned. She sinks her teeth into Alfred, leaving humanity doomed at the hands of cinema’s most inept vampire hunters.

I’ll say this: I think humanity had it coming.

Stray Observations:

• Abronsius is basically Van Helsing if Van Helsing had osteoporosis and asthma. More likely to get stuck in a window than stake a vampire, he wheezes through Transylvania like a relic in need of a relic.
• Shagal proves that death is no obstacle to being a sleazy creep. As a vampire, he doubles down on the lechery—eternity just means more time to chase barmaids.
• Sarah spends half the film in or near a bathtub—truly a pioneer in cinematic hygiene. In a world of cobwebs and mildew, she’s the first horror heroine to lure vampires with bubble bath instead of blood.
• Koukol, the hunchback, seems to moonlight as both servant and snowplow. Coffins, snowdrifts, grunt work—he’s less henchman, more one-man sanitation department.
• The vampire ball is part Eyes Wide Shut, part community theatre dress rehearsal. Cloaks, waltzes, and all the menace of a church raffle—it’s undead glamour on a budget.

It’s safe to say, he’s no Tom Cruise.

Polanski directs The Fearless Vampire Killers like a man torn between making a parody and a genuine Gothic horror film. At times, the film is a meticulous recreation of Hammer Horror aesthetics—snowbound landscapes, candlelit crypts, elaborate cobwebs that could win awards for set dressing. At other moments, it feels like a parody skit stretched to feature length, with slapstick timing that borders on farce. The tonal balance is wobbly, but the sheer oddity of it keeps you glued to the screen.

“See here? This vampire is an ankle biter!”

Douglas Slocombe’s cinematography is perhaps the film’s secret weapon. The wintry exteriors look genuinely chilling, while the interiors are painted in deep reds and shadows that feel both atmospheric and knowingly over-the-top. Even when the comedy falters, the visuals retain that lush Gothic allure, as though you’re watching a vampire opera directed by Mel Brooks’ serious cousin.

“Is it time to roll credits yet?”

The cast is a patchwork of eccentric performances. Jack MacGowran plays Abronsius like a fragile wind-up toy teetering on the edge of collapse. Polanski, as Alfred, gives himself the role of the perpetual underdog, all nervous stammers and wide-eyed panic. Sharon Tate, in her breakout role, brings both innocence and sly humour to Sarah, making her more than just the stereotypical damsel. Ferdy Mayne’s Count von Krolock is pitch-perfect: aristocratic, sinister, and just amused enough to underline the parody. And of course, Iain Quarrier’s Herbert steals scenes with flamboyant menace, a queer-coded vampire prince decades ahead of his time.

“I’m dead, and fabulous!”

In conclusion, The Fearless Vampire Killers is a peculiar beast: part parody, part homage, and part Gothic dreamscape. It doesn’t always land its jokes, and its pacing occasionally stumbles, but it’s buoyed by striking visuals, eccentric characters, and Polanski’s willingness to embrace absurdity. At once a parody of the vampire genre and a stylish love letter to it, the film lingers as a cult curiosity—flawed, yes, but fearlessly memorable.