Admittedly, Scars of Dracula is not a very good Hammer Dracula film. It's hampered by a repetitive plot structure, for one thing: different groups of people go back and forth from the tavern to the church to the castle until you start to realize that these are the only sets the filmmakers had and they're trying to maximize them. There's also a horrible bat puppet which, in fact, one grows rather fond of, particularly given that -- while it never seems convincing -- it still is used to kill a priest (!) and to steal a crucifix from around Jenny Hanley's neck, leaving her heaving cleavage smeared with blood. However terrible the effect is, they are committed to it, and make the utmost of it, so you start to be impressed by the things they do make it do convincingly, like when it flies almost in a realistic circle, even as you guffaw at the glowing red eyes, gigantic size, or ability to hover in midair by slowly, stiffly flapping. It is maybe the worst bat effect of its kind ever witnessed in a vampire movie, but it is also somehow the best bad bat effect of its kind that I've seen. You end up cheering for it and chuckling in equal measure.
Then there's Klove. Nevermind Renfield, I would love to see a contemporary remake of this film written entirely around the character of Klove. It is a different Klove than one gets in Dracula: Prince of Darkness, played here by onetime Dr. Who Patrick Troughton (I think fans of Dr. Who would very much enjoy Scars of Dracula for Klove). It doesn't hurt that with his bushy facial hair, he reminds one rather of Derek Smalls.
Klove is by far the most interesting character here. He is immensely conflicted: he's groveling and servile to his master, but betrays him more than once, possibly because he gets masochistic pleasure out of being punished (which he is rather graphically). He appears to flagellate himself, as well. He fixates on a small image of Jenny Hanley, the innocent (but cleavagey) heroine of the film, but it's not clear if he's transfixed by her innocent beauty and inspired to seek redemption, or masturbating frenetically while looking at it; perhaps both. He is the same man who provides one of the protagonists a rope to Dracula's secret lair, enabling him to scale the walls of the castle, and then cuts the rope (only late enough in the climb that our hero makes it to the window ledge.
But the other nice thing about the film is that Christopher Lee is given a fair bit to do, compared, to, say, Dracula: Prince of Darkness where his only dialogue takes the form of hissing. Not only does Lee punish Klove, he scales walls, directs bat attacks, and plays welcoming host to visitors to his castle. His grin during the transaction with Klove, as he burns the open flagellation wounds on his back with a heated sword, was another laugh-aloud moment for me, as it's maybe the single most sadistic image of Lee I've seen?
There is also a very, very satisfying and surprising death for Dracula, one I did not at all see coming. I'll say no more about it but where almost every death for Dracula in other Hammer films involves some careful set up (lure him out to the Hawthorne bushes, stuff like that) here, it isn't even intentional: the film's protagonist throws a metal pipe at him, which pierces him but doesn't harm him, and he removes it, and you figure he will throw it back and the struggle will go on for another five minutes at least, but... no.
And then there's the cleavage. Both Hanley's virtuous protagonist and the innkeeper's sultry daughter (Wendy Hamilton) are displayed consistently and unsubtly, which is an interesting trick, since the films never tip to Russ Meyer breast fetishism. Hammer horror films simply do cleavage better than any other studio has ever done or will ever do again. To pander to the desires of 14 year old boys and yet still do so in a kind of sweetly innocent way... it's a good trick.
Incidentally, see also Anouska Hempel and Delia Lindsay (whose scenes I forgot, above; I guess there were actually four sets used for the film, not three, with only her bedroom not being returned to multiple times).
All the other hallmarks of Hammer are present, from superb set-decoration to Hammer regular Michael Ripper (whom Sir Christopher describes as the soul of Hammer, even more than himself or Peter Cushing) and semi-regular Michael Gwynn (theo ne being eaten by a bat puppet, above).
The real charm of the film, however, lies in its storytelling. Precisely because it strains a bit, compared to Taste the Blood of Dracula, say, to pull everything together, you can kind of see the craft of the storytelling laid bare. You can imagine people discussing what should happen next, throwing out ideas in a roundtable, and trying to make whatever choices they opt for entertaining ones. In that, it actually resembles a vintage Dr. Who episode, in a way; it has a similar innocent charm, even if there's no Tardis (and no Peter Cushing) in sight.
It's not a very good Hammer film, but it was very entertaining no less.
By the way, credit where it's due, Erika was the one who came up with the phrase "Fear and Cleavage."
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