A man of medicine… A pair of murderers… An unholy alliance.

By the mid-1980s, horror was dominated by slashers and supernatural spectacles, but The Doctor and the Devils offered something older, bloodier, and more rooted in history: a reimagining of the infamous Burke and Hare murders of 19th-century Edinburgh. Directed by veteran Freddie Francis, the film promised prestige horror, boasting a glittering cast and the bones of a Dylan Thomas script. Yet, for all its pedigree, it sits uneasily between period drama and gothic horror, never fully committing to either, and settling into a curious middle ground.

The story is well-worn: two unscrupulous grave robbers—here played by Jonathan Pryce and Stephen Rea—strike a deal with an ambitious anatomist, Dr. Thomas Rock (Timothy Dalton), who requires a steady supply of fresh cadavers for his medical research. Initially content with digging up the dead, the pair soon realise that creating their own corpses is a far quicker route to profit. The tale’s themes of science, morality, and exploitation are timeless, yet Francis’ film struggles to give them the bite they deserve.

What elevates the material is the cast. Dalton lends Rock a stern gravitas, a man torn between his lofty ideals and the sordid means that fuel them. Rea and Pryce inject menace and pathos into their criminals, turning what could have been caricatures into unsettling portraits of greed. Add to this the likes of Patrick Stewart, Julian Sands, and Twiggy, and The Doctor and the Devils becomes a veritable parade of British talent. The performances are sharp enough to carry the film through its slower patches, giving the gothic material a theatrical weight.

For Freddie Francis, this film represents a late chapter in a long and varied career. Having cemented himself in the 1960s and ’70s as both a director of Hammer horrors (The Evil of Frankenstein, The Creeping Flesh) and as one of Britain’s most celebrated cinematographers, Francis brought to The Doctor and the Devils a painterly eye. The cobblestone streets, shadow-draped laboratories, and candlelit taverns all bear his meticulous touch. Yet, as we’ve seen across his career, Francis was often at the mercy of the scripts handed to him. Here, despite the Dylan Thomas connection, the film leans too heavily on period trappings without fully exploiting the macabre potential of its subject matter.

The Prognosis:

In retrospect, The Doctor and the Devils stands as a respectable but flawed effort—a prestige horror that never quite finds the balance between gothic chills and dramatic weight. Its star-studded credits and Francis’ steady craftsmanship make it worthwhile, even if it lacks the raw energy or daring that might have elevated it into a classic.

• Saul Muerte