申请将这几张传至相册（愿意整理成文本并翻译的话当然更好）

第一页
To give himself a calling card, Ken Hymanhad purchased the rights to the Sherlock Holmes evergreen The Hound of the Baskervilles, from the Conan Doyle estate, and had already secured partial funding for the film from United Artists. By March 1958, the title had found its way onto the list of forthcoming attractions in place of a previously announced remake of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with James Carreras promising, “When Peter Cushing plays the part...... I shall get him to sex it up a bit.” With Hyman assigned to Tony Hinds for the September production of the next Hammer Gothic (but without a British credit for union reasons), Michael Carreras was appointed to return thefavor and oversee Hammer’s interest in its first Seven Arts coproduction: the long-promisedfilm version of Lawrence P. Bachmann’s novel The Phoenix—one of Michael’s petprojects. Truly international in scale, this post–World War II bomb-disposal saga would star Jeff Chandler and Jack Palance and be filmed on location in Berlin. But Michael reckoned without the vagaries of its macho nominee director,Robert Aldrich, the formidable producer-director of The Big Knife (1955), KissMe Deadly (1955), and most appropriately, Attack! (1956). In the attempt to takeon Hollywood at its own game, he was to find himself as ill-equipped to navigate the political waters of Seven Arts as Ken Hyman had been with those of Hammer.
"HOLMES : My professional charges are upon afixed scale—I do not vary them, except when I remit them altogether."
—script addendum, The Hound of the Baskervilles (courtesy of ConanDoyle’s “The Problem of Thor Bridge”)
It was appropriate that Hammer should choose The Hound of the Baskervilles as the film to return Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes to the screen after an absence of thirteen years. It wasthis story that had returned the character to literary life in 1901 after his fatal encounter with Professor Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls in “The Final Problem.” Naturally, Peter Cushing would play the great detective (fresh from a couple of interim non-Hammer roles—as the British naval officer who would hear Robert Stack’s Revolutionary War privateer John Paul Jones exclaim, “I have not yet begun to fight!” and as the infamous Dr. Knox in John Gilling’s The Flesh andthe Fiends, coincidentally Cushing’s professed role model for Frankenstein). Naturally, Tony Hinds would produce and Terence Fisher would direct. But Sangster was busy on other projects, such as Jack the Ripper and The Siege of Sidney Street (for Baker and Berman), so the task of grafting the gentleman sleuth onto a Hammer Horror fell to Peter Bryan, in his first feature-length script for the company. Although the film’s backer was United Artists, the plot—with Universal’s consent—was to lean heavily on the Fox original of 1939, the rights to which had transferred to Universal when it took on the ensuing series after The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes(1940). The Hound of the Baskervilles was to entrench the skills of Hammer’s technical team and cement the alliance of all of those on both sides of the camera who, inunison, were to create a new form in British cinema. The style of future Gothics would beconsolidated here, characterized by Bernard Robinson’s inventive sets and Jack Asher’s richly saturated photography. The look and feel of Hammer Horror—that decadent textural elegance embryonic in The Curse of Frankenstein,proclaimed with vigor in Dracula, butheld in abeyance again in the rush to The Revenge of Frankenstein—would finally take its first real bow.

“Know then the legend of the Hound of the Baskervilles. Know then, that the great hall of Baskervilles was once held by Sir Hugo of that name: a wild, profane, and godless man. An evil man, in truth, for there was with him a certain ugly and cruel humor that made his name a by-word in the county.”
—opening narration, The Hound of the Baskervilles
The flashback that follows this narration expands on that in the 1939 film (which was conveyed via a series of trite tableaux framed in the pages of the manuscript from which Lionel Atwill’s Dr. Mortimer read), but since its role is that of a red herring in the tale, the proportion of the whole that it occupies is extravagant, to say the least. It was felt to be the one area where Hammer horrifics could more readily be applied to Conan
Doyle’s sedate mystery, however, as the vile Sir Hugo first tortures a stable hand, then wagers his cronies on
a promise of gang rape of the servant girl whom he has locked upstairs.
David Oxley’s Hugo Baskerville is a genuine grotesque, a creature of frightening power. It is he, rather than the hound, who contributes the film’s one great shock: Fisher first builds on the escape of the girl, then cuts abruptly to the crazed figure of Sir Hugo standing at the head of the stairs, his features illuminated by a lightning flash and contorted in demonic rage as he hisses, “The bitch has flown.” This lengthy episode sets a mood that is never quite recaptured in the remainder of the film, but that is a minor quibble. The vivacity of its execution is enough to stamp the Hammer marque across the production, and it easily surpasses the similar expository opening in Dracula to provide one of the finest set pieces in the Hammer canon.

The sequence served to concatenate Hammer’s growing narrative obsession with a diseased nobility whose time was coming to an end, and it is a pity that it did not find a film more worthy of it. With Bryanston and Woodfall Films about to chart a path to screen stories rooted in the working class, so, too, did Hammer Horror reflect the new tide of socialism rising in the land, despite the fact that Bray was only a rugby ball’s throw away from the playing fields of Eton. Monsters were no longer from space, they were from the ranks of the elite—the landed gentry—a corrupt aristocracy feeding off the lifeblood of the lower orders. The pendulum was swinging back in the wake of the Suez Crisis and the “never had it so good” platitudes of the idle rich. As Cecile observes toward the end of The Hound, “I, too, am a Baskerville—descended from Sir Hugo—descended from those who died in poverty while you scum ruled the Moor!”
The film was on a much smaller scale than that of its predecessor at Bray, and it was to bear many of the hallmarks of a stopgap production. James Bernard contributed a reduced score to The Hound, fleshed out with borrowings from Dracula. With the necessity of location shooting at Frensham Ponds in Surrey, some minor inserts and other scenes were eliminated. In the absence of Sangster, and despite its shortcomings in purist terms, Hinds’s protégé Peter Bryan delivered a workmanlike script that offers up some welcome femme interest in the person of Cecile, to provide a splendidly vindictive belle dame sans merci in the shape of Italian actress Marla Landi (who had modeled under her real name of Marcella Scorafia). The bastard progeny of Sir Hugo remain the villains of the piece, but in tune with the times, and in line with Hammer’s pronouncements on the nature of its revision, death is now a woman. The dated revenge motive of the novella is sublimated to a more appealing motif of sexual revenge in the film.

Less successful is the bending of the story line to bring it within the parameters of Hammer’s own thematic
universe and the corresponding attempt to mold Holmes into a kind of sub-van Helsing figure. This only serves to produce some annoying inconsistencies in the great detective’s psychology. “Do as the legend tells, and avoid the Moor when the forces of darkness are exalted,” Holmes exhorts, in complete contradiction to the spirit of Doyle’s rationalist. (In the story, this line remains in the “legend.”)
This time, Cushing had precedent: he was following in the footsteps of illustrious forerunners like Clive Brook, Reginald Owen, Arthur Wontner, and Basil Rathbone. The Holmes of Rathbone overshadowed all
others, but Gainsborough Pictures had also tried its hand at a version of The Hound of the Baskervilles in 1932, with Robert Rendel as the detective and Fred Lloyd as Watson.
In spite of a superficial appearance to the contrary and the actor’s professed fondness for the part, Cushing’s playing of Holmes is much less adroit than his Frankenstein. His reading of the role is unnervingly variable--affected and obnoxious--offering only the slightest trace of the inner strength that made Doyle’s Holmes such a singularly unique fictional character. Also he is not helped by a screenplay that barely scratches the surface of the man and, in contriving that Holmes should glean most of the important clues in the case from the convict (rather than through his own powers of deductive reasoning), reduces the stature of the character to the point where he functions as little more than a plainclothes policeman, as opposed to the “foremost champion of the law of generation” that he was in Watson’s eyes.

"As I thought--Selden. The body’s been mutilated. Some revolting sacrificial rite has been performed."
--Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles
The Hound of the Baskervilles’ climax with the titular beast is mitigated by the fact that the hound’s presence throughout has been attested to only via an occasional howl (whereas the script had called for the shadow of the beast to shroud the action at intervals). When it does appear, it is distinctly anticlimactic, in the manner of The Abominable Snowman. In Fisher’s hands, the innate docility of the obligatory Great Dane is only too obvious; it is equipped with an ineffective mask, and the stand-in can clearly be seen to grab it in an effort to make it look as though he is being attacked. (A week of additional second-unit work with the dog and a boy in facsimile of Sir Henry’s clothes—to try to make the hound appear more gigantic--was discarded when the hoped-for effect failed to convince sufficiently.)
It is because of such conceptual deficiencies that The Hound must remain a minor entry in Hammer’s horror
repertoire. James Carreras was his usual exuberant self in the Daily Cinema in defense of it: “The fact that the Sherlock Holmes Society in London rate it the greatest Sherlock Holmes film ever made, fully supports all our own high claims for it,” he said. But the critics would be less enthusiastic—“Doyle and water,” was one assessment. The film has all the right ingredients, but after a barnstorming opening, it somehow falls short of its central objective, despite an advertising campaign that was to announce it as “Sherlock Holmes’ Most Terrifying Adventure!”

ACD的女儿认为PC的SH太多愁善感 而这性格更适合Docter W 此外了解PC的人都该清楚 他文质彬彬不说（个性里完全没那种痞气的踪影）还略显内向 而且犹疑不决 这些都不是SH该有的品性（当然 优秀的演员如Lon Chaney 应该可以驾驭与自己完全不同的角色 然而作为SH发烧友 我总坚信SH该让性情上多少与他相近的人来演 BR就是一例） 实际上作为医生专业户的PC演JHW 搭配上屹立不倒的他的朋友老李演SH 大概会是银幕上至今最理想的H-W组合之一吧
还好PC为人理性 治学（？）做事追求精确 一丝不苟 甚至可以说meticulous 这些在我看来更重要 弥补了性格上的差异 使他胜任一个学者式的严肃派SH

Notes就摘两条跟《猎犬》息息相关的吧：
#1 Peter Cushing was often less than happy with the quality of Hammer’s scripts, and he would invariably finetune his dialogue, politely but persuasively ensuring that the roles he played were up to his exacting requirements. To The Hound of the Baskervilles, he added this line and other bits of business from Conan Doyle to give the production some Holmesian rectitude.
#2 Cushing would reprise the role of Holmes on BBC Television between September and December 1968, in a series of fifteen story adaptations, including The Hound of the Baskervilles in two parts. Douglas Wilmer had been the BBC’s Holmes in 1965, but Cushing was drafted on the strength of his Hammer persona for a series that would concern itself more with the “lurking horror and callous savagery” of the Victorian half-world, according to BBC publicity.

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