Only now does it occur to me... EVERGREEN (1934)

Only now does it occur to me... that in the midst of an otherwise traditional 1930s musical (the British classic, EVERGREEN), we'd take a hard left turn into a World War I flashback fantasy

 
that's an extended homage to German expressionist auteur Fritz Lang––particularly his masterpiece METROPOLIS (1927)––




which feeds us this majestic sci-fi imagery for about two minutes, including one amazing tableau (women forged into bullets)


that may have even inspired the H.R. Giger piece, "Birth Machine" (1967).

For reference, the rest of the movie takes place pretty much on stage/backstage at realistically depicted British music halls from the 1930s.

Film Review: NATION AFLAME (1937, Victor Halperin)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 74 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by Victor Halperin (WHITE ZOMBIE, PARTY GIRL). Story by Thomas Dixon, Jr. (THE BIRTH OF A NATION, MARK OF THE BEAST). Starring Noel Madison ('G' MEN), Lila Lee (BLOOD AND SAND, THE UNHOLY THREE), Harry Holman (MEET JOHN DOE, BARBARY COAST), and Douglas Walton (MURDER MY SWEET, BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN).
Tag-lines: "Exposé of a Hooded Menace!"
Best one-liner(s): "Boy, the suckers will eat it up!"

In what's coming to be a regular feature of this blog, I find myself writing about American hate groups, fascists, and their cinematic depictions. Today's film happens to be written by Thomas Dixon, Jr., whose early novels celebrated hate and formed the basis for the racist, denialist 1915 epic THE BIRTH OF A NATION, which casts the Ku Klux Klan as the heroic saviors of the South during the "dark days" of Reconstruction.

However, sometime in the 1930s (upon witnessing the revived Klan and the rise of European fascism) Dixon underwent an apparent evolution of character. In NATION AFLAME, his final work, he delivers a formidable condemnation of the Klan, American Nazism, xenophobia, and political hucksterism that's more than worthy of our attention in 2017. If Thomas Dixon's mind can be changed––a mind that was directly responsible for the second wave of the Klan in the 1920s––then truly the sky is the limit: NATION AFLAME is as remarkable in this aspect as it would be if Steve Bannon were suddenly to produce a film denouncing the white nationalist movement.

Allow me to begin by offering a rundown of the plot, which unfolds with the simplicity of a fable across a slim, 74-minute runtime.

Enter: Roland Adams, the political huckster. A rich, aging clown-prince who has a certain way with crowds, and rules them with the wave of his jester-faced scepter: he wears the absurdity of this persona as a badge of pride.

With his eldest daughter reining in his more outrageous peccadillos, Adams once was Mayor of a typical middle-American city.

Against his daughter's wishes, however, he has made some dangerous friends; career criminals who know that the the huckster's power over the uneducated mob can be exploited, a fast lane to power and riches. His new right hand man is an Italian immigrant named Sandino who has re-fashioned himself as "Sands," and, in a believably hypocritical path to personal agency, becomes a true master of the xenophobic rhetoric that was once leveled against his friends and family.

He becomes Adams' brain, his attack-dog, his Richelieu. Adams' daughter has very little power over him now, though it pleases her to pretend. Sands and Adams make their xenophobic, "America First" pitch at a political cocktail party, and while it fails to impress the intelligentsia, the seeds are planted for a Populist campaign. The following clip is well worth watching:
And so the Avenging Angels are formed; a "grassroots" organization subsidized by gangsters and protected by corrupt politicians, whose members wear black hoods (patterned after the Black Legion and the second-wave Klan) and commit acts of political, racial, and anti-intellectual violence.

 Sands lays out their mission in a manner that is straightforward and unfortunately prescient:

"The only way that we can save the youth of our nation is to organize them in one single group, and through them, enforce the precepts of 100% Americanism! Corruption and politics must go! Civic virtue and patriotism must be our goals! We must enforce a reverence for our flag and our Constitution!  And what is more, protect our American womanhood, and guard the sanctity of our homes! We must guarantee that the wealth of America must be shared only by real Americans! To maintain and declare absolute boycott against foreigners is our only salvation!"

We are treated to extensive scenes of Adams, Sands, and their cronies practicing their bluster as an acting exercise, repeating the same lines over and over again until they feel they've attained the proper patriotic fervency.


"Boy, the suckers will eat it up!" says Adams. And they do. The gang is able to enrich themselves financially and politically, selling Avenging Angels memberships and apparel for $25 a pop.


"For twenty-five dollars, be true Americans!"

It should come as no surprise that Adams rides this wave of hate to ascend to a fresh political office: the Governorship. Under his rule, and amid a mosaic of domestic terrorism, the Avenging Angels beat to death reporters who dare to criticize them.

Now Governor Adams has the Oval Office in his sights, an idea planted by Sands, who grows more power-hungry by the day. Sands doesn't care much about the scandals and inquiries piling up at the Governor's doorstep, because he operates in secrecy and will still wield the full power of the Avenging Angels no matter Adams' fate. Adams' daughter makes regular visits to his office in an attempt to save his soul:

"Daddy, I'd rather see you resign than be impeached," she says...

But Sands always visits afterward, and the Governor happens to be the kind of man to take the advice he's heard most recently.

With political opponents closing in, Adams eventually decides to buck his gang and forge his own path. This, unfortunately, is short-lived as he is immediately assassinated by Avenging Angels who, at Sands' insistence, believe he has betrayed them.



Governor Adams is dead, his jester-faced scepter smashed. And the power of the Angels lives on, vindicated by the destruction of those who were not pure enough; those who were less than "100% American."

Adams' daughter aligns herself with the Angels' progressive foes and is burned in effigy amid growing misogynistic rhetoric.


Fearing her reputation already ruined, she sacrifices her remaining stature to take out Sands, entrapping him in a sex scandal that, in 1937, proves to be enough to sink the Avenging Angels for good. The end.

For me, NATION AFLAME film can only reframe Dixon's body of work, not rehabilitate it. However, like other films of the era such as BLACK LEGION and LEGION OF TERROR, it is very much the product of 1930s American Progressivism, fearful of fascist movements in Germany, Italy, and Spain worming their way into the American South and Midwest. That it comes to us courtesy of a man who never would have described himself as a progressive, and in fact publicly wore the mantle of "white supremacist," is staggering. I suppose this is evidence that even the harshest, most monstrous ideologue can have a breaking point: a crisis of conscience. This is something we must bear in mind.

Film Review: MARK OF THE VAMPIRE (1935, Tod Browning)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 60 minutes.

Tag-line:  None.

Notable Cast or Crew:  Lionel Barrymore (THE DEVIL DOLL, IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE), Bela Lugosi (DRACULA, THE BLACK CAT, GLEN OR GLENDA), Carroll Borland (SCALPS, FLASH GORDON), Lionel Atwill (CAPTAIN BLOOD, TO BE OR NOT TO BE), Elizabeth Allan (THE HAUNTED STRANGLER, CAMILLE), Jean Hersholt (GRAND HOTEL, GREED), and Donald Meek (STAGECOACH, THE INFORMER).  Cinematography by James Wong Howe (THE THIN MAN, SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS).

Best One-liner:  "There is no more foul or relentless enemy of man in the occult world than this dead-alive creature spewed up from the grave!

MARK OF THE VAMPIRE is most notable for reuniting director Tod Browning and actor Bela Lugosi under the auspices of a "vampire picture" for the first and last time, post-DRACULA.  I reviewed DRACULA at length a few Halloweens ago, and while MARK OF THE VAMPIRE does not quite approach the ecstatic and otherworldly heights of its predecessor, it's still an extremely fun and stylish horror picture that ought to be of interest to any horror fan.

A loose remake of Browning's (now lost) silent film LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT, which in turn was based on his own short story "The Hypnotist," MARK OF THE VAMPIRE was heavily edited by the studio to remove incestuous undertones (er, let's be honest– this is a Tod Browning picture, let's call them overtones) and as a result it is not as coherent as it should be.  However, the visuals, the glorious visuals– shot by legendary cinematographer James Wong Howe– transform the picture into one of tone and feeling: a sensory, hypnotic experience.

I won't attempt to explain the plot, which is sort of beside the point, so instead I'll offer my five favorite elements of MARK OF THE VAMPIRE:

#1.  A charmingly hammy Lionel Barrymore performance.

Essentially playing a "Van Helsing" character, Barrymore is a Professor of the Occult and a fearless vampire hunter.  He's also chowin' down on the scenery with incessant eyebrow action that calls to mind Christopher Lloyd's "Doc Brown" from BACK TO THE FUTURE.

And I really adore the moment when he's explaining, in a moment worthy of dinner theater, that not even an "army of police or a hurricane of bullets" could stop a vampire

and he pronounces the word "hurricane" as "hurri-kin."  Well done.


#2.  "Bat-thorn."  As far as I know, MARK OF THE VAMPIRE is the first film to unleash "bat-thorn" onto the world.  (Feel free to correct me in the comments section!)   Essentially, it looks kinda like dried sage or rosemary, but has the same alleged effect on vampires as garlic would.  –Huh?  Was Tod Browning sick and tired of all the free product placement in vampire movies for those greedy bastards in the garlic racket?  Maybe.  Who's to say?


#3.  Peculiar animal choices.  I mentioned this in my review of DRACULA, which notably transposes armadillos from Texas... to Transylvania.  In MARK OF THE VAMPIRE, there are plenty of pertinent creepy-crawlies in the vampire's castle,

but for every spider and beetle, there's something unexpected and out-of-place, like an opossum wandering around.

There are 'possums in DRACULA, too!  Why does Tod Browning so desperately want us to associate the opossum with the vampiric urge?  Speculation is encouraged.


#4.  Speaking of creatures, I think Tod Browning gets more milage out of bats on strings here than in any film, before or since.


Many would dare to call this a cheesy effect, but I find it quite endearing and tremendously atmospheric despite the trappings of artificiality.


#5.  Carroll Borland.  As Lugosi's vampiric daughter, Ms. Borland is fantastic, wandering graveyards with raven tresses, scary-eyes, and macabre stink-face all the while.

Note: her scene partner is a bat on a string.

She's eerie, silent (save for one line, delivered off-screen), and a major inspiration on cinema's subsequent vampiresses, even Vampira in PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE.  And I must give a special tip of the hat to a magnificently creepy tableau (and the most complicated special effect in the film) whereupon she flies down from above on fleshy, human-sized batwings:


That is spectacular.  Here's a closeup, for all of you planning on commissioning a painting of her for the next album cover of your Goth-Black-Doom Metal band.

AW YEAHH

In closing, I recommend MARK OF THE VAMPIRE as atmospheric Halloween season viewing; however; without giving away the end, I'll warn that Browning manages to shoe-horn in his own obsessions with carnies and con men in a zinger of a finale seemingly designed to piss off the audience– though it delighted this viewer.  Four stars.


–Sean Gill



2014 HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN
1.  FROM DUSK TILL DAWN 2: TEXAS BLOOD MONEY (1999, Scott Spiegel)
2. ...

Book Review: THREE BAD MEN: JOHN FORD, JOHN WAYNE, WARD BOND (2013, Scott Allen Nollen)

I'm a longtime fan of John Ford (who isn't, really?), the patron-saint of Monument Valley, born-again Irishman, and director of some of the best-constructed, most thoughtful films to come out of Hollywood, from THE INFORMER to THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE to THE QUIET MAN to THE GRAPES OF WRATH.
John Wayne is, so to speak, John Wayne, though his work frequently transcends the "movie star" mold with a dancer's grace and a touch of madness like in Ford's THE SEARCHERS, Hawks' RED RIVER, and Siegel's THE SHOOTIST.
Then, there's Ward Bond: a character actor extraordinaire who played brutes and cowpokes and priests and boxers across more than two hundred films.  Though his supporting work with Ford and Wayne is why he's included in this trio, my soft spot for him will always be his one and only shot at top-billing in 1942's HITLER: DEAD OR ALIVE, a film that clearly inspired INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS and contains the fabulous spectacle of Ward slapping the shit out of Hitler himself ...before proceeding to force-shave off his mustache! 

Anyway, I just finished reading Scott Allen Nollen's in-depth examination of the lives and work of these three cinematic giants, and I highly recommend it as a fascinating study for burgeoning old-Hollywood aficionados and serious fans of cinema alike.  Chronologically tracing the intertwining lives of these three "good-bad men" who were not unlike the characters in their films (Ford directed Bond and Wayne in nearly thirty pictures each), Nollen is at once objective and affectionate in his analysis, and there's a wealth of source material including documents, letters, telegrams, and plenty of rare photographs.  There are riveting anecdotes (I may now actually be inspired to read Harry Carey, Jr.'s autobiography), some great yarn-spinning (including tales of Ward Bond's brutish, high-flying, indecent-exposing, Wile E. Coyote-style antics and his ruining of a key scene in THE SEARCHERS when he unplugged the camera to plug in his electric razor!), and the work definitely touches on their peccadillos and absurdities, though never salaciously.

It's deftly written and never dry; while many books of this kind become bogged down by academic posturing, Nollen remains true to the spirit of his subjects and opts for a two-fisted, no bullshit approach.  I really appreciate how deeply he throws himself into the work, freely admitting "a meaningful (though a bit one-sided) conversation with a tombstone or two."  He's as a film writer should be– intense, obsessive, and highly-focused; reverent without succumbing to hollow adulation.

The main drive of the work is the examination of the complex personal and working relationship between the three (though large swaths of the book are dedicated to advancing the underrated Ward Bond to his rightful place in the pantheon).  None of these men could really be pinned down or branded with a particular stereotype– each had a volatile mix of id and ego (often sprinkled heavily with alcohol) that fused together to create a kind of perfect storm of filmic art. 
The complex psychology of Ford's relationships with the two men is indeed worthy of an entire volume– you see a strange kind of ownership emerge, resulting from Ford's "discovering" of the two actors.  This ownership was generally expressed in verbal (and often physical) sadism as Ford became master of his "whipping boys," something which may have even tied into his potential bisexuality:

"Ford loved John Wayne and Ward Bond, but his true sexual orientation wasn't something he would have discussed with them, or anyone else.  When it came to his own life and psyche, Pappy [Ford] avoided the truth, exaggerated, lied, or just didn't 'have any goddamn idea.'  The positive emotions he felt for his two favorite actors and whipping boys may have been the underlying cause of his negative, sadistic treatment of them (and himself); but even a lifetime of psychoanalysis may not have 'proved' anything."

Vindictive and controlling, Ford "froze out" Wayne for eight years when he appeared in a rival director's Western (Raoul Walsh's THE BIG TRAIL) and later, when Bond made serious forays into television (WAGON TRAIN) and Wayne tried to direct a picture of his own (THE ALAMO), Ford would sometimes install himself as a presence on set and attempt to undermine/co-opt the work therein.  These behaviors even extended beyond the trio– he punched out Henry Fonda (!) on MISTER ROBERTS and made cruel, deliberate use of alcohol to wring earth-shattering, hungover performances out of the likes of Victor McLaglen in THE INFORMER and Woody Strode in SERGEANT RUTLEDGE.

Though he reveals these men "warts and all," Nollen also paints a portrait of devoted friends and masterful artists whose lives and creative outlets meshed almost completely.  (For instance, despite the abuse, Ford chose Bond to play his own alter-ego in the deeply personal THE WINGS OF EAGLES.) 

Nollen takes on the accusations of racism in Ford's films, and reveals his struggle to show all sides despite the constraints of the system– especially evident in films like THE SEARCHERS, SERGEANT RUTLEDGE, and CHEYENNE AUTUMN.  He tackles the strange political spectrum of the men, too, with John Ford's patriotic progressivism, Wayne's conservatism, and Ward Bond's ultraconservatism (and yet it was Ford who took his camera overseas into the crucible of World War II while Wayne and Bond remained in Hollywood).  He doesn't shy away from Ward Bond's shameful behavior in the McCarthy era as a supporter of the blacklist:

"The social climbing Bond's ultimate political affront to Ford involved an invitation to a party he was throwing for Senator Joseph McCarthy.  His great mentor [Ford] simply answered, 'You can take your party and shove it.  I wouldn't meet that guy in a whorehouse.  He's a disgrace and a danger to our country.'"

Bond's involvement with the blacklist feels like a moral counterpoint to Ford's extensive work with the U.S. armed forces in World War II and beyond, and much attention here is paid to his military career (I learned that in North Africa a Nazi actually surrendered himself to John Ford!) 

Along the way, Nollen delves into a vast spectrum of material including Ford's relationship with his older brother Francis (mentor, actor, and silent film director), Ford's gleeful propensity for Chaucer/Shakespearean-style low comedy and his hilariously bizarre obsession with highlighting Ward Bond's "horse's ass" in shot compositions ("Although FORT APACHE is a serious examination of the mythology of the American West, it humorously can be branded Ford's 'ass-travaganza'").  Of particular interest to me were Ford's work with Victor McLaglen (whose performance in THE INFORMER is one of the greatest in filmdom), his direction of genius child actor and later genre-movie legend Roddy McDowall in HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY,  Bond's artistic process as unofficial show-runner on WAGON TRAIN, and the compelling, touching latter-day friendship between Ford and Woody Strode– and the book certainly has some genuinely emotional, poignant moments as the three "good-bad" men's lives dwindle to a close.

In the end, it definitely gets you amped up to watch some John Ford films– I've probably seen at least two dozen or so at this point, but there's still scores more I need to get my hands on, and there's obviously some big gaps in my knowledge.  For instance, since I've read THREE BAD MEN, MISTER ROBERTS, THEY WERE EXPENDABLE, 3 GODFATHERS, and WAGON MASTER have now leapt to the forefront of my queue.

THREE BAD MEN is published by McFarland (Order line: 800-253-2187), ISBN 978-0-7864-5854-7

Only now does it occur to me... THINGS TO COME

Only now does it occur to me...  what an inspiration THINGS TO COME must have been on everyone from George Lucas to George A. Romero.

A heavy does of H.G. Wells future history that was designed as a sort of retort to the world of METROPOLIS, THINGS TO COME is an enjoyable, extremely well designed piece of classic science fiction.

I knew that it was influential, but I didn't quite realize what an impact its visuals had on everything from LOGAN'S RUN's domed metropolis to THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK's Cloud City.

Then, the most curious thing:  "the wandering sickness."  Wells describes a plague in the latter stages of his Second World War (which stretches into the 1960s), spread by a poison gas dropped from airplanes.  Though it seems to be a vague prediction of the radiation sickness from atomic bombs, it immediately reminded me if the zombie film canon:  the victims wander a post-apocalyptic landscape in a daze, arms outstretched, and are highly contagious.  Infected family members must be killed immediately in order save other survivors; difficult decisions must be made.



I had always heard of I AM LEGEND/THE LAST MAN ON EARTH being the primary influence on NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, so this came to me as a surprise.  Even the name, "the wandering sickness," evokes latter-day zombie fiction like THE WALKING DEAD.  So:  H.G. Wells predicted (often in roundabout ways) devastating aerial bombing, the Second World War, genetic engineering, automatic sliding doors, cell phones, flat-screen TVs... and the zombie genre!

Film Review: DRACULA (1931, Tod Browning)

Stars: 4.9 of 5.
Running Time: 75 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Béla Lugosi, Dwight Frye (FRANKENSTEIN, BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN), Helen Chandler (DAYBREAK, THE SKY HAWK), Edward van Sloane (THE MUMMY, FRANKENSTEIN, DRACULA'S DAUGHTER), Herbert Bunston (THE MOONSTONE, THE RICHEST GIRL IN THE WORLD), David Manners (THE BLACK CAT, THE MUMMY). Cinematography by Karl Freund (KEY LARGO, METROPOLIS, THE GOLEM, THE LAST LAUGH, I LOVE LUCY; director of THE MUMMY- allegedly uncredited co-director of DRACULA). Directed by Tod Browning (FREAKS, THE UNKNOWN). Makeup by Jack P. Pierce (FRANKENSTEIN, THE WOLF MAN, THE MUMMY, WHITE ZOMBIE, THE MONKEY TALKS). Based on the novel by Bram Stoker (THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM).
Tag-line: "The story of the strangest passion the world has ever known!"
Best one-liner: "For one who has not lived even a single lifetime, you're a wise man, Van Helsing."

DRACULA is far from a perfect film: it's more derivative of the theatrical adaptation than the Stoker novel, it suffered persistent budgetary setbacks, the production was plagued by disorganization, and the director (Tod Browning)- despondent over losing his friend and intended Dracula, Lon Chaney- became disinterested and irritable, allegedly handing off the reins to DP Karl Freund on occasion. Despite it all, however, DRACULA is a monster classic, full of fleeting, mystical moments and ethereal majesties. Exceedingly atmospheric and possessing one of the most iconic leading performances in film history, DRACULA is a Halloween fixture and a classic of early sound cinema. Mandatory viewing not only for horror fans, but for cineastes in general, what could I possibly write to add to the critical discourse? Perhaps I'll just write about a few of my favorite moments- those sublime cobwebs of perfection which waft in and out of the nightmarish fantasia...



#1. The Fauna of Castle Dracula.

Some of you may think I'm ragging on the film by bringing this up, but I'm not–there's something so bizarre– almost alien– about the eclectic selection of critters which inhabit Castle Dracula. There're armadillos (Tod Browning spent time in Texas) wandering amongst the dilapidated furniture,

'possums skittering to and fro, and fake bats twirling on strings outside the Palladian windows.
A striped termite (?) wriggles out of its tiny coffin.

As Renfield parts the world's largest spiderweb,

we see its arachnid creator clambering up the wall.

Er, make that dragged upward by a stagehand. But it doesn't matter- in the midst of the awe-inspiring set (more on that in a bit), this strange bit of artificiality only adds to the unsettling grandeur of Castle Dracula.

#2. The sets– more specifically, the sets of Castle Dracula and Carfax Abbey.


The sheer scope is breathtaking. If the production hadn't been underfunded, I can only imagine what constructed Hollywood wizardry could be dazzling us– as it stands, only the beginning and end of the film possess these towering, Cyclopean sets; for the most part, the rest is all drawing rooms and boudoirs. But it doesn't matter- even just one of these two sets could carry the movie.

#3. The Philip Glass score, composed in 1999. Purists prefer the Tchaikovsky and the silence (with a touch of Wagner during the concert scene), but I wish there could be a happy medium– I can't imagine DRACULA without "Swan Lake" playing over the main title, but I absolutely adore the rest of Philip Glass' score. It's swirling and mesmerizing, shadowy and indistinct. It billows and surges relentlessly from the darkest depths of the human soul. It's DRACULA. It often creates the illusion of a silent film (despite all the dialogue) and complements the Browning and Freund imagery perfectly. Now I find that there are moments in the film which I can't imagine without the Glass score.

#4. The first appearance of Count Dracula.



The power of this scene perhaps lies in its simplicity. The slow tracking shot. The gnarled hand steadily emerging from the coffin. The torpid mist which lends a general haze to the entire milieu. The peculiar expression upon Dracula's face- it is not one of malevolence, but one of immutable passivity. The cycle begins anew. The blood and the night and the taking of life.

#5. Freund's pencil lighting.

Today, I feel as if the actor's unions would have a problem with the director of photography shining concentrated bursts of small, high-wattage lamps directly into an actor's open eyes, but I don't hear Béla Lugosi complaining. I think he's too connected to his character to think of anything besides the tremendous hypnotic power he wields over mere mortals.


The effect is wonderful, and it proves that you don't require special contact lenses, prosthetics, or CGI to depict a monster's indescribable gaze... all you need is an inventive lighting designer and a really intense Hungarian.

#6. Dwight Frye as Renfield.

Speaking of really intense people- for your consideration, Dwight Frye:


Sort of the 1930's Crispin Glover, Frye tackled roles with a genuine, maniac élan that likely will never be matched. He was a Broadway legend (originating "The Son" in Pirandello's SIX CHARACTERS IN SEARCH OF AN AUTHOR), he played the iconic role in FRANKENSTEIN which many people mistakenly call "Igor" (in actuality, it's "Fritz"); he appeared in THE VAMPIRE BAT and THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, had bit parts in FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF MAN and THE INVISIBLE MAN, and was immortalized in song by Alice Cooper (while singing in a straitjacket, to boot!).

It's easy to see why he was later typecast as this parade of lunatics, crazies, and madmen, yet before Renfield gets 'buggy,' so to speak, he skillfully plays it straight as the dandy-solicitor who's in a little over his head.



#7. Helen Chandler's (Mina's) vampire gaze.

I'm not sure I like it as well as Sybille Schmitz's in VAMPYR, but Helen is certainly bringing something to the table– something murderous and childlike.

#8. The scene where Dracula attempts to hypnotize Van Helsing.




There's an ineffable, poetic quality to this that makes it so memorable. A simple enough scene of Dracula failing to exert his will upon Van Helsing, it humanizes both characters considerably. Initially, Van Helsing falls victim to Dracula's powerful trance- he briefly appears as a wobbly, helpless old man. Then he regains his mental footing, and reveals the sheer magnitude of his determination, earning a degree of Dracula's respect and drawing his ire. The two titans have clashed without raising their voices or exchanging blows, they've merely wielded the forces of their respective wills against one another. And it feels real– the weight of tormented centuries, the fortitude of one who fights monsters- it's all made very tangible in this scene.

#9. The scene in the opera box.

It's only a brief dialogue scene, but it's quite possibly my favorite moment in the film. Dracula meets Harker, Lucy, and Mina for the first time. Dracula explains his recent purchase of Carfax Abbey and how it reminds him of the crumbling battlements of his castle in Transylvania. The girls are waxing poetic about death and other such morbidities, and Dracula interjects...


Dracula reveals himself, his true human self, to a trio of oblivious bon vivants and ingenues. Lugosi speaks deliberately- Dracula chooses his words carefully because they carry great import. "There are far worse things awaiting man than death." He breaks eye contact with the girls, because now he's looking into himself. Harker mutters some cheap, hollow sentiment, and Dracula tunes him out... he tunes out the rest of this vapid world, a world full of those who dare to speak of death as if they've experienced it...

The Philip Glass music swells, and it's a pleasure to the point of pain.


-Sean Gill


Side note: Dracula's screams during the staking have been a matter of some controversy. Available on VHS, many were angered by their exclusion on the Universal DVD, but they're actually there if you know where to look. There are three audio tracks– #1, the edited audio (but with the original music) which does not have the screams. #2, the Philip Glass score, does have the screams, but they are very faint because the music is playing rather loudly. Track #3, the commentary by David J. Skal, is with the original, unedited audio, but he's speaking nearly the whole time. So if you really want to hear the screams, choose the audio commentary during the final scene, and he actually pauses as they happen, for your listening pleasure. Why Universal did this is anybody's guess, but at least they're on there somewhere.