Retro Review: Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948)

“You don’t understand—in a half hour the moon will rise, and I’ll turn into a wolf…”

“You and 20 million other guys.”

There are the great horror films, and there are the great comedies. But great horror comedies? Films that work equally well as both, and can scare you and make you laugh in equal measure? Few and far between. Possibly the first really great one, and for many still the best, would be the 1948 timeless classic Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. All these decades later, and it can still leave us in stitches, while delivering a healthy dose of authentic Universal monster madness. The fact that this movie even happened both was and is a gift to movie fans of all ages.

By 1948, both Abbott & Costello and the Universal monsters, two cash cow franchises for the legendary studio, were sort of on the ropes. Bud and Lou had made their name at the studio during the war years, but the act was starting to wear thin with audiences. As for Dracula, Frankenstein and the gang, they were far removed from their halcyon days of the 1930s and early ‘40s, having been reduced to flimsy team-up flicks for kids.

So what did the powers-that-be at Universal decide to do, but cross the two franchises, in one of the most inspired movie mashups ever conceived. Lon Chaney Jr. may have later condemned the film as the death knell of the classic monsters, but the hindsight of film history has revealed it as a beloved gem that, rather than tarnish the reputation of the monsters, has kept their legacy alive for generations.

In short, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein is the perfect “gateway movie” for getting children into horror. I should know; I used it in exactly that way for my own kids. It’s hilariously funny on a level that can be appreciated by people of all ages, and the creep factor is there in copious amounts, especially for young children not too familiar with horror in general. It causes chills and laughter in equal measure, as we watch Bud and Lou mix it up with some very scary individuals.

In the end, that’s what makes the movie work so well. Neither franchise is compromising its integrity. Abbott & Costello are doing what they do best, getting into ridiculous situations and doing the whole straight man/childish fat guy routine. In fact, this film is probably their funniest moment, in a movie career that spanned nearly two decades. As for the Universal monsters, they are playing themselves here. There’s no campy hamming-it-up going on. Although Bela Lugosi’s Dracula may feel a bit different than his 1931 interpretation, he is playing Dracula to the hilt—just as Glenn Strange is playing the Monster, and most impeccably, Lon Chaney Jr. is playing Larry Talbot. I defy you to find any difference between the Talbot here and in any of his previous appearances. There is no “winking at the camera” on the part of him, Lugosi or Strange.

The perfect blend of horror and comedy make this, for my money, one of the most downright fun movies ever made. There are so many unforgettable set pieces here—particularly the predicaments the hapless Lou constantly finds himself in; from accidentally sitting in the Monster’s lap, to the scene in Talbot’s hotel room with the fruit bowl. And of course, the scene most people remember from this movie, in which Lou first encounters Dracula at the House of Horrors, all the while trying breathlessly to explain it to an incredulous Bud. This is effortless, timeless comedy from two masters, and best of all, is so true to the material that you can honestly imagine that this is what would happen if Abbott & Costello were to encounter Frankenstein, Dracula and the Wolf Man.

Costello cracked up Strange so much during this
scene that it had to be shot numerous times.

We get Lugosi in his only other film appearance as Dracula after his first iconic turn in 1931. That alone is enough to recommend the film! We get an excellent score from Frank Skinner—so good, in fact, that it would be lifted outright for future A&C movie installments. We get a rip-roaring monster-laden finale that is the perfect payoff for all the insanity that has come before. And, at the risk of “spoiling” a 65-year-old movie, we get an unforgettable final-shot cameo by Vincent Price as the voice of the Invisible Man! What more can you possibly ask for?

Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein succeeded in redefining both franchises. Going forward, the A&C series continued trying to recapture the new formula. The series took on a decidedly fantastical slant that was very different from the releases of the early ‘40s, pairing the comedy duo up with other monsters and villains like the Mummy, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, and even “The Killer, Boris Karloff”. It may have been a gimmick, but it was a gimmick that kept the act going for nearly another decade. As for the Universal monsters themselves, this film became their last appearance for the studio. But it needs to be said that it also reinvented them for a whole new generation of young moviegoers, and helped give rise to the kitschy “Monster Kid” culture of the ‘50s, ‘60s and beyond, raising the studio’s creations to the level of pop culture gods.

Personally, the film brings me back to those lazy Sunday afternoons of my youth, spent with family, food and syndicated New York television. If you’re a fan of classic horror, I encourage you to check it out. Particularly, this movie is a joy to watch with young children. If you don’t have your own, go and steal someone else’s—it’s worth it. I screened it at one of my kids’ Halloween parties, and few sights in my memory will ever match the sight of a room full of initially skeptical 7-10 year olds, falling out of their seats with laughter and yelling at the screen in comic frustration. 

I’m so glad the world of Abbott & Costello and the Universal monsters crossed paths, and I enjoy revisiting it whenever I can. Give it a try, and I think you’ll be hooked as well.

And if you ever wanted to catch this gem on the big screen, then you’re in luck! I’ll be screening it on Thursday, December 27, as part of my BEDLAM AT THE BIJOU series at Bridgeport’s Bijou Theatre. I hope you’ll join me for BEDLAM AT THE BIJOU: Scared Silly, in which I’ll be pairing this movie up with another classic Universal-themed comedy, Young Frankenstein. Check out the Facebook page for more info, or the official Bijou website!

Tweet

Nosferatu at 90: Florence Stoker, Vampire Hunter

The year is 1912. Bram Stoker, author of Dracula, has passed away. Some attribute the cause to syphilis. Left behind is his beautiful wife, Florence Anne Lemon Stoker, née Balcombe, a demure and striking stage actress when she married the Irish theatrical agent in 1878 at the age of 20. Now a widow in her 50s, with one grown son starting a family of his own, Florence finds herself struggling financially--a sad burden compounded no doubt by the rumors surrounding her husband's death. Ironically, the one thing that remained to her as far as financial means was the copyright to her late husband's famous vampire novel.

Fast forward a decade. A relatively new entertainment medium, cinema, is finally hitting its full stride and one of the epicenters of the explosion is Germany, where an Expressionist movement is taking the country by storm. A small art collective known as Prana Films, spearheaded by artist and spiritualist Albin Grau, produces a vampire film called Nosferatu, Eine Symphonie des Grauens, whose screenplay, penned by Henrik Galeen, has taken for its direct inspiration Stoker's Dracula. However, to avoid having to pay anything for intellectual rights, Prana Films never seeks permission from Florence Stoker, still alive and well in Britain. The names and places in the silent film are all changed from the novel in a naive attempt to avoid infringement. Count Dracula becomes Count Orlock.

Florence Balcombe, sketched by her former
love interest, Oscar Wilde.

On March 4, 1922, Nosferatu enjoys a lavish premiere at Marble Hall of the Berlin Zoological Gardens, complete with live musical accompaniment and sound effects. The following month, Florence Stoker receives an anonymous letter from Berlin, containing a program from the premiere. The program directly states that Nosferatu has been "freely adapted from Bram Stoker's Dracula". Having received no permission requests, nor even being aware of the film's existence up to this point, the 62-year-old widow, still depending on whatever income she can get from the novel's copyright, is outraged.

What follows is a one-woman crusade the likes of which has never been seen in film history, before or since. Represented by the British Incorporated Society of Authors, Florence Stoker, as literary executor for the estate of her late husband, files a sweeping lawsuit against Prana Films which calls not only for financial compensation for the use of her intellectual property, but also the complete and total destruction of the film itself.

The legal battle would rage for over three years. Prana Films declared bankruptcy due to legal costs, and also in an attempt to avoid making payments to Mrs. Stoker.  Meanwhile, the company's lone production, Nosferatu, continued to play throughout Germany and Hungary, but nowhere else, its international distribution halted by the litigious ruckus. Ironically, the success of the film in its homeland had made Stoker's copyright even more valuable than before. Prana would even try to make a deal with her, offering to cut her in on the film's profits if she would allow them to expand the release and use the Dracula name. She refused, insisting again on the torching of the film.

Hamilton Deane

While the suit took its course, Stoker was simultaneously negotiating with producer and Dublin neighbor Hamilton Deane, who sought to bring the novel to the stage. His officially licensed theatrical production of Dracula would premiere in Derby in 1924. It was an immediate hit, and its success helped boost the fortunes of Florence Stoker, who was also on the verge of winning her lawsuit with the doomed Prana Films.

In July 1925, the court ruled that Prana Films was in direct copyright infringement of the intellectual property of Florence Stoker. Financial reparations were ordered, but the failed company was unable to pay. The court also ordered that the negative of Nosferatu, as well as all known prints, be rounded up and promptly destroyed--the only known case of a "capital punishment" ruling on a major motion picture. It would be the only movie ever made by Prana, and had not been seen by anyone outside of Germany and Hungary--including Florence Stoker.

With Nosferatu seemingly destroyed, Stoker continued to reap the rewards of Deane's official stage adaptation. In fact, she granted the American stage rights to producer Horace Liveright in 1927 and Liveright hired John L. Balderston to adapt the play for U.S. audiences. It premiered on Broadway with virtually unknown Hungarian actor (had he seen Nosferatu during its release?) Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula, and ran for a year on Broadway and two more on tour. However, in another case of intellectual property shenanigans, it turned out that Bram Stoker had never properly seen to the U.S. rights for his novel, and so it was in the public domain. This meant that Florence Stoker never received her full payment for the American production from Liveright, who was no longer even alive by the end of the play's run.

Meanwhile, it turned out that much like a vampire itself, Nosferatu the film was not exactly dead. Somehow, there were prints that survived the court-ordered obliteration. One of these made it to America in 1929, and it was then that the film finally made its US debut, against Stoker's direct wishes, screening in New York and Detroit. And when budding Hollywood movie studio Universal, nearly a decade after the film's release, sought to make their own talkie adaptation of Dracula based on the stage play, they also studied Nosferatu closely, and the influence can be seen in their 1931 film version, also starring Lugosi.

Florence Anne Lemon Balcombe Stoker died in London on May 25, 1937 at the age of 78, survived by her son Irving Noel, granddaughter Ann Elizabeth, and newborn great-grandson Richard Noel. In her later years, she no doubt enjoyed greater financial prosperity thanks to the stage production of Dracula, as well as other licensed properties like Universal's film and it's 1936 sequel, Dracula's Daughter. It's unknown whether she was aware of Nosferatu's survival, or how she felt about it if she did know.

The film remained an obscurity for decades, playing here and there, but never being fully embraced by audiences. It finally reached a wider audience in the 1960s, when it found its way to late-night television, along with whatever other public domain films were available at the time. Renewed interest in the film finally led to the resurfacing in 1984 of a complete print--the first found since its attempted destruction nearly 60 years prior. The uncut version played at Berlin's Film Festival that year, a stone's throw from where it had debuted in 1922. Free at last from the shadow of Florence Stoker's wrath, Nosferatu took its rightful place as the seminal vampire film that it is. It was released to home video for the first time in 1992, and the 2007 DVD release is the very first home video version to include the original music, all original scenes, plus the original color film tints.

Florence Stoker and son Noel,
circa 1882.

Whatever its merits, justification, or lack thereof, Florence Stoker's crusade had failed in the end. Nosferatu the film, in true Dracula fashion, could not be completely destroyed. And it's thankful for us that it wasn't--for as horror scholar David J. Skal wrote in his 1990 book Hollywood Gothic: The Tangled Web of Dracula from Novel to Stage to Screen, "Nosferatu mined Dracula's metaphors and focused its meaning into visual poetry. It had achieved for the material what Florence Stoker herself would never achieve: artistic legitimacy."

Tweet

Nosferatu at 90: Still the Greatest Vampire Film Ever Made

Greetings, and welcome to the first edition of a brand new year-long series here in The Vault of Horror. For me, dear readers, the year 2012 means only one thing--and that's the 90th anniversary of one of horror cinema's true unassailable classics, F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu. It's hard to fathom that this film is almost a century old, and even more impressive is its continued ability to shock and terrify no matter how much time passes. Just as I did in years past with A Nightmare on Elm Street, Psycho and An American Werewolf in London, I'll be posting throughout the next 12 months on this, the first and greatest of all Dracula adaptations.

How is it that this film still can effect us so profoundly, when so much of horror's power is drawn from the unexpected? One would think that age would be the death knell of a great horror movie, and yet films like Nosferatu prove this to be dead wrong. Whether you're discovering it for the first time all these decades later, or watching it for the 90th time, Nosferatu has the power to utterly creep you out. Personally, I credit it to the merits of German Expressionism.

And Murnau was undoubtedly one of the pioneers of this form of cinema, cutting edge for its time and a far cry from the American, Hollywood style that would soon dominate filmmaking in the years to come. Make no mistake, the silent era of film belonged to the Europeans, and the Germans, in particular, in addition to the Russians and the French, certainly left their mark. Like the best of his peers, Murnau achieved that defining goal of Expressionism in all its forms, namely to evoke pure emotion through the visual medium. Expressionistic works are in a sense dreams brought to life, and in the case of Nosferatu, that dream is most decidedly a nightmare.

The film oozes atmosphere from beginning to end, and is jam-packed with iconic imagery that has stood the test of time for a reason. Interestingly enough, it also set a standard for vampire films, and Dracula adaptations in particular, that was not really followed (at least not for many years). Nosferatu stands out on its own as a unique and truly cinematic retelling of the Dracula story, with liberal license taken, of course. It is vastly different from the Hamilton Deane and John Balderston play that would first be staged two years after its release--the version which inspired Universal's famous talkie version with Bela Lugosi at the start of the next decade.

Nosferatu chooses a different path, eschewing the nascent sex appeal of the vampire to take a more traditional, folkloric approach. The vampire here is still in his repulsive, pre-modern form--there is nothing at all sexy or alluring about Count Orlok (Unless you're into that sort of thing. Who am I to judge?) If anything, the vampire here is a metaphor for plague, and even possesses certain undeniable anti-Semitic overtones (but that's a post for another day).

Still, the story is undeniably Bram Stoker's. So much so that Stoker's widow and her crack legal team nearly had the film eradicated from the face of the earth (another post for a later day). Thankfully for film lovers everywhere, Ms. Stoker was not successful in her efforts, and the movie remains extant to this day for new generations of horror fans to discover and relish. There are many horror classics that stand the test of time, but few are as truly timeless as this one, defying changing filmmaking styles and changing filmgoing tastes to remain a favorite of genre fans. It is just as fresh now as it was when it emerged from a Germany still reeling from the First World War.

In addition to its Expressionistic roots, or perhaps in connection to them, I have always found that the film retains so much power largely because it is so visual in nature. Of course, this was very much necessary due to the limitations (or some might say advantages) of silent cinema, in that the visual was the easiest and most effective way to get your message across. Later versions of Dracula--and indeed horror films in general of the next couple of decades--would rely less on imagery and more on dialogue and cerebral scares. This is not to say that Nosferatu is not a psychologically frightening film, but I would submit that more of the terror it inspires is derived from the direct impact of what we see on screen. It is not so much suspenseful as it is downright terrifying to look at.

As has been the case throughout most of film history, America has been resistant to foreign films, and so this film did not even have a chance to be released here when it first was made in 1922. In fact, it wasn't until the 1960s, many years after a single surviving print had made its way to these shores in defiance of a court order, that it began to attain the cult following in the U.S. that it now enjoys. I have had the privilege of witnessing Nosferatu on the big screen with live musical accompaniment not once, but twice. And although I had my gripes with both viewings (an ironic, snarky crowd the first time out; and wholly inappropriate music the second time), I still consider myself fortunate to have had the experience.

At the time, Nosferatu was largely overshadowed by the Universal Dracula, and later the Hammer Dracula of the 1950s-70s, and yet its interesting to note that nowadays, most horror fans would place Max Schreck right alongside Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee as one of the screen's iconic Counts. In fact, many vampire aficionados--including this one--will still argue that Nosferatu, the original vampire film, remains the very best to this day. A puzzling notion maybe, in that nobody has been able to top it in 90 years; and yet instead of bemoaning the state of vampire cinema for the past century, I will choose instead to celebrate the fact of Nosferatu's existence. And if it so pleases you, I invite you to join me in doing so for the remainder of 2012.

Tweet

The Many Faces of Dracula

Tweet

Retro Review: Dracula's Daughter (1936)

Easily the most underrated of the entire Universal horror cycle, Lambert Hillyer's atmospheric sequel to the classic Tod Browning original is a hidden gem and a treat for any old-school monster movie fan who discovers it, much like myself. Made a full half decade after the Bela Lugosi adaptation, it is a completely different movie and a very inventive continuation which also manages to push the envelope quite a bit, especially in the newly established Hays Code era.

I first discovered the film thanks to the old AMC Monstervision in the 1990s, and of course, like so many lovers of this picture, the element which instantly drew me in was Gloria Holden's mesmerizing performance as Countess Marya Zaleska, Drac's aforementioned daughter and a hell of an effective movie vampire in her own right. I've always felt that the character, and Holden's portrayal of it, was a direct precursor to the groundbreaking stuff that Anne Rice would do with the vampire ethos some 40 years later in print.

Following the death of her infamous father at the hands of Van Helsing, the Countess turns up in London and absconds with the body, believing that by destroying it she can rid herself of the curse of her vampirism. This is one of the earliest examples in popular vampire lore of the self-loathing vampire--a trope which has now become quite commonplace thanks to the work of Rice and others. Zaleska does not wish to be a vampire, and will try anything to cure herself, even psychiatry (which one would think would be a tall order as far as getting her heart beating again...)

It's certainly been mentioned many times before, but the film flirts quite openly with themes of lesbianism, as the Countess seems to prefer female victims to male. This is most directly explored in the very evocative scene in which Zaleska takes a beautiful young woman to her residence under the pretense of wanting to use her as an art model. It's the sort of thing that I'd wager only made it past the holy rollers on the censorship committees because they were too provincial to even get what was going on in the subtext.

In addition to Holden, also very effective is Irving Pichel as Zaleska's inscrutable manservant, Sandor. The film is highlighted as well by the work of Universal stalwarts Jack Pierce in the makeup chair, and brilliant set designer Albert S. D'Agostino.

This would be the only sequel to Tod Browning's Dracula made during the period before Universal switched its horror film production to the B-movie division. Following Daughter, we would get Lon Chaney in Son of Dracula, which although a lot of fun, is a decided step down from its previous two predecessors. From there, John Carradine would take on the cape as the Count in the campy House of Frankenstein and House of Dracula. For my money, Dracula's Daughter is the only sequel worthy of being associated with the original.

I encourage you to seek out Dracula's Daughter. Like Werewolf of London, Son of Frankenstein and The Mummy's Hand, it is one of those films in the Universal canon that deserve far more attention than it gets. A thoroughly modern vampire movie, it has a lot more in common with the genre in latter decades than it does with the horror flicks of its own time, and is one of the last of the truly great Universal monster movies.

Tweet

Monster Cereals: Eating What Scares Us

If ever there was anything dependable about the nature of humanity--other than the fact that we will always find reasons to divide ourselves--it's that we will do anything we can to mentally protect ourselves from that which we fear. And because the ultimate fear for the human race has always been death--the great unknown certainty from which none of us can escape--it's fascinating to see just what lengths we will go to bury that certainty deep down in our psyche. Horror in particular is not much more than a vast exercise of this very kind.

After all, how else to explain why the people most obsessed with all things mortal and macabre take the keenest interest in horror? Simply put, it's a catharsis; a way of coping in a fun and deflected way with something many of us have trouble dealing with, but are nonetheless fascinated by. So when my brethren in the League of Tana Tea Drinkers proposed a blog roundtable discussion on the phenomenon of "cute monsters" in horror, the whole thing was a no-brainer for me.

The question is, why do we infantilize creatures of horror the way we do in our modern culture? Why do we tend to make them "cute"? For my money, one of the most profound and telling examples of this is the beloved series of monster cereals from General Mills: Most famously Frankenberry and Count Chocula, but also their occasional friends Boo Berry, and yes, even Yummy Mummy. Here we have creatures that once inspired genuine terror in the hearts of men (and women)--turned into tasty, sugary treats for children (young and old) to eat while watching cartoons on a Saturday morning.

Think about it for a moment. Let's deconstruct, shall we? Once we peel back the layers of cuteness, what do we have? A cereal made in the likeness of a murderous, mindless being stitched together from corpses, and another in the likeness of a demonic vampire who drains the blood of the living. A cereal based on the immortal soul of a human being who has passed on, and another on the mummified and resurrected corpse of an ancient Egyptian pharoah. Granted, that's certainly reading a lot into it, but at the very base of it, isn't it true?

In the case of three of those monsters, the origins in popular culture can be traced to the classic Universal horror films of the early 1930s. Were it not for those films, there would certainly be no General Mills monster cereals. Yet those films were intended as straight-up horror, to chill the blood and inspire terror in the masses. And even before the days of motion pictures, the legends those films were based on stretch back even further into time--the novels of Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker; and further still, the dark folklore of ancient and medieval Europe, in which creatures such as vampires were wretched, repulsive enemies of humanity.

And yet fast forward a few centuries, and we're sitting on the couch munching on their little faces, soaked in multi-colored milky goodness. The ad campaigns surrounding the cereals have turned the monsters in cartoon characters, voiced in the likeness of famous horror actors of the past like Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Peter Lorre (again, individuals whose job was to inspire abject fear, now transformed into juvenile comedy).

Clearly, the bite of the classic monsters (pardon the pun) is dulled by portrayals such as this. I'm not saying they still don't have the power to terrify us--personally, I find Dracula, Frankenstein and The Mummy to still be frightening and powerful horror films. Nevertheless, it can't be denied that creatures which were once taken far more seriously have now become safe, tame, and consumable by children.

Why has this happened? Familiarity is part of it, to be sure. After all these years of being seared into our consciousness, Drac, Frank and the gang are more like old friends than entities out to destroy us. There's also the type of thinking alluded to earlier: Specifically, our willingness to take something which frightens us and defang it (quite litereally) so we can more easily process it psychologically.

Since death is at the very heart of horror, it's no suprise that most monsters are linked very closely to it. When we break it down, every single one of the General Mills cereal monsters is technically a dead person. Quite jarring to analyze it that way, but also quite true. They are based on beings which do nothing if not remind us of our own mortality. This is the basic source of the horror they all inspire; whether ghost, mummy, vampire, or flesh golem.

And so we do what we always do--we protect ourselves from what we fear, in this case using one of the most tried-and-true methods. We take away its power by turning it into something which is a parody of itself, a harmless representation suitable for small children--so far removed from its origins that one really has to do some mental gymnastics to make the connection.

But the connection remains--twisted, warped and mangled far from its original meaning--yet still there. We've transformed the monstrous into something more manageable, but it's still present, if only we look hard enough. So the next time you're loafing on your recliner, a heaping bowl of Frankenberry and pink milk sitting on your belly as you take in ESPN Sportscenter, think long and hard about the gruesome, undead, homicidal atrocities that inspired your delicious, cavity-inducing breakfast.

Bon appetit!

Tweet

The Lucky 13: Week Six: Vampires

The history of horror is populated with a cornucopia of malicious monsters to chill the blood and excite the imagination. But for roughly the past eight decades, one monster in particular has stood head and shoulders above the rest as the most prominent, and the most readily identifiable with the genre: the vampire.

There's something about the vampire's ability to literally drain away human life that seems to resonate at the very epicenter of what horror is all about. From ancient folklore to Victorian literature, and eventually on the silver screen, they have called to us, both terrifying and irresistible. Vampires have been the subject of countless horror films. As challenging as it may have been, our crew--along with the Brutal as Hell gang--have selected our all-time favorites. Read on, and remember, the dead travel fast...

B-Sol on Nosferatu

Not only the greatest horror film of the 1920s, but I believe an argument could be made that it might be the finest horror film ever. However, I'll just say it's my all-time favorite vampire flick, and leave it at that. Pure joy for any true horror fan, from beginning to end, Max Schreck's exploits as the demonic Count Orlock make up an almost transcendent experience of movie viewing. It might be easy and predictable to choose this one, but I choose it for a reason--it is the most frightening movie of its era, and still the most rewarding to watch. Not to mention the best screen adaptation of Dracula.

But despite Nosferatu technically being a Dracula adaptation, Max Schreck's Orlock is an entity all on his own, with a distinct persona and look that virtually transcends horror cinema, if not cinema as a whole. The rising out of the casket, the unforgettable shadow-walk up those stairs. This, readers, is the stuff of cinematic horror immortality. It gets no better.



Fandomania's Paige MacGregor on Underworld

It’s surprising how few vampire films I’ve watched, given how many vampire books and novels I’ve read over the past several years. Fortunately, I’ve managed to avoid the majority of the Twilight franchise, limiting my experience of vampires on the silver screen to the laughable Gerard Butler film Dracula 2000, Robert Rodriguez’ From Dusk Till Dawn, the classic vampire film Nosferatu, and the ever-popular Underworld franchise. For various reasons, I recently reached the conclusion that of this limited selection, Underworld has made its way to the top of my vampire horror movie list to become my favorite movie featuring the blood-sucking undead.

Although Underworld isn’t particularly intellectually stimulating, it is a fast-paced action-adventure horror film with vampires, werewolves (or lycans, as they’re called in the film), and a centuries-old war raging between the two factions. Using the traditional star-crossed lovers theme of Romeo and Juliet, Underworld follows the sexy, self-sufficient vampire Selene (Kate Beckinsale) as she falls in love with a human named Michael Corvin (Scott Speedman). Unfortunately, Michael was bitten by a lycan and is undergoing the painful process of becoming one of Selene's mortal enemies.

Many people will be surprised to know that Underworld was my first introduction to both Kate Beckinsale and Bill Nighy, two actors that I really like. In my opinion, Len Wiseman's casting in Underworld is phenomenal; Beckinsale is the essence of the vampire Selene, and her porcelain complexion couldn't be more perfect for the role. In addition, Bill Nighy is unbelievable as one of the first vampires ever created, corrupt and cruel and filled with hatred for the lycans. The special effects used to turn Nighy into the blood-deprived corpse as he first appears in Underworld is very well done, but without Nighy's effective acting and powerful presence, the role would've fallen flat.

I also love the visual style that Len Wisemen and his Oscar-nominated cinematographer, Tony Pierce-Roberts (Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, De-Lovely), use in Underworld. Everything from the rainy urban landscape and the vampires’ massive, hulking mansion, to the skin-tight black leather that Selene wears and the dark, shadowy complexions of the lycans contributes to the stunning contrast of lights and darks that characterize the film’s cinematography. In addition, the camerawork in Underworld is superb. Establishing shots are often grand urban vistas. Even the use of CGI in these shots is flawless, creating images that convey both the dark, secretive nature of the vampires and lycans while also expressing the enormity of the landscape in which they dwell.

The use of slow motion camerawork during the climactic fight scene at the end of Underworld is genius given the speed attributed to both lycans and vampires in the film. This fight sequence is dissimilar from many of the fight scenes in other contemporary films like Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man 3, which often feature images that move too fast for audiences to follow adequately. Instead, Wiseman and his production team used slow motion not only to keep viewers in the loop with regards to the mechanics of the fight, but also to highlight the beauty of the fight choreography itself.

It is no wonder to me that Underworld spawned both a sequel and a prequel, with yet another sequel rumored to be in production. The leading lady is a sexpot with giant pistols and a hunger for blood, the cinematography is breathtaking, and the story of love and betrayal is interesting, if not compelling. I look forward to a fourth installment of the Underworld franchise, and I hope someone talks Beckinsale back into a skin-tight suit of leather for me.



From Beyond Depraved's Joe Monster on Fright Night

Vampires and I kind of have a quirky romantic comedy-esque relationship. One minute I’m fawning over the genre for its brilliance, suspense, and eroticism, and the next I’m pulling the hair from my scalp over the blasé simplification and mindless exploitation of its powerful themes (hello, Ms. Meyers…). It would be difficult for me to cite a vampire film from the last thirty years that I’ve seen and can call my favorite. Modern flicks concerning the nosferatu tend to just fall flat with me, no more memorable than the last fast-food burger that slithered down one’s throat. Not so, however, with a little film from the '80s called Fright Night.

From the very first time I viewed Fright Night (on a double-bill with Creepshow, no less!), I knew that I had happened upon something magical. If I’m not mistaken, it was the very first modern vampire movie to have been viewed by my young, impressionable eyes. Up until that point I had only been acquainted with the likes of Lugosi, Lee, and the rest of the gang as they creaked their way through cobwebbed castles and crypts. This was an entirely new experience. Vampires in today’s world? My adolescent spine shuddered at the very thought. Not to mention the overt sensuality exhibited by the charming-as-hell Chris Sarandon and his bloodsucking brethren. Seeing the act of vampirism turned into an appealing and sexual act was a giant bombshell that went off in my brain. Like the ravaged wasteland of a real explosion, my perspective on vampires would never be the same again.

Fright Night is a wild ride, a film packed with homages to those Universal and Hammer terrors, but with a decidedly 80’s flavor. For instance, the vampire’s abode is your typical Gothic house squatting in an impenetrable mist and filled with ghostly antiquities. But a few scenes later we’re transported to a bustling nightclub where the synthesizers blare through the speakers and the dancers have more hair than the members of a werewolf convention. The mixture creates a highly electric and downright fun atmosphere that won’t be forgotten for some time. The powerhouse performances from the ensemble cast bring the movie to a whole new level. I could go on for days about how every role is fully realized and the amazing chemistry that sparks between each actor. Magic like this is a rarity, particularly in horror films. But somehow Fright Night makes it seem like a feat that can be accomplished with a passive wave of the hand.

I love watching movies made by filmmakers who actually love horror movies. The passion and hard work put forth shines in every shot, the loving product of a devoted craftsman. Fright Night is a prime example of just that type of genius. Even though some may see it at worst as only a fair parody of the vampire theme, I actually think it’s one of the sub-genre’s highest achievements. This is how the undead were meant to be seen. Sinister, mysterious, terrifying, and oh-so-seductive (no sparkles included). Fright Night is just the film I’d instantly recommend to anyone seeking a good time with some bloodthirsty friends. It’s everything you’ve been waiting for, with just a little more of a… bite.



Cinema Suicide's Bryan White on Dracula (1931)

My taste in horror trends toward the '70s and '80s, but not even I can resist the baroque charms of Bela freakin' Lugosi as the original vampire. Dracula is a movie that needs no introduction. Lugosi's performance was so intense and profound that even in times when the vampire was represented most commonly by Lestat and Edward Cullen, the cape and brow is still iconic. Slick your hair, throw on a tux and vaguely ceremonial medallion and you're instantly recognizable as Count Dracula 80 years later.

Tod Browning's movie throws most of Bram Stoker's novel out the window and it mixes and matches characters, but the major themes remain. It also represents the beginning of a golden age of horror for Universal Studios where every picture was drenched in crashing thunder and crumbling castles and unmatched performances by legends of the genre. Every god damn frame of Tod Browning's movie is deliberately crafted for maximum gothic. Shots of Lugosi frame his imposing presence perfectly and his intense, burning stare is highlighted frequently by a band of light across the eyes to entrance you exactly as his vampiric stare is supposed to be doing to the cast.

Dracula is fundamentally awesome; the text-book by which all horror films follow and a subtle exercise in how to sneak themes of kinky domination and submission into a movie made in a very chaste studio system. It plays a heavy hand at times, rubbing your nose in its intensity but this expertly crafted horror film is so perfect that it just doesn't matter if it feels excessive. The Count, his vampire brides, his accent and his sinister influence are such incredible storytelling elements and played so perfectly by Bela Lugosi that by comparison, the Harkers and Abraham Van Helsing seem like total downers. Not to put too fine a point on it, I love Dracula.

I'll tell you what else: Mexican Dracula is pretty cool, too.



* * * * * * * * * *

Head over to Brutal as Hell to see what Marc Patterson and his crew have come up with. And if you're interested in taking part in the future, just give Marc or myself a holler.

Week 1: Grindhouse & Exploitation
Week 2: Creature Features & Monster Movies
Week 3: Demons, Witches & The Devil
Week 4: Gore!
Week 5: Horror Comedies

Join us next week, when we get all brainy and tackle the sub-genre of psychological horror!

Tweet

TRAILER TRASH: Dracula Edition!

Tweet

The Many Faces of John Carradine

Tweet