Dwight Frye as "Renfield"
I just discovered Pre-Code horror movies, and I have been pleasantly surprised by their artistic merit and wild imagination. The "Code" I am referring to is the general standard against which the movie review board, the MPAA, judged new films before they were widely released. Between the advent of films with sound and the introduction (or adherence to) the bespoke "Code", auteur directors could depict sex, violence, and other immoral acts with relatively little consequences. Apparently, attitudes towards these things were fairly liberal in the "flapper girl" 1920s and Al Capone 1930s. Heading into the mid-1930s, however, key changes in Hollywood film administrations led to stricter codes and censorship at the movies. This meant no "lustful" kisses for Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.
In one of my earlier reviews, I wrote about how impressed I was with James Cagney and The Public Enemy (1931). My conceptions about early film were heavily influenced by 1940s romance stories which often put me to sleep and made no sense. I was shocked that such an early film could hold me in suspense during its entire runtime, and brutalize the lives of its protagonists in the name of narrative truth. It stands to reason that the parallel rise of horror in film would lead to similarly groundbreaking cinema palatable even to the pickiest Gen Z movie reviewer.
Bram Stoker's Dracula and I have become well-acquainted during the past few weeks. I was fascinated by the novel's impact on culture and the fertile cultural stew (yuck) that spawned it. Nine years before Irish author Bram Stoker penned his story, the very real serial killer Jack the Ripper murdered five women in London. An elusive nighttime predator whose modus operandi was clearly sexual and exceedingly violent sent the city into an uproar of outrage and fear. Hacky journalists exploited the terror with sensationalistic headlines, arguably stymying the already overwhelmed investigative team. Additionally, it ignited tensions between native and immigrant, paupers and privileged (Whitechapel was an overpopulated slum), citizens and police. It remains unsolved, which greatly aggravates the forensics nerd in me. Time has granted the events a sort of mythical quality, which allows people to sensationalize and exploit them. Out of such a dark chasm, however, art will naturally follow, consciously or otherwise.
As a former newspaper contributor, Bram Stoker knew how to develop his novel as a collection of documented stories and diary entries, like Fargo or Blair Witch Project. However, his inspiration came not directly from London's Ripper, but from mythological tales told by Eastern European acquaintances. Many also theorize that a staunchly repressed homosexuality in Bram Stoker's personal life manifested itself in his writing. Perhaps he saw himself as the Count himself, otherized by his social environment and relegated to the shadows for his sexual orientation. Meanwhile, at night he can be free to express himself and reveal his irresistible sensuality. Coming out for Dracula means opening up his coffin and hitting the town. Any way you slice it, Dracula is a rich document with layers upon layers of history, cultures, and interpretations. That's my way of cutting this paragraph off. I'm not Ben Mankiewicz. I'll save it for Coppola's 1992 remake.
The film begins with Renfield's (Dwight Frye) fateful encounter with Dracula (Bela Lugosi) that drives him mad. Renowned creepy actor Frye is genuinely disturbing as the Count's first convert and follower, assisted by heavily shadowed eyes (a la Lon Chaney) and a kooky laugh. The second attempt at selling Dracula real estate starts with the classic ascent through Borgo Pass and increasingly weird happenings. John Harker (David Manners) encounters floppy bats suspended by wires, rats atop rats, and armadillos (!!!). I am really not sure why armadillos were chosen; I suppose they are exotic if you are from the East Coast and have never heard of the American Southwest before. 1931 audiences may have also been petrified by the sight of a cactus. Strategic lighting and Hungarian-American Bela Lugosi's inspired acting far outperform the rigid spider puppets being dragged up the stone walls of the castle. Lugosi established a lot of the Dracula flair we think of today, and was often imitated. However, Lugosi was only reluctantly cast by the producers in a moment of desperation, and even after Dracula he was typecast or sidelined in favor of bigger stars.
Dracula eventually arrives in London, after a spooky ride on a ghost ship where he devours the crew. He begins to make moves on the young female socialites of London, much to the annoyance of the stuffy, forgettable male characters. An expert in the paranormal, Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan), takes an interest in the unusual new resident. Van Sloan quickly becomes the more interesting of the actors as he directly confronts Dracula. Van Sloan, of Dutch and German descent, easily affects a Viennese accent and an eccentric personality. His dark sense of humor and scrunched-up look of curiosity define his performance. However, the screenplay over-utilizes him in an endless sequence of exposition and explanation apparently common in early science fiction and horror films. Not only is the middle part of the film redundant and lacking in suspense, it takes place in virtually the same setting the entire time. However, there are some exciting moments, like the classic no-reflection bit. It is quite strange that the confrontations between Van Helsing and Dracula are mostly characterized by direct, casual conversations with heavy suggestions and double entendre, like they are flirting. Not out of character for the story, I guess.
Eventually, Dracula takes Mina Harker as his partner in eternal life. Suddenly, the movie takes on a speedy pace. There are a few clumsy physical fights, and Van Helsing dispatches of the prince of darkness. The movie ends rather suddenly as the protagonists climb the stone stairs out of Carfax Abbey. Long set-ups and thrown-together climaxes seem to be a hallmark of early fright fests.
When I first put Dracula on for maximum spooky season thrills, I flat-out did not anticipate making it through the whole thing. I will admit that the middle portion was achingly boring, and I may have taken a short nap through it. However, my prior experience with black-and-white horror films comprised mainly of 1950s sci-fi horror films that get the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment. These often showcase low production values, laughable acting, and incomprehensible plots. Dracula outranks these B-movies any day.
But what is the big-screen Dracula adding to the conversation? I believe it capitalizes on the very same sexual anxiety that runs through Bram Stoker's original tale. A group of men try to grapple with their love interests being wooed by a more interesting man from an exotic, distant land. Eastern European immigration into the UK increased exponentially in the late 1800s. The differences between Victorian-era propriety and the "barbaric" ways of the East were stark and set the stage for a chaotic culture clash. Is Dracula an anti-Catholic story akin to the blood libel of Nazi Germany? The prime suspect in the Jack the Ripper case was a Polish barber, after all. In any case, when vastly different cultures collide, it makes for some intriguing chemical reactions that seep into our collective consciousness. This is where horror comes in, building a monster that communicates the tension between two ideas, two worlds, two eras (see Jeffrey J. Cohen's monster theory).
I shall grant Dracula a 5.0/10. For 1931, you could do a lot worse! Might I recommend the even bolder period horror, The Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933)?
In one of my earlier reviews, I wrote about how impressed I was with James Cagney and The Public Enemy (1931). My conceptions about early film were heavily influenced by 1940s romance stories which often put me to sleep and made no sense. I was shocked that such an early film could hold me in suspense during its entire runtime, and brutalize the lives of its protagonists in the name of narrative truth. It stands to reason that the parallel rise of horror in film would lead to similarly groundbreaking cinema palatable even to the pickiest Gen Z movie reviewer.
Bram Stoker's Dracula and I have become well-acquainted during the past few weeks. I was fascinated by the novel's impact on culture and the fertile cultural stew (yuck) that spawned it. Nine years before Irish author Bram Stoker penned his story, the very real serial killer Jack the Ripper murdered five women in London. An elusive nighttime predator whose modus operandi was clearly sexual and exceedingly violent sent the city into an uproar of outrage and fear. Hacky journalists exploited the terror with sensationalistic headlines, arguably stymying the already overwhelmed investigative team. Additionally, it ignited tensions between native and immigrant, paupers and privileged (Whitechapel was an overpopulated slum), citizens and police. It remains unsolved, which greatly aggravates the forensics nerd in me. Time has granted the events a sort of mythical quality, which allows people to sensationalize and exploit them. Out of such a dark chasm, however, art will naturally follow, consciously or otherwise.
As a former newspaper contributor, Bram Stoker knew how to develop his novel as a collection of documented stories and diary entries, like Fargo or Blair Witch Project. However, his inspiration came not directly from London's Ripper, but from mythological tales told by Eastern European acquaintances. Many also theorize that a staunchly repressed homosexuality in Bram Stoker's personal life manifested itself in his writing. Perhaps he saw himself as the Count himself, otherized by his social environment and relegated to the shadows for his sexual orientation. Meanwhile, at night he can be free to express himself and reveal his irresistible sensuality. Coming out for Dracula means opening up his coffin and hitting the town. Any way you slice it, Dracula is a rich document with layers upon layers of history, cultures, and interpretations. That's my way of cutting this paragraph off. I'm not Ben Mankiewicz. I'll save it for Coppola's 1992 remake.
The film begins with Renfield's (Dwight Frye) fateful encounter with Dracula (Bela Lugosi) that drives him mad. Renowned creepy actor Frye is genuinely disturbing as the Count's first convert and follower, assisted by heavily shadowed eyes (a la Lon Chaney) and a kooky laugh. The second attempt at selling Dracula real estate starts with the classic ascent through Borgo Pass and increasingly weird happenings. John Harker (David Manners) encounters floppy bats suspended by wires, rats atop rats, and armadillos (!!!). I am really not sure why armadillos were chosen; I suppose they are exotic if you are from the East Coast and have never heard of the American Southwest before. 1931 audiences may have also been petrified by the sight of a cactus. Strategic lighting and Hungarian-American Bela Lugosi's inspired acting far outperform the rigid spider puppets being dragged up the stone walls of the castle. Lugosi established a lot of the Dracula flair we think of today, and was often imitated. However, Lugosi was only reluctantly cast by the producers in a moment of desperation, and even after Dracula he was typecast or sidelined in favor of bigger stars.
Dracula eventually arrives in London, after a spooky ride on a ghost ship where he devours the crew. He begins to make moves on the young female socialites of London, much to the annoyance of the stuffy, forgettable male characters. An expert in the paranormal, Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan), takes an interest in the unusual new resident. Van Sloan quickly becomes the more interesting of the actors as he directly confronts Dracula. Van Sloan, of Dutch and German descent, easily affects a Viennese accent and an eccentric personality. His dark sense of humor and scrunched-up look of curiosity define his performance. However, the screenplay over-utilizes him in an endless sequence of exposition and explanation apparently common in early science fiction and horror films. Not only is the middle part of the film redundant and lacking in suspense, it takes place in virtually the same setting the entire time. However, there are some exciting moments, like the classic no-reflection bit. It is quite strange that the confrontations between Van Helsing and Dracula are mostly characterized by direct, casual conversations with heavy suggestions and double entendre, like they are flirting. Not out of character for the story, I guess.
Eventually, Dracula takes Mina Harker as his partner in eternal life. Suddenly, the movie takes on a speedy pace. There are a few clumsy physical fights, and Van Helsing dispatches of the prince of darkness. The movie ends rather suddenly as the protagonists climb the stone stairs out of Carfax Abbey. Long set-ups and thrown-together climaxes seem to be a hallmark of early fright fests.
When I first put Dracula on for maximum spooky season thrills, I flat-out did not anticipate making it through the whole thing. I will admit that the middle portion was achingly boring, and I may have taken a short nap through it. However, my prior experience with black-and-white horror films comprised mainly of 1950s sci-fi horror films that get the Mystery Science Theater 3000 treatment. These often showcase low production values, laughable acting, and incomprehensible plots. Dracula outranks these B-movies any day.
But what is the big-screen Dracula adding to the conversation? I believe it capitalizes on the very same sexual anxiety that runs through Bram Stoker's original tale. A group of men try to grapple with their love interests being wooed by a more interesting man from an exotic, distant land. Eastern European immigration into the UK increased exponentially in the late 1800s. The differences between Victorian-era propriety and the "barbaric" ways of the East were stark and set the stage for a chaotic culture clash. Is Dracula an anti-Catholic story akin to the blood libel of Nazi Germany? The prime suspect in the Jack the Ripper case was a Polish barber, after all. In any case, when vastly different cultures collide, it makes for some intriguing chemical reactions that seep into our collective consciousness. This is where horror comes in, building a monster that communicates the tension between two ideas, two worlds, two eras (see Jeffrey J. Cohen's monster theory).
I shall grant Dracula a 5.0/10. For 1931, you could do a lot worse! Might I recommend the even bolder period horror, The Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933)?
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