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Bram Stoker's Dracula
Bram Stoker’s Dracula plays like a celebration of overkill. It is the kind of film in which the camera spins at such a fast rate that your eyes can barely keep up. Every shot is designed to show off the stupendous set designs and costumes. The soundtrack is so overwrought that it drowns out all characterization, and to compensate, the actors scream every line in exaggerated foreign accents. In the end, you are rubbing your head and reaching for aspirin. To make matters worse, the title is a big, fat lie. While Francis Ford Coppola’s film follows the basic storyline from the text, this is not Bram Stoker’s Dracula in terms of theme. The film incorporates romance and sexuality that Stoker only hinted upon. I understand the need to make things obvious to modern day filmgoers, who like things clearly spelled out to them, but focusing most of the film on a romantic subplot from which there is no evidence of in the book makes this Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula, not Bram Stoker’s. I certainly don’t mind alterations on an old story, but by calling this film Bram Stoker’s Dracula, there is an implication that it is a faithful adaptation to the classic Victorian-Gothic novel, and this simply isn’t the case. The title is therefore intentionally deceiving. Never mind, though—let’s talk about the movie. Coppola actually has a wonderful idea that could potentially set up a very powerful retelling of the Dracula story: He incorporates the historical Vlad the Impaler, whom Stoker based the Count off of. Sadly, the inspiration ends here. The opening prologue is something of a medieval soap opera, redefining Dracula’s origins as a valiant warrior who would rather hold a grudge for several centuries than mourn the loss of a loved one and move on; when we first meet the Count (played by Gary Oldman), he a God-fearing, medieval Transylvanian king. After winning victory over the Turks, he kisses a cross and praises God, but upon returning to his castle, he finds that his wife has been wrongly informed of his death and has committed suicide. The high priests inform him that because she killed herself, her soul will be damned forever. In a fit of rage, Dracula renounces God, drinks blood as it oozes out of a cross, and vows to avenge his lover’s death for all eternity. Cut to the title card as the music swells. From here, the film begins as the book does, as Jonathan Harker (Keanu Reeves), a real estate agent, travels to Transylvania to conduct business with a certain Count Dracula, who wants to relocate to London. Harker has a lovely fiancé named Mina (Winona Ryder), who urges him to return soon. Upon traveling to Transylvania and meeting Dracula in his gigantic, cathedral-like castle, however, Harker realizes that a return to England will not be so easy, and that Dracula has motives that are not quite…erm…pure. That’s as much as I’ll give away for now—if you are familiar with Bram Stoker’s novel, you’ll know what happens. If you are not familiar, you should probably read the book first before trying to make heads or tails out of this nearly incoherent film. It is impossible not to admire the set design, which deservedly won an Oscar. Coppola creates mood and atmosphere in the colorful worlds of Transylvania and late nineteenth-century London, but mood is all that he successfully creates. Coppola seems to forget as we watch this spectacle that just as much as we need to know how things happen, we also need to know why. Certainly the creeping shadows that move independently of their owners or an army of vicious rats scattering across the floor or Dracula’s transformation into a werewolf are all fantastic spectacles for the eyes. The problem is that we are given so many special effects and neat camera tricks that the film becomes a collage of gimmicks instead of a coherent film. As the camera follows the eyes of Dracula as he stalks the earth for victims, I was certainly riveted, but I also realized that this was only happening to show me how cool it looked, not to advance the storyline or the characters. After the scenes in Transylvania, the plot shifts to London where Dracula successfully moves and begins to set up his base of “operations.” In the novel, this shift becomes a time to introduce the group of fearless vampire hunters, led by Abraham Van Helsing (Anthony Hopkins) and including Dr. Seward (Richard E. Grant), Lord Arthur Holmwood (Cary Elwes) and Texan Quincy Morris (Bill Campell). These characters are all still in the film, but they are reduced to cardboard cut-outs. Coppola instead focuses his interest towards a romance between Dracula and Mina of his own invention. As it turns out, Mina is—you guessed it—the reincarnation of Dracula’s long lost love, and the plotline of the novel becomes a foundation to show us endless scenes of Prince Vlad seducing her. Again, I don’t mind a revisionist Dracula story, but these romantic scenes are acted with such melodrama and filmed with such a dizzying camera that they induce more laughter than sympathy. In one particular scene, Mina begs Dracula to turn her into one of his children, and Dracula refuses, throwing his arms up into the air and exclaiming, “I love you too much to condemn you!” This could have been touching, but the camera moves so quickly and the actors speak their lines with such overwrought emotion that the mood is drowned out in the frenzy. The whole film moves like this—the pacing is so quick and the cuts are so furious that the movie never slows down to let us breath. All through Bram Stoker’s Dracula, I longed for one quiet moment in which the characters would just sit down and talk, with the camera resting peacefully upon them. They could have talked about anything and I’d have been satisfied (how is the weather in London this time of year, anyway)? As
I have indicated, the acting does not help. Absolutely no one
plays this thing subtly. It was as if all of the cast members
know that they are competing against the special effects and therefore
scream at the top of their lungs and throw their arms around to
be noticed. As Dracula, Oldman seems to be channeling Andrew Lloyd
Webber’s Phantom of the Opera more than Christopher Lee.
He is the true protagonist of the picture—angry, alone,
sorrowful, and depressed. The only thing he fails to be is frightening.
This is not Dracula; it is a five-hundred year old child who never
grew up. The supporting cast is no better: Keanu Reeves spends
most of the film concentrating on getting his accent right, Anthony
Hopkins cackles and wisecracks like a drunkard and loses any credibility
as a know-all expert on evil, and Winona Ryder is too busy trying
to act like a modern heroine to convincingly demonstrate her torn
loyalty between the forces of good and evil. Richard Grant, Cary
Elwes, and Bill Campell are table dressing and nothing more. Their
roles are so thankless that the same actor could have played all
of their parts and we would have never noticed. Click
here to read my review of Coppola-produced Mary Shelley's
Frankenstein.
Cast: Colombia Pictures presents
an American Zeotrope film. Directed by Francis Ford Coppola. Written
by James V. Hart, from the book by Bram Stoker. Rated R, for graphic
vampire violence, scary images, brief nudity and sexuality. Running
time: 128 minutes. Original United States theatrical release date:
November 13, 1992. Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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