Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992)
Bram Stoker’s Dracula makes a convincing case for warranting another adaptation of an already much-adapted novel. It’s a lush, erotic, frightening, romantic, highly theatrical experience – a film that isn’t afraid to embrace the reality that movies are nothing more than elaborate smoke-and-mirror acts. Rather than rely on more modern advances in special effects and art direction, director Francis Ford Coppola opts for some of the oldest cinematic tricks in the book, from rear and front projection to miniatures to forced perspective to puppeteering to silhouettes to reverse photography to in-camera double exposure techniques. As was the case with Coppola’s own One from the Heart, many shots look staged and exaggerated, in the best possible sense. Here’s a real triumph of atmosphere, genre, and imagination.
Even the performances are of a heightened reality. Two in particular stand out as the strongest. First, there’s the title character, brought to life by Gary Oldman. In much the same way as when Bela Lugosi brought him to life in 1931, he’s utterly devoid of subtlety; although there is character development, it’s more about getting all the instantly-recognizable mannerisms of late nineteenth-century gothic fiction down pat, such as piercing expressions, dramatic hand gestures, lustful urges, and the lack of an emotional gray zone between restrained intensity and overt outbursts. His Transylvanian accent is just artificial enough to clue us in, but not so artificial that it stops being fun – especially when he delivers his lines about never drinking wine and the sweet music made by the children of the night.
Second, there’s Abraham Van Helsing, now played by Anthony Hopkins. Like Dracula, he speaks in a heightened accent – German, in this case – and has some very distinct eccentricities. When he realizes that Dracula is the foe he has pursued all his life, for example, he breaks into an excited reverie then immediately summons his protégé, Dr. Seward (Richard E. Grant), to feed him because he’s starving. He will also break into a sudden waltz with a noticeably flabbergasted Mina Murray (Winona Ryder), then lean in close to smell her, presumably to determine whether or not she has been in Dracula’s presence. And he will use the inappropriate occasion of a funeral to quite seriously ask for postmortem knives, not for an autopsy, but to behead and eviscerate a vampire.
Most of the other performances are notable. There’s wonderful chemistry between Ryder and Sadie Frost, the latter playing Mina’s childhood best friend, the rich and very sexually-outspoken Lucy Westenra. I was also intrigued by scenes featuring Grant, Cary Elwes, and Bill Campbell, whose characters share both a camaraderie and a rivalry as Lucy’s suitors. And I must make mention of Tom Waits, whose take on the insane, insect-munching Renfield easily matches Oldman’s delicious theatricality. Alas, the decision to cast Keanu Reeves as Jonathan Harker, Mina’s finacé, is one I find questionable; his emotional range is convincing, but the same cannot be said about the British accent his role required.
My God, but the film looks incredible. Of particular interest are Eiko Ishioka’s costume designs, which effectively straddle the line between the authentic and the fanciful, and Michael Bellhaus’ cinematography, the warm colors and deep shadows masterfully intertwined into a gothic visual delight. The imagery is heightened by the aforementioned special effects choices, which harken back to the earliest days of cinema. One of the best effects was, I suspect, one of the simplest to achieve; with lighting tricks and silhouette body doubles, Coppola gives us a Count Dracula whose shadow is a living being unto itself, able to move independently of the body casting it. Basic makeup and costume changes develop the title character further – a creature that freely alternates in appearance between old and young, man and beast, physical and non-corporeal.
I haven’t said a great deal about the plot, mostly because it has by now become extremely well-known. Of note, however, is the addition of Dracula’s backstory, loosely inspired by the real-life history of Vlad the Impaler; with its reliance on the Lost Love narrative convention, it establishes Dracula as a tragic figure rather than a monster. The film is also more explicitly erotic than many previous adaptations, with one scene in particular between Reeves and Dracula’s brides nearly erasing the line separating traditional R-rated material from softcore pornography. This isn’t to suggest that Bram Stoker’s Dracula is tawdry or sensationalistic. If anything, the film has risen to new artistic heights, going not merely for thrills and chills but also for stimulating visual splendors.
