Cult TV-Movie Review: Dan Curtis's Dracula (1974)

In 1897, Jonathan Harker (Murray Brown) travels to Hungary, and meets with his client, Count Dracula (Jack Palance), at the count’s castle in the Carpathians. 

After entering the estate freely -- of his “own will” -- Harker attempts to secure property in England for his host: dilapidated Carfax Abbey.

Meanwhile, Dracula shows a suspicious interest in Harker’s photograph of his fiancé, Mina Murray (Penelope Horner), and her friend, Lucy (Fiona Lewis).

The undead Dracula unlooses his three vampire brides on Harker, and leaves for England. 

Five weeks later, there are reports in Whitby, England of the arrival of a ghost ship, the Demeter, and its dead crew.  Soon, Lucy falls ill, the victim of some apparent mystery illness.

In truth, Dracula is draining Lucy’s blood, a little each night. A brilliant scientist, Van Helsing (Nigel Davenport) arrives to help, and evidence leads him to the conclusion that a vampire is responsible for her suffering. 

This Dan Curtis TV-movie from 1974 is not the most notable production of Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula, perhaps, but it certainly earns points for a grim atmosphere of seriousness in its depiction of the famous “preternatural being,” and his campaign of terror in Victorian England.

The tele-film starts out as an uber-faithful adaptation of Stoker’s work, beginning with the Harker interlude, but as it goes on, it becomes less and less faithful to the source material. This is a result, perhaps, of budgetary or time restraints. 

For instance, Renfield is absent from this version entirely. Lucy’s three suitors are not present either, replaced by the character named Arthur (Sion Ward) instead.

And yet surprisingly -- since this was broadcast on network television -- the film doesn’t shy away from the sexual implication of the story. 

There is a scene here, for example, of Lucy dropping to her knees before a standing Dracula, which, when coupled with the disrobing of her bandaged neck, suggests wanton, sensual abandon.

The film's photography, by Oswald Morris, is quite powerful, and director Curtis shows a facility with film grammar when it comes to establishing Dracula's frightful power.

But any production of Dracula rises and falls on its depiction of the titular character.

Here Jack Palance plays the count squinty-eyed and labored,  an approach which suggests that Dracula is often in terrible physical pain, perhaps from his yearning for blood; or perhaps because of his yearning for companionship.  

Even Dracula’s death feels highly personal here. We (the audience) are on the receiving end of the wooden stake, looking right into Van Helsing’s eyes as the death blow is delivered. From this perspective, it’s as though we are being murdered.

The story, adapted by Richard Matheson, dispenses with some of Stoker’s more nightmarish (but expensive) imagery such as the blue rings of fire on the path to Dracula’s castle, or the dark count scaling the tower walls of his home.

The teleplay also invents a “human” motivation for Dracula’s campaign of terror, his invasion of England. In this case, Lucy is a dead ringer for the vampire’s long lost wife, whom he misses desperately. Intriguingly, this subplot (though changed to Mina...) is also included in Coppola’s 1992 Bram Stoker’s Dracula, though it is not a facet of Stoker’s original work in any way, shape, or form..

The epistolary structure of the novel is also missing here, but the core of Stoker’s work -- the “new” technology and science of the Victorian era (such as hypnosis…) of England vs the old world magic and romanticism of Dracula’s world -- remains largely intact. 

Van Helsing is portrayed as a particularly pragmatic sort of scientist, noting that he accepts “what is,” whether science agrees with the idea or not. The underlying notion is of a world of mysteries that mankind is conquering, one at a time. Advances in science, philosophy and technology are making that happen, so that the Draculas of the world are becoming fewer, or less dangerous.

It’s also illuminating, I hope, to note that there seems to be no appetite here for some of Stoker’s over-exposed dialogue (“creatures of the night….”). Instead the focus is on a very physically-intimidating Dracula. This Dracula doesn’t rely on transformations into mist or wolves -- again, too expensive -- but instead throws people out of windows and engages physically with his nemeses.

Dan Curtis’s Dracula is generally high-regarded among critics and fans of the vampire, and it’s easy to see why this is the case.

The tele-film is much more faithful to the source material than many of the 1930’s or 1950’s films were, and the Dan Curtis production seems grounded in a way that other dramatizations do not.  Today, the film feels a bit restricted by its origin and nature as a TV-movie, but still impresses, on more than one occasion. On paper, Palance doesn't seem a good choice for the title role, but he is able to project the power, anger, and tragedy of the count in a way that is worth remembering. 

Television and Cinema Verities: Dracula Edition

“I didn’t play him as out and out evil. It’s a delicious cocktail because you know he is like the devil. But I’ve tried to show the good and bad paralleling one another – there’s a dynamic there. The film image I can’t get away from is Bela Lugosi. He was really onto something: the way he moved, the way he sounded. I based my voice on his a little.”

- Gary Oldman discusses playing the famous vampire count, in The Making of Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Television and Cinema Verities #67

"Dracula as a character is very erotic. He becomes very attractive to women for that reason. A woman can be totally passive with Dracula: 'he made me drink, I couldn't help it.' I think it's possible for both men and women to imagine being taken in that way. Dracula seems to represent a kind of doorway to sexual abandonment not possible with a mere mortal. Besides, he's offering immortality."

- Frank Langella discusses the role of Dracula, from 1979, in U.S. Magazine.

CULT TV FLASHBACK # 72: Buck Rogers in the 25th Century: "Space Vampire" (1980)

When I was eleven years old, the Buck Rogers in the 25th Century (1979 - 1981) episode about a monster called a "Vorvon," was probably the scariest thing I had yet seen on network television.

That episode, titled simply "Space Vampire," aired on January 3, 1980 on NBC, and the Kathleen Barnes and David Wise teleplay concerned Captain Buck Rogers' (Gil Gerard) chilling encounter on Theta Space Station with a cosmic Nosferatu or Un-Dead, a soul stealer known as a "Vorvon."

Although Buck Rogers might rightly be accused of exploiting the popularity of Dracula in the pop culture in 1979 -- a year which saw the release of John Badham's Dracula, Werner Herzog's Nosferatu and even Love at First Bite -- the "Space Vampire" episode of the first season nonetheless remains one of the series highlights: unnervingly creepy, uncharacteristically somber, and wholly dread-filled. This is true even if by adult standards we today judge the program to border on camp.

However, I watched the episode again recently with a friend's ten year old son and it thoroughly freaked him out. So there's definitely something frightening there; at least to impressionable young minds.

In "Space Vampire" a "space age vampire stalks a lonely space station," according to the teaser, and that summary pretty much nails the whole story. Buck and Wilma drop off Twiki for repairs at Theta Station but instead of getting away for their vacation on Genesia, they witness a starship (the Gemonese Freighter from Battlestar Galactica actually...) plunge through Stargate Nine and collide with the station.

The inner atmosphere of Theta is contaminated, and the logs of the derelict -- the I.S. Demeter -- suggest the crew and passengers were suffering from hallucinations and "mental deterioration" brought on by the Denebian virus EL7.

After the station's Dr Ecbar (Lincoln Kilpatrick) reveals to Buck that the crew of Demeter is not dead, but rather drained of "spirit," Buck suspects a being, not a disease, is the culprit.

He's right: The evil Vorvon (Nicholas Hormann) creates undead minions out of the station crew (who appear replete with two discolorations on their neck...). He then prepares to make the uncharacteristically terrified Wilma Deering (Erin Gray) his immortal bride.

One aspect of "Space Vampire" I rather enjoy is the deliberate homage to the epistolary nature of Bram Stoker's 1897 novel. As you'll recall, the literary Dracula was crafted in the form of various collected letters and communiques. The whole story was conjured through the filter of newspaper clippings, Mina's Diary, Seward's phonograph recordings, and Jonathan Harker's journal.

For all its disco-decade glitz, cheap sets and callow characterization, Buck Rogers actually pinpoints a decent "space age" corollary to Stoker's literary approach, permitting the stalwart Buck to assemble the story (and history) of the Vorvon from various 25th century media sources, though all visual in nature: the captain's log from the Demeter, the servo drone recordings of a Demeter passenger (and bounty hunter) from "New London" named Helson (Van Helsing), and even helpful communiques from Dr. Huer and Dr. Theopolis on Earth.

The other parallels to Dracula are much more obvious. The only thing to ward off the Vorvon is called an "ancient power lock," the "25th century equivalent of a cross," in Buck's own words.

What's funny (and silly...) about this "ancient power lock" is that it is really just Commander Adama's collar medallion from Battlestar Galactica. And ironically, Adama was played by Lorne Greene, a man who had recently portrayed Dracula himself in an episode of The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries in 1977! Yep, it's Six Degrees of Dracula...

The Vorvon can also mesmerize his victims and change forms at will, another recognizable trait. Just as Dracula could turn to mist, wolf, bat or other form, the Vorvon here often takes the shape of a red, pulsating energy blob that hovers overhead. This non-corporeal form gives the makers of the episode license to provide some examples of crimson-hued, P.O.V. shots. Call it "Vorvon Vision," all rendered from dramatic and doom-laden high-angles as Wilma is stalked by the Monster.

Obviously, the name of the derelict ship, the Demeter, itself originates from Stoker's novel and serves the same purpose in both texts: carrying the "disease" (Dracula or Vorvon) to civilization.

Even the uni-browed, long-fingered physical appearance of the Vorvon is similar to Stoker's written description of the vampire.

From almost a cinema of vampire cinema, the episode appropriates the idea that the Vorvon cannot survive in sunlight, and in an interesting final twist, Buck destroys the soul sucker by flying it into a star itself.

There are actually some pretty solid horror compositions in this episode too...to my surprise. A slow pan marks the Vorvon's first appearance as a humanoid. We pan across the Theta Station Lounge (where an arcade video game unit, circa 1979 is plainly visible...) and see Buck ordering drinks at the bar. When the camera pans back (all in one shot), the Vorvon is suddenly seated at a previously empty table...staring at Wilma with malevolent eyes.

There's also a great shot (pictured above), in which the undead Dr. Ecbar is struck down and collapses directly in front of a flashlight, his ghoulish pallor suddenly illuminated in the relative darkness. Together, a few clever compositions like these examples economically enhance Wilma's stated fear of "death as a tangible presence."

And finally, you haven't truly lived until you've seen Erin Gray -- in a skin-tight spandex cat-suit -- playing the soulless, avaricious, seductive bride of the Vorvon. But seriously, what makes "Space Vampire" resonate, I think, is Wilma's pervasive fear of the Vorvon, and the fact that nobody seems to believe that it is hunting her. Wilma just knows she can't escape it...and she almost doesn't. There's a feeling of powerless here; and a sweeping inevitability in the narrative. It may not be Shakespeare -- or Stoker -- but it works.

"Space Vampire" may not be the best episode of Buck Rogers (I'm rather fond of the two-parter called "The Plot to Kill a City"), but it is certainly the single installment that most people of my generation seem to remember most fondly.

Yep, it definitely made an impression. For me, this 1980 Buck Rogers episode played a crucial role in my youthful education. It was shortly after seeing "Space Vampire" that I sought out Bram Stoker's novel and read it (with shivers...) for the very first time; not to mention the time period in which I first discovered the Marvel Dracula comic, Tomb of Dracula...