‘Modern’ Dracula owes debt to 1972
Spoiler alert: This article contains multiple spoilers for Netflix’s Dracula. You have been warned...
Like many Kiwis of a certain age, I have fond memories of staying up way past my bedtime to catch a glimpse of TV2’s Sunday
Night Horrors.
‘‘[Lurking] menacingly,’’ as my pal, vintage horror expert, Alistair Hughes described it, ‘‘between Radio with Pictures and the Goodnight
Kiwi’’. Like a nightmare version of Masterpiece Theatre, those horrors are one of my favourite childhood memories.
My bro and I thought we were sooo clever, crouching behind the couch to watch Hammer’s
Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell, To the
Devil a Daughter, or my favourite, Dracula A.D. 1972, with its funk-tastic theme tune, while our folks dozed over their Horlicks.
I’m sure they knew we were there – they probably hoped the frights would teach us a lesson. More fool them, because we’ve both been twisted little horror-loving fiends ever since.
Which is why I was totally psyched to see fellow vintage horror nerd Mark Gatiss and his frequent collaborator Steven Moffat (Sherlock) giving
Dracula the 2020 treatment.
I watched the Netflix three-parter on a Sunday night, just like the old days, only this time I was sitting on the couch, not cowering behind it, eyes like saucers, giddy with fear.
Netflix’s Dracula has its faults and its critics (my favourite being Matthew Sweet, who says in
The Telegraph that ‘‘Dracula reflects the Englishman’s fear of foreigners who are better in bed than him’’).
For all that, it’s a romp worthy of its true roots – not the florid, Victorian Gothic romance published by Bram Stoker in 1897, but those same, campy
Sunday Night Horrors I grew up loving.
In Gatiss’ Hammer fanboy hands, the series is practically a homage to the 70s count and his sanguine excesses.
From his red satin-lined cape to his equal opportunity sexuality and from his non-gender specific dining practices, to a ‘‘divisive’’ time slip that sees the count (Claes Bang) turn up in 2020 London, single and ready to mingle, the three episodes seem to tick off a great campy, vampy moments hit list.
Folks didn’t like it.
‘‘What the hell happened?’’ Pop culture site
Collider wailed about that ending, as if Bang’s smoking hot, very modern Vlad the Lad sauntering through the UK capital like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet was somehow a terrible betrayal of the sacred source material.
It wasn’t. It was straight out of Hammer’s
Dracula A.D. 1972.
I had to check in with an expert. Author of the excellent and incredibly detailed
Infogothic: An Unauthorised Graphic Guide to Hammer Horror, my mate Hughes worked with Bram Stoker’s great nephew Dacre Stoker on his book Stoker on Stoker, which means he’s just two degrees of separation from the Prince of Darkness himself. It also means he’s the perfect person to discuss the show with.
The first thing he tells me is that Hammer made two contemporary Dracula films, AD 72 and a sequel, and they were absolutely slated by critics for the exact same reason folks have slated the new version.
‘‘People really struggled with the concept of updating Dracula,’’ Hughes says.
‘‘I like to point out to people that when Bram Stoker wrote Dracula, he was doing exactly the same thing. He was taking a medieval vampire and bringing him into what was for Stoker and the characters in his novel, modern times. An updated Dracula has always been part of his myth.’’
Five points (or should that be pints?) to Gatiss for being very clever.
It’s no mistake that Danish actor Bang, is mesmerising and is a sometimes uncanny match for a young Christopher Lee, who was Hammer’s count for more than two decades. They even give Bang the same blood-red eyes Lee’s vampire would sport any time he got a little hangry. ‘‘He’s wearing almost exactly the same costume, even down to the scarlet-lined cloak, which was a real Hammer film signature,’’ Hughes points out.
Even the ring on 2020 Dracula’s finger is reminiscent of Lee’s 70s Hammer look. While Hughes isn’t sure it’s the exact same piece of jewellery, Lee’s ring had been worn by Bela Lugosi, Universal Picture’s great Dracula of the 30s, so in a sense, the ring is a symbol of this great ‘‘lineage of horror films’’.
One place Gatiss and Moffat do freshen up the story, to glorious effect, is Dracula’s arch nemesis Professor Van Helsing.
Played by Peter Cushing in five films, the character is now Agatha Van Helsing (Dolly Wells), a fearless, inquisitive, no-nonsense nun, by far the most compelling and enjoyable character in the show.
I would happily watch another couple of hours of the Agatha Van Helsing: Vampire Hunter show, Buffy eat your heart out. But even this thoroughly modern Slayer isn’t above performing a little fan service to Hammer’s beloved legacy.
Wells also plays Agatha’s great grand niece Zoe, just as Cushing played both Lawrence Van Helsing and Lorrimer Van Helsing in AD 72.
And in the final episode, when a cancer-ridden Zoe Van Helsing lies dying in hospital, debating using the last of her strength to fight Dracula to the bitter end, what’s the number of her ward?
It’s AD | 072.