The recent cinematic adventures of Dracula have been a rather mixed bag.
Decades have passed since the big-collared glory days, when both Bela Lugosi
and Christopher Lee, under the Universal and Hammer banners respectively,
inhabited his arch villainy to an iconic degree.
More recently, in 1992, Francis Ford Coppola churned out an adaptation
of Bram Stoker’s classic Dracula, a bloated erotica, as
unashamedly indulgent as it was good fun. Keanu Reeves was cast as a
blank-faced Jonathan Harker, unfortunately, and Coppola’s once masterful touch
abandoned him in when faced with the camply rendered material. Similarly, Universal’s
2004 monster-revival effort Van Helsing included a
preposterous Richard Roxborough as the cartoonish count in a film otherwise
hobbled by the presence of Stephen Sommers in the director’s chair and the (not
unconnected) fact that it was utterly dreadful.
Not to be put off, however, Universal has persisted. With a new
generation of moviegoers unversed in the vintage franchise that few were
clamouring to see recharged, Dracula Untold is the latest
iteration of an age-old vampire yarn. It is a challenge that the studio meets
with decidedly ambiguous results.
Dublin native Gary Shore helms this $100 million behemoth, overseeing an
often visually dazzling piece of blockbuster popcorn cinema that falters, in
spite of an enthusiastic cast’s nobly straight-faced efforts, due to risible
dialogue, predictable plotting and a conclusion which will, of course, offer
few surprises.
Humanising origin tales remain a well-trodden path at present, Dracula’s
roots existing in a strand of Romanian folklore centred on Vlad III, Prince of
Wallachia. It is from this source that Shore draws his inspiration, blending
high fantasy with historical record. A late nod to Stoker’s take on the legend
acknowledges its broader impact but for Shore the genesis of this mythology holds
the most allure.
In the lead role, a smouldering Luke Evans is Prince Vlad, the
beneficent ruler of his Transylvanian heartland, whose love for a wilful
spouse, Mirena (Sarah Gadon: exquisite, doomed) and spritely son, Ingeras (Game
of Thrones alumnus Art Parkinson, working in a familiar genre) is
bound for a tragic climax from the moment they are witnessed cavorting around
their grand homestead in familial bliss.
Trying to purge from his mind a past spent impaling innocents for the
Ottoman army, Vlad is a devout Christian, a peaceful man whose plans to avoid
conflict with the imperial overlords are inevitably undermined by a demand from
Dominic Cooper’s preening sultan — gilding his scumbag bona fides with eyeliner
and a bad eastern accent — for 1000 child soldiers and a royal hostage in the
form of Ingeras.
Predictably enough, Vlad, having little regard for the scheme, resists
these Turkish advances. He instantly seeks salvation from arts more dark than
martial and, from this point on, a finely balanced opening gives way to
bombastic CGI and a contrived, poorly paced, surprisingly bloodless, 12A
depiction of one man’s descent into the blackness.
Many of Dracula Untold’s weaknesses stem from a truncated
running time which squeezes major events into a series of narrative pit stops.
From the moment that Vlad resolves to sell his soul to a cave-dwelling demon
(Charles Dance) he knows next to nothing about — save for the conveniently
accurate exposition provided by Paul Kaye’s watchful monk — one cannot shake
the notion that Shore is scrambling to cram a crowded tableau into a very tight
space.
As he surrenders himself to three days of demonic prowess, a curse with
which he will be laboured for eternity if he drinks human blood, Vlad’s embrace
of these new powers, at once interesting and chilling, is jettisoned to make
way for a series of shiny, hollow battle scenes.
Acutely aware of studio pressure to feed the masses with Universal’s
expensive fare, Shore occasionally steps outside bland multiplex drudgery — the
relationship between Gadon, so affecting in this year’s Belle, and
the serviceable Evans is never less than touching — but such moves are clearly
ancillary to the spectacle.
Inconvenient tensions are overcome as swiftly as they arise. In one
scene, Vlad chides the small band of superstitious compatriots he has chosen to
protect (all of whom seem to reside in his castle) for attempting to burn him
alive. He dismisses their concerns about his alarming new ability to
transform into a cloud of bats; they forgive him his possession.
If there is a genuinely redeeming quality, it rests in the aesthetic.
Tellingly, Shore finds more success within the frame than he does beneath it
and, given his background in commercials, it should come as no surprise that he
brings significant style to his debut featured. Northern Ireland granted
Universal a bespoke production base and the region’s rugged beauty forms an
especially stunning backdrop. This is a Transylvania of verdant glens and
towering mountains, its vastness accentuated and lingered upon by Shore’s
admiring lens.
Indeed, his considerable technical skills intermittently light up the
mostly dull drama: a stunning opening 3D montage, all swooping cameras and
brooding shadows, tells of Vlad’s early years in service to the Ottomans;
later, as Evans lays waste to a field of foes, his omnipotence plays out in the
reflection of a dying soldier’s falling sword. Taken as individual components,
these achievements impress on a deeper level than one might expect from a film
of largely rote ambitions.
Whatever their superficial effect, however, such flourishes are, in
truth, little more than a mere shimmer, garnishes to a story requiring a truly
gothic treatment.
An edited version of this article was first published here.
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