Plan9Crunch Review: Drakulon Creature of Doom

 

By Joe Gibson

 

Introduction

 

Every Halloween season, I watch a specific episode of Johnny Sokko And His Flying Robot/Giant Robo 1967-1968. I find it to be the perfect package of everything the show provides with an added Halloween festivity. I mean that, of course, in terms of tone and subject matter: this episode, Drakulon, Creature of Doom, released 03/25/1968 as the penultimate episode of the entire show, with the actual Halloween season occurring between the airing dates of episodes three and four. This episode introduces space vampire and definite Guillotine subcontractor (and likely fellow Gargoylian) Drakulon as he turns an entire town into vampires. Being the second to last episode, this premise necessitates high stakes and intrigue. Arguably, this is Johnny and Jerry’s greatest challenge up to this point in the series, and it is now time for us to explore exactly why.

 

The Cold Open

 

At the start of the episode, a frantic woman in a white dress emerges onto the road unexpectedly, interrupting a UNICORN agent’s patrol. This particular image is fairly common to horror scenarios, and, without knowing too much of its origin, the use of the trope is still worth recognizing. The UNICORN agent attempts to console her and interject rationality to her claims that the entire town is at risk of death, and his costume is just as important for different reasons. By this point, episode 25, in the show, we have witnessed many UNICORN agents dying in all sorts of horrific ways. While their brightly colored uniform is iconic to set our main cast apart, Johnny, Jerry and Azuma all regularly wear suits as well, so the UNICORN outfit is tantamount to the Star Trek Red Shirt. Since this agent is none of those three or Mitsuko or Mari, the tropes of Johnny Sokko condemn him to an early grave.

 

The woman leads him into the town, where a whole host of people remain on the floor, stiff and unmoving. The sudden camera zooms and merely decent dubbing duel over an atmospheric or goofy tone, but the agent examines the remains, turning his back to the woman and then returning to her for more information. She claims she woke up and found them all like this, and he trusts her as she clings to him when a door creaks.

 

Investigating the door, he enters a Gothic old dark house (I hope you understand why I call this the Halloween episode of the show), complete with cobwebs, miscellaneous set decorations, a secret passageway and, incidentally, a blue-faced vampire attempting his best Hungarian accent (I still find it more convincing than Gary Oldman’s Bela Lugosi accent in Coppola’s Dracula). The vampire has shaggy white hair and is dressed in a rather crude tunic. When the agent fires on the vampire, it has no effect, and the woman enters the house too. Determined to save the woman, the agent tells her to leave, and she cackles as she reveals herself to be another vampire with a slightly less blue face (most likely suggesting she was once human and not Gargoylian). The woman feasts on the man, returns him to his car for a young bicyclist to find, and our cold open is over.

 

This vignette introduces some key concepts we should keep an eye on for the rest of the twenty minutes. The vampires are not sensual, but repulsive (in the case of the older gentleman Drakulon) or deceptively sympathetic (the woman in white), the house has tricks up its sleeve with secret passageways and decorations, and, of course, there is not just one or two vampires but implicitly an entire undead town and maybe even a vampirized UNICORN agent.

 

The Town

 

After an autopsy during which Johnny and Jerry are in UNICORN garb, Azuma sends Johnny and Jerry to investigate the scene of the crime in plain clothes to see if it is the work of the Gargoyle Gang. Interestingly, Azuma’s objection to vampires as the cause of death is that it is 20^th century Japan (“in this time and place?”), which could suggest some form of vampire is native to this Earth. More likely, it is a poorly chose expression or dub error, since Azuma assumes it is the work of Gargoyle anyways.

 

We get a brief interaction between Jerry and Johnny in the car of reassuring each other before they exit the car and begin talking to one of the main corpses focused on in the cold open, a man with glasses. The show is now engaging some level of dramatic irony for the tension, since we know he is a vampire, but the characters do not. He denies hearing of anything, and the shot lingers on his vampire neck mark. The woman in white now is wearing green and approaches Johnny and Jerry, seemingly to attempt a different play than last night to lure these agents to Drakulon. She refers to the vampire as her “daddy,” and says he heard a car around the time Johnny asks about. Of course, Johnny and Jerry respectively each gave a different time of occurrence to the woman and the bespectacled man (3:00 A.M. vs midnight). Though it does not pay off outside of the two being a bit more on their guard when entering Drakulon’s old dark house, it is nice to see that they do not make it easy for Gargoyle agents to confuse them.

 

I have been relaying the plot, but for the next scene to hit as hard, I should spell out the “oh crap” moment that I glossed over. It has been daytime the whole time Johnny and Jerry have been in this town, and two vampires have been walking around just fine. One of the few safety nets of vampire fiction is explicitly gone, so when Drakulon, in human guise laughs himself into blue form to attack our leads, escape is not as simple as breaking the windows in. Actually, we will see it takes quite a bit to kill our Drakulon.

 

The rotating wall secret passageway reveals the vampire woman, and the two back our heroes into a corner, where they correctly guess Drakulon’s Gargoyle leanings and the vampires taunt them. Both vampires express desperation to taste the blood either through a breathy pant (Drakulon) or a petulant statement of wanting the blood (his bride/daughter), but Drakulon reins himself in for a suave delivery.

 

Now, it is important to ascertain why this old dark house is even here if Drakulon is from space. I would argue the main reason is just for the Gothic atmosphere, as this episode isn’t even done milking this location for all the horror imagery it can provide, but if there has to be an in universe reason, this is one of the most elaborate plans of Guillotine for very little reason. It makes sense to keep his lieutenants secret from UNICORN; it keeps UNICORN on their toes, and we see how effective it can be in their little cold war to switch between subcontracting with Spider to Dr. Botanus to Fangar to Dr. Snake to Dr. Hydra to Metron to Terrorman, etc. But building lodging for Drakulon in a far off town raises all sorts of logistical questions. It is possible he truly fed on them one by one offscreen over the course of the show, but we get nothing more in this episode to flesh that out.

 

Drakulon himself resembles Dracula in more ways than just the name and accent. He first appears to Johnny and Jerry as a very slow, calculating but very weird old man, like the dynamic Dracula has with Harker in the early chapters of that book. The racial component of Harker’s discomfort with Dracula comes in with Drakulon turning out to be an inhuman of the Gargoyles (pinning down what the average Gargoylian should look like is difficult, but the Gargoyle Gang is, at the very least, a cultural identity). And, like Dracula, Drakulon first appears as this disgusting and unkempt old man but reveals surprising vitality as the story progresses. I called attention to the costumes of the major characters before this, and Drakulon is no exception since he will drop the shabby clothes and sport a full noble warrior getup during his battle with the robot at the end. We will get there soon.

 

A subtle moment for Jerry’s humanity creeps in as he refers to the fallen UNICORN agent as his friend and fires on Drakulon; Jerry is a simple creature, intensely loyal and brave but a little stupid. Jerry actually manages to push off Drakulon during a minor wrestling match but walks right into the vampire horde trying to warn them. Jerry fights to his utmost to protect Johnny from all these vampires that are moving so slowly and groaning like zombies. Once they get to shelter inside the house, the vampire horde pounds on the windows. Johnny phones for help, and Mari answers, but the vampirized UNICORN agent is in place to kidnap her, as the vampires start to break through the window.

 

The next “oh crap” moment happens when Jerry tells Johnny to call the robot, but it turns out the wristwatch came off in the tussle with the vampires. This is feasible given the distance they had to cover, the sweat that would be on his arm in that trench coat and the grabbiness of the vampires. With the vampires in the house, Jerry removes his coat and fights off the horde, leading to Jerry’s best moment in this entire series: Jerry tells Johnny to get the watch and sics the entire vampire horde on himself, referencing how he used to do the hundred yard dash. Dancing around casually like an idiot, Jerry faces the highest danger in this entire show just to buy Johnny some time, as the entire vampire horde chases him.

 

Drakulon confronts Johnny at the staircase with the watch on it, revealing the kidnapped Mari, threatening to turn her into a vampire if he calls the robot. From a writing standpoint, this is good, since it communicates that Drakulon is not as mindless and stupid as his minions and was working on his own plan while ordering them to chase the agents down. From a plot standpoint, this is bad since now the vampires have captured Johnny, Mari and Jerry, who runs back over once he sees that Johnny is near the wristwatch, bless his soul.

 

Drakulon’s daughter/bride is eager to drink their blood, but Drakulon stops her to launch into the next phase of his plan: making Johnny order the Giant Robot to obey Drakulon and destroy the UNICORN headquarters in Japan. If Johnny refuses, the UNICORN vampire will kill Mari, and, rather amusingly, the way the vampire chooses to administer this threat is by holding a gun to her head as if his teeth were not already the threat Drakulon had made. That and the Jerry chase scene from earlier tempt me to appoint this a horror-comedy, but in any case, there is no tonal issue because the humor is in character for a brain-dead monster and Jerry’s unique personality respectively.

 

Johnny has only five seconds to decide, and, as one of his best character moments in this show, he manages to outsmart Drakulon to win the day. Claiming to test the mechanism, Johnny speaks backwards to tell the robot not to obey the order and then relays Drakulon’s order. Jerry calls Johnny a traitor, because he is also misled by this. It is one of Jerry’s dumb moments, but we really should think of this from his perspective. He just risked his life to save Johnny after losing one of his other friends. Moreover, I would argue that Johnny is almost the reason for Jerry’s intense loyalty to UNICORN.

 

Obviously, Jerry is one of their best agents and was before the show began, but, in episode one, Jerry was rather irritated with Azuma, and the partnership with Johnny gave Jerry something to enjoy and protect. Their partnership also nets him at least twenty high-profile cases closed in this show to where Johnny and Jerry are the dependable agents to send out on these cases, the ones that survive everything Gargoyle throws at them, and, for a moment, it seems like Johnny is throwing that all away. If you think I am reading too far into Johnny’s role in Jerry’s loyalty to UNICORN, that is fair, but I will also remind you of UNICORN defector Hunter from an earlier episode who left due to disdain for Azuma and did not have a Johnny-like influence to temper his tempestuousness.

 

With Johnny, Jerry and Mari all tied up in coffins, the camera pans across the faces of the dead around them, and regardless of your views on the quality of this show, the idea behind this shot and the execution would not be out of place in a real horror movie. The dynamic cinematography style of a kaiju of the week show lends itself well to peril, and, as I hope to have demonstrated, this episode was uniquely focused on implementing horror imagery into its shots.

 

As Drakulon grips Johnny and pants like a dog, the Giant Robot arrives, and Jerry springs into action to free Johnny from his bonds, either quick to realize what Johnny actually was up to or just relying on muscle memory of “save Johnny first.” What happens next is interesting. Drakulon turns himself Giant and faces off against the robot with a sword and shield in a knight costume with a cape. The fight is actually unlike any that we had seen before. Drakulon fights like an acrobatic human, and his sword carries with it an explosion when thrown. Then, something baffling happens.

 

Johnny recalls that Drakulon should not be able to stand the cross, so, first, the robot T-poses in front of the setting sun, and then obeys Johnny’s order to “throw the cross,” at which point, a flaming cross appears and launches at Drakulon. If you are lost, I do not blame you. This seems like the most egregious Deus ex Machina in the entire show. However, I think I can mount a cogent defense of it.

 

The first thing to keep in mind is that this move is never used elsewhere, so the viewer does not know it is an option going into this episode. That’s why it is a Deus ex Machina (a literal God the Machine), but, answer me this: why would this move be used anywhere else? It is a time-consuming move to muster, and Giant Robo has both flame breath and Mega-ton punches to exercise far more readily and efficiently (not to mention the finger missiles and eye lasers). No other monster has a unique weakness to crosses, flaming or otherwise.

 

Okay, so the usage of the weapon makes sense, but why does it exist? People are quick to forget that UNICORN did not invent the robot; Guillotine did. Guillotine’s master plan in the show involves growing to giant size to threaten the Earth, but it takes a lot of energy to get him there. Drakulon is one of the only other Gargoylians that can grow in size, and he can do it so much faster. Guillotine baits the audience throughout the show by constantly saying his underlings will die for their failures but never delivering; by episode 17, he proves that, actually, he has no issue with killing his underlings for their failure. It seems like an obvious insurance policy to me to ensure that his most dangerous subcontractor cannot beat what Guillotine initially planned to be his main weapon. Is the flaming cross too fantastical for a sci-fi show? Too bad, the evil emperor pirate space squid probably ordered the robot that way, and frankly, it’d be dumber if he didn’t.

 

Okay, so why does Johnny know about it? By the beginning of episode two, UNICORN has studied Giant Robo and all his weapons and abilities. From there, Johnny spends at least five months on these missions with Jerry and the robot (if you use the airing dates), so Johnny would eventually discover that the robot can, for some reason, generate flaming crosses. But do you remember the start of the episode when Azuma assumed that any vampire activity was likely tied to Gargoyle? Or the middle of the episode when Jerry, upon realizing guns did not stop the vampires, told Johnny to summon the robot? Those moments make more sense if UNICORN knows the robot can do this, and then of course we see when Johnny remembers. I do not think I am reaching here; this feels like pretty basic inferences that do not cause any problems with the rest of the show. When I review media, regardless of if I love it or hate it, I intend to operate within the best faith possible, to steelman each stimulus because the flaws will win out anyway if it really is bad, and this is fine.

 

Conclusion

 

Especially given the contrivances one expects from this show, this episode stands out not only as an experimental episode of tokusatsu but as a pretty well written one for its high concept. The Deus ex Machina makes sense in context, Drakulon is legitimately a threatening character for his intelligence (unlike whatever Fangar was doing half the time) as well as his strength, and this episode shows off some of the best displays of the characterization of Johnny and Jerry that keeps me coming back to this show and this episode.

 

This is not the only Halloween-styled episode of Johnny Sokko; The Terrifying Space Mummy aired just a month earlier. (Maybe we should talk about that one next year). This is not the first time we at Plan9Crunch have discussed Johnny Sokko And His Flying Robot and hopefully will not be the last. Links to a blog post and podcast episode are below. Happy Halloween and Happy Johnny Sokko Day.

https://youtu.be/4G1jbizjHiY?si=BrhwylHKVy9fWTJw

https://planninecrunch.blogspot.com/2013/05/johnny-sokko-and-giant-robot-in-movie.html

Vampires in Silent Cinema provides a timeline to Dracula

 

Reviewed by Doug Gibson

In Gary Rhodes' new book, "Vampires in Silent Cinema," (Edinburgh University Press, 2023), the author cites a "non-fiction" article in the June 15, 1732 issue of The American Weekly Mercury periodical. In Hungary, it was claimed, "certain Dead Bodies (called here Vampyres) killed several persons by sucking out all their blood." 

As Rhodes notes, more than sensationalistic press caused the public to be intrigued by vampires. There were novels such as "The Vampyre: A Tale," and plays like "The Phantom." Both involved bloodsuckers menacing the innocent. They were among the preludes to Bram Stoker's classic novel, "Dracula," which arrived just before the twentieth century.

It took a while for silent cinema to embrace what we consider the traditional vampire today, Max Schreck, Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee. Rhodes writes, "... vampire-hunting historians have at times perceived the undead in films where they do not reside ..." 

The average film viewer may regard "Dracula" as the first vampire film. A more sophisticated viewer may tab "Nosferatu" as the first. It was actually a very obscure, lost 1915 Russian film called "The Afterlife Wanderer." Olga Baclanova, who kind of played a "vamp" in "Freaks," starred in the film. The film was banned in one city.  What percentage of the population knows this; a tenth of a tenth of a percent? 

Silent cinema remains a very fertile ground for unearthing original scholarship. Recently, Rhodes and co-author Bill Kaffenberger, with the "Becoming Dracula" books, unearthed original information on Bela Lugosi. There's much of the same original research in "Vampires in Silent Cinema."

The earliest "vampire" silent films weren't really vampire films. Characters in films might dance in a gothic, mysterious way, arousing interest and suggestions of the undead. But only the obscure "Loie Fuller," 1905, has what is described as a "vampire dance," says Rhodes. In the early years of the 20th century, "vampire dances" were popular attractions. As Rhodes notes, a 1912 film, "The Vampire Dancer," (English title), shows the title character mimicking biting an unfortunate suitor's neck.

The next wave of silent "vampire" films involved "vamps," a term still in existence. An extension of the vampire dancer, a vamp is an evil woman who, through her passion and charms, manages to destroy the soul and physical health of an unwise, unwary man. Theda Bara personified a vamp during the silent era with films such as, "A Fool There Was." The vamp's genesis derived in part from Rudyard Kipling's poem, "The Vampire," and artist Philip Burne-Jones oft-revised painting, The Vampire," which shows a beautiful, dark-haired woman, pale white, ravishing a defenseless man. Films and stages boasted healthy, voluptious woman feasting on men's souls. As Rhodes writes, the woman vamp, or vampire had been a staple of 19th century literature, including in a Sherlock Holmes novel. And some vamps loved blood. Rhodes includes a snippet from the 1833 poem, "The Vampire Bride," by Henry Liddell:

He lay like a corse (sic) 'neath the Demon's force,

And she wrapp'd him in a shroud;

And she fixed her teeth his heart beneath,

And she drank of the warm life-blood.

Eventually, Rhodes writes, there were films of "He-vamps," or men destroying the souls and virtue of women. The vamp persona remains today, but by the 1920s it was more often used in comedy or satire. Bara herself made some films where she spoofed her vamp image.

The word vampire was also used to depict a criminal. Rhodes devotes a chapter to films that advertised the vampire as mesmerizer who leads others to crime. Examples include an early Universal film, "Vasco the Vampire," 1914, with a Svengali-like villain leading children to crime. The 1915 serial "The Exploits of Elaine," has a chapter called "The Vampire," in which the villain tries to drain the blood of the heroine to save a confederate," notes Rhodes.

Rhodes describes a 1916 serial, "The Mysteries of Myra," as a precursor to bringing the supernatural to film screens. It is a virtual monster rally, with chapters devoted to battling supernatural adversaries every week. Chapter titles include The Mystic Mirrors, The Hypnotic Clue, Invisible Destroyer, Witchcraft, and Suspended Animation. In "The Mysteries of Myra," notes Rhodes, there is a character called "The Vampire Woman." (But) "she drinks no blood. She is not undead, but is very much alive," writes Rhodes. He adds that she is a vamp-type character, but surrounded by supernatutural events. However, in 1919's "Lilith and Ly," a woman materializes from a statue. She later seeks blood, Rhodes adds.

With relationship to Bram Stoker's "Dracula," Rhodes devotes chapters to the lost Hungarian film, "Drakula Halala," 1921, and the classic "Nosferatu," 1922. The former is likely the first film adaptation of "Dracula," but with a lot of artistic license. The character is not a vampire, but a patient in a mental asylum. It appears a surreal blend of a vampire film with '"Cabinet of Caligari," and I desperately hope a print is located some day. The film played in the early '20s, and as late as 1927, then disappeared, Rhodes notes. A real treat of "Vampires of Silent Cinema" is that Rhodes includes the complete published novella of "Drakula Halala," published in conjunction with the film.

So much has been written about "Nosferatu" that Rhodes provides a  fun, original take on the chapter. As narrator, he has readers experience the film's premiere in Germany at a weekend festival as if the reader was there. Besides an experience of the festival's happenings, Rhodes includes newspaper columns of the event and reviews of the film. "Vampires in Silent Cinema" is an academic publication, but this more lighthearted chapter is still full of information and does not detract from the seriousness of the subject.

In the chapter on "London After Midnight," Rhodes explores star Lon Chaney's iconic portrayal of the fake vampire, and how it has been used in popular culture, including cartoons. He talks about efforts to find the long sought-after lost film and the various hoaxes anouncing its "rediscovery." I have seen the attempt to recreate "London After Midnight" via stills, that Rhodes writes about. It has shown on Turner Classic Movies. As Rhodes notes, without the facial expressions and physical movements, it cannot really capture the film's impact. He includes in the chapter observations from individuals who saw the film.

There's another chapter on the arrival, from stage to film, of "Dracula," 1931, the most iconic one, with Bela Lugosi. Before that is an interesting chapter that discusses two 1920s untitled silent amateur-produced vampire films, preserved as "F-0343" and "F-0332." Stills in the books show efforts to create a vampire-type movie. These are quirky facts that I enjoyed learning about. Apparently they are included in a Something Weird 2001 DVD of "Monsters Crash the Pajama Party Spook Show Spectacular." The film was a low-budget theater offering in the 1960s, and I have seen it. I'm looking forward to watching that DVD again.

Rhodes' book is only slightly more than 200 pages, but it's full of original information, presented affably. It entertains as well as informs. It moves through the 18th through 21st centuries, providing a history of vampire culture, and how it was presented through press, books, the stage and screen. The hardcover book is very pricy, but Rhodes has noted that a paperback version will be priced more reasonably.  

Rhodes has been a prolific writer and researcher. "Vampires in Silent Cinema" meets his high standards, and I'm sure more genre books will follow.

Three cheers for traditional horror, boo to torture porn

This column by Doug Gibson was originally published in the Aug. 1, 2007 Standard-Examiner. It includes a plug for Ed Wood's 1955 wonderfully creaky mad scientist seeks revenge shocker, "Bride of the Monster," starring Bela Lugosi, in his final substantive role. It also starred Tor Johnson, a Wood regular. Ed co-wrote, produced and directed "Bride." It was sneaked, incredibly, with Deborah Kerr's "The End of the Affair!" (At left, Tor Johnson menaces Loretta King in "Bride.")


Dump the 'torture porn' and enjoy an old 'chiller'

by Doug Gibson


Scary cinema is fad-based. We had the creature-features of 60 and 70 years ago ("Frankenstein," "Dracula," "The Wolf Man"), then the atomic, science fiction thrillers ("The Thing," "The Day the Earth Stood Still," "Invasion of the Body Snatchers"). Alfred Hitchcock was a genre himself in the 1960s and early '70s with "Psycho," "The Birds" and "Frenzy."

Gore films were the fad as I grew up. It started with George A. Romero's "Night of the Living Dead," gained momentum with Tobe Hooper's "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and sort of peaked with Romero's "Dawn of the Dead," a clever satire of consumerism.

When I was a teen, John Carpenter's very scary, and slyly amusing, "Halloween" kicked off the "slasher film" fad. "Nightmare on Elm Street" kept that going, and the dreadful "Friday the 13th" started a string of even worse summer camp slasher movies — anyone remember "Sleepaway Camp" or "The Dorm that Dripped Blood?" Unfortunately, I do.

I stopped watching new horror films in the early 1990s. The movies stopped being original to me, although — hate to say this, maybe I just got tired of blood and guts. Today, if I want to see a scary movie, I choose a spooky ghost story, such as "The Others" or "The Sixth Sense" or "Haunted," a low-budget 1995 chiller.

Regarding today's fad — torture porn, such as "Saw" and "Hostel": Not only do I avoid that junk, I'm already planning strategies so my children will spurn it. In my 40s now, I find myself enjoying old, forgotten films, tiny-budget cheapies from the '30s, '40s, '50s and '60s. I saw these titles in the 1970s' TV Guide, listed after midnight on Los Angeles' several independent TV stations.

A few I got to watch; most I missed. But I never forgot them: "The Ape Man," "Bowery at Midnight," "Scared to Death," "Murder By Television," "Plan 9 From Outer Space," "Carnival of Souls," "The Man with Nine Lives," "King of the Zombies." The studios that made these films — Republic, Monogram, Producers Releasing Corporation, Golden Gate Pictures, Lasky-Monka — they're long gone.

The films have ceased their ubiquitous presence on late-night TV, except rare dates with Turner Classic Movies and UEN's local Sci-Fi Friday movies. But you can buy them all on DVD now — some for a buck. (NEW ADDITION ... a lot of them are on Blu Ray.)

Still, it's sort of sad. As I explain to my skeptical wife, there is a sense of community watching one of these old movies on TV. We're an audience — unseen and far apart — but nevertheless, fans sharing a great film. You don't get that feeling when you watch a film on disc or tape.

For what it's worth, a few recommendations — by decade — of these old chillers. Are they scary? Most, frankly, no. But they are original, with ambitious plots that go as far as a small budget allows.

The 1930s "White Zombie" — This 1932 film stars Bela Lugosi as "Murder Legendre," an evil sorcerer who helps a rich, selfish young man lure a young couple to an island. The selfish man loves the woman, but his plan to win her backfires when the woman is turned into a zombie by Legendre. The film's chills still hold up, particularly the scene of zombies toiling in a sugar mill and the atmospheric castle against a cliff.

The 1940s "Strangler of the Swamp" — Made in 1948, this atmospheric thriller involves a man, hanged for a murder he didn't commit, who returns as a ghost and assumes the role of ferryman at the swamp. Instead of ferrying passengers, he strangles locals in revenge. Finally, a young woman (Rosemary LaPlanche) prepares to offer herself as a sacrifice to get the ghost to leave. The strangler (Charles Middleton) was "Emperor Ming" in the old "Flash Gordon" serials.

The 1950s "Bride of the Monster" — This 1955 film is probably the best Ed Wood directed. Sure, that's not saying much, but an emaciated, drug-addicted Bela Lugosi is still good as embittered, exiled mad scientist Eric Vornoff, who "vill perfect ... a race of atomic supermen vich vill conquer the vorld!" Wood staple Tor Johnson, a 400-pound wrestler, is also in the movie. The low budget includes a photo enlarger as an atomic energizer and a rubber octopus as the monster of the marsh.

The 1960s "Spider Baby: Or the Maddest Story Ever Told" — This comedy/horror is creepy. It stars a very old Lon Chaney Jr. as the caretaker for an insane family. They suffer from a syndrome that causes them to degenerate into children, then babies, then prehuman savages. Relatives come to the house to institutionalize the family. It proves to be a long, horrific night. "Spider Baby" was filmed in 1964 but not released until 1968. Chaney Jr., who could barely talk due to his advanced alcoholism, actually sings the title song.

Gibson is the Standard-Examiner's assistant editorial page editor. He can be reached at dgibson@standard.net.

Dracula's Daughter the latest Scripts From the Crypt offering

Review by Doug Gibson

The latest BearManorMedia Scripts From the Crypt offering, "Dracula's Daughter" (buy it here) continues the high quality of the cult films books' series. Penned mostly by Gary D Rhodes, it satisfies a constant of our genre fans: it breaks new ground. New nuggets, big and small, of scholarship are unearthed. And, as with all the books, you have Tom Weaver's observations and opinions. Love them or hate them, they are unique and the product of an original mind. There's also an introduction and essay on the music of the film from contributors David Colton and Michael Lee.

The best reading comes from Rhodes' exhaustive treatment of the film's creation. Early on, he discusses the role of women in vampire lore, using Theda Bara and other vamps to explain that vampire once meant a woman who sucked the heart and soul out of their doomed male lovers. This is relevant because later we learn that early treatments for the film included a female vampire who was sexually aggressive and delighted in the torture, degradation and dissipation of her male captives. (I am assuming blog readers have seen "Dracula's Daughter." If not, do so now.) Gloria Holden's sympathetic yet resolute Countess emerged as a result of the watering down of the plot's actions.

As Rhodes' notes, "Dracula's Daughter," a 1936 release, emerged as the moralistic production code was gaining strength. Scripts and treatments for the film endured rough seas with the censors. John Balderston, Kurt Neumann, and RC Sherriff all had their hands on the typewriter. Eventually Garrett Fort's subdued, more sanitized script became the film. Milton Carruth, who edited "Dracula," also impacted "Dracula's Daughter" with his editing, Rhodes notes.

Some of the early treatments would have been interestingly daring. The Countess as a man hunter, entering the film after already killing a lover/slave. She nearly physically, spiritually and mentally destroys the hero before succumbing. Screenwriters assured the Laemmle overlords, soon to lose the studio, that a woman conducting such sexual sadism on men would pass code approval. Witness what Balderston wrote in his treatment: "The use of a female vampire instead of a male gives us the chance to play up SEX and CRUELTY legitimately."

At one time James Whale was slated to direct. He might have been able to convey such a film in a subtle manner to fool the censors. Lambert Hillyer, a talented, workmanlike, solid director who eventually got the role, lacked the Whale magic to do that had he even tried.

We learn that Bela Lugosi was once considered to be in the film. He was even paid $4,000. However, a reading of the fascinating screenplay excerpt, from Sherriff, of a prologue that would have featured Lugosi creating his daughter, is so bizarre and sexually depraved that I think it would have trouble getting made even in the pre-code era. Lugosi, and a bunch of sadistic companions terrorize the peasantry, kidnapping women, and with exaggerated faux grotesque courtesy, torturing and murdering them. "Dracula's Daughter" is made a vampire by the Count.

But that is not the "Dracula's Daughter" that we watch today. It's a fine film with a haunting performance by Gloria Holden. Otto Kruger and Marguerite Churchill are a better hero couple than David Manners and Helen Chandler. Kruger and Churchill actually have romantic chemistry. Irving Pichel is very creepy as Holden's mortal companion, and presumably her lover. His quiet rage at watching Holden prefer Kruger to him as an immortal companion is suitably sinister. Nan Gray (Grey) is great as a poor girl, perhaps streetwalker, who eventually dies, we assume due to the Countess' unquenchable thirst. And Edward Van Sloan is back as Van Helsing, inexplicably called Von Helsing in the sequel.

Yes, Dracula's Daughter is an above-average film. The book informs us that it received generally good reviews and appears to have done well at the box office. But as Weaver rather shrewdly notes, one can watch "Dracula's Daughter" and not be convinced that the title character is really a vampire. We know she is only because that is the script's design. But this is a bloodless film. As Weaver points out, she is killed by an arrow shot through her heart; anyone would die of that.

"Dracula's Daughter," as much as I enjoy it, is neutered by the production code. It's respected within the genre, but never will it be placed anywhere near the pedestal that say, "Bride of Frankenstein" has. "Dracula's Daughter" is not a film that takes risks or tries to pierce our deepest obsessions or fears as James Whale does. It's a worthy entry at a time when Universal was still making at least A-minus budgeted horror flicks. Perhaps its finest moment is that it takes the action back to Transylvania in the final reel, something that "Dracula," still a better film, did not do.

Lest anyone think I am ungrateful, let me reiterate my deep appreciation for writers such as Rhodes and Weaver, and others, as well as thanks to BearManor Media for publishing these types of books. They are manna for me and I'm sure so many others. So much minutiae to eagerly wade through -- we love it! We learn, for example, the salaries of the stars. Holden, incredibly, only received $1,450 for a performance that is almost iconic. Kruger did a great job, but really, $9,583.30 is out of whack compared to Holden. Churchill received $1,250, Van Sloan $2,400, Pichel, who really earns it, $2,950, and unbelievably, Nan Gray (Grey), who probably is second-most remembered due to the much-debated lesbian overtones to her scene with Holden, received a paltry $200!

The entire script as shot is in the book, and as I have mentioned, the many treatments are included. There's a section on contemporary reviews the movie received; there's a fascinating press book. As mentioned, the whole back story of the film is captured, including even a "Junior" Laemmle-inspired treatment for the end. There's dozens of photos, and a tender heart-wrenching letter from Holden late in life to film fan David Del Valle, in which she stoically talks about the tragic death of her son, We even get a treatment for an adaptation of "Carmilla," another female vampire tale. This one wasn't filmed

I could spend many more paragraphs detailing what's in these pages. But just go buy the book. It's a gem. I can't wait for the next one, which is slated to be about two unrealized films from "Dracula" director Tod Browning.

Dracula: 85 years later the vampire is still revered

On Sept. 4, 2016, that's this Sunday, Turner Classic Movies will air Tod Browning's masterpiece, "Dracula," with Bela Lugosi as the iconic Count Dracula. Watch it scores of thousands of others ...
But before then, read these two Plan9Crunch reviews of the 1931 Universal "Dracula" by your bloggers, myself, Doug Gibson, and Steve D. Stones.
On with the reviews, and don't forget to watch "Dracula" on TCM this weekend.

Dracula, 1931, 75 minutes, Universal, black and white. Directed by Tod Browning. Starring Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula, Helen Chandler as Mina Seward, Dwight Frye as Renfield, David Manners as Jonathan Harker and Edward Van Sloan as Dr. Van Helsing. Schlock-Meter rating: 9 and 1/2 stars out of 10.

By DOUG GIBSON

As a film, Dracula too often appears like a stage play. Most of the actors aren't particularly strong, and the climax of the film (Dracula's death) foolishly takes place off screen. Nevertheless, thanks to Bela Lugosi -- and to a lesser extent Dwight Frye -- the film remains a classic, a true cult film that brings viewers back for repeat visits to Transylvania, foggy London and Carfax Abbey, the lair of the Count. The plot: Dracula prepares for a move to London. He drives Renfield (a Londoner in Transylvania to help him move), mad, and then arrives in London. He soon ingratiates himself with the Seward family, and lusts for the blood of two ladies. He is foiled when a family friend (Van Sloan) suspects he is a vampire, and pretty Mina Seward (Chandler) is saved when Dracula is destroyed.

It's safe to say that first half hour of this film is perfect, in atmosphere, Lugosi's Dracula, etc. After it moves to Carfax Abbey and the Seward sanitarium, it dips a tad in quality, but returns to perfection when Lugosi is in a scene.

Lugosi's performance is magnificent. He is truly the Count, with his urbane charm, his sly humor (I never drink ... wine.), his greedy eyes sighting blood, his melodramatic answers to questions, and his artful fencing with vampire hunter Van Helsing. However, few critics capture another personality of Lugosi's Dracula: His desire to die. In a poignant scene at an opera, Dracula expounds in melodramatic fashion the peace of death. One realizes in that scene the Count wants to die, that he's as much a prisoner of fate as his victims. He simply lacks the will power to end his long existence.

Frye's Renfield is marvelous. He succeeds in convincing viewers that the secret of the Count -- discovered first hand -- is so horrible that it would drive anyone insane. His mad chuckles when discovered on a deserted ship are chilling. Frye also conveys terror and adoration when pleading with Dracula late in the film. Manners and Chandler are barely adequate as two lovers threatened by Lugosi's Dracula, but Van Sloan is pretty strong as Van Helsing. He manages a sense of humor despite the seriousness of his task, and reminds me of Donald Pleasance's slightly crazy psychiatrist who pursued monster Michael Meyers in Halloween.

Lugosi's eyes, used to seduce victims, are hypnotic. He knew this character -- he'd played Dracula on Broadway. Director Browning conveys atmosphere early in the film with scenes of a coach in the wilds of Transylvania and a ship tossed at sea. Unfortunately, the last two-thirds of the film is often too static and talky. But every scene with Lugosi is a pleasure, and he turns an ordinary film into a classic of the genre.

(WATCH THIS SCENE FROM THE FILM BELOW)

By STEVE D. STONES

“Listen to them. Children of the night. What music they make.” — Dracula

Creeky castle doors, thick spider webs, a fog-infested cemetery and coffins filled with earth from Transylvania. These items stir up images of one of the greatest screen villains in cinema history — Dracula. The vampire Dracula has appeared on screen and stage more than any other fictional character in the history of literature and films.

What would Halloween be like without Dracula and vampires? We have Irish writer Bram Stoker to thank for the count's immortal image. Considering the fact that Stoker's novel was thought by many critics to be nothing but a trashy, late-19th century exploitation pot boiler that many readers didn't want to know about, it's amazing to think just how long the story and image of Dracula have lasted.

From the moment Hungarian actor Bela Lugosi emerges from his coffin in Tod Browning's 1931 “Dracula,” Hollywood history was made. Lugosi's old-world mannerisms, receding hairline, thick Hungarian accent and flowing cape set the standard for every vampire movie that followed. No actor who portrayed Dracula after Lugosi has been able to top him.

Seeing Dracula on the big screen is a sight you will never forget. Close-up shots of Lugosi's face show just how menacing the immortal count can be. His image both attracts and repels the viewer. He is the ultimate boogeyman who will stop at nothing to leave behind a trail of victims. When Dracula says “there are far worse things awaiting man than death,” we believe him.

Dracula's contribution to popular culture cannot be overestimated. He appears on everything from T-shirts to coffee mugs, action figures, comic books, Halloween masks, postcards and lunch boxes.

After the success of “Dracula,” Lugosi became a victim of the fickle Hollywood industry who typecast and pigeonholed him as an actor who could only play Dracula. He appeared as a vampire a total of three times, which included the hugely successful  “Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein” in 1948. Lugosi was never able to obtain the riches of his rival, Boris Karloff. Today, sales of merchandise associated with Lugosi surpass those of Karloff’s.

May the story and image of Dracula live on for centuries.

Originally published in the Standard-Examiner newspaper.

The Return of The Vampire - Columbia's Take On Dracula

By Steve D. Stones

In the same year that Columbia Pictures cast Bela Lugosi as a vampire in The Return of The Vampire, Universal Studios cast the stocky, mid-western actor Lon Chaney Jr in Son of Dracula (1943). Chaney's Dracula lacks the old world charm and mannerisms that made Lugosi so famous in the role.

By 1943, Lugosi's star power had faded. Universal Studios would not allow Columbia Pictures to use the name Dracula, so Lugosi's character was named Armand Tesla in The Return of The Vampire.

Armand Tesla is a 200 year old Hungarian vampire who roams the London countryside in 1918 with his werewolf sidekick Andreas (Matt Willis). After Tesla feeds on the necks of young victims from the village, Lady Jane Ainsley (Frieda Inescort) and Professor Walter Saunders (Gilbert Emery) find Tesla's resting spot and drive a stake through his heart while he is sleeping in his coffin.

Two decades later, a bombing raid during World War II unearths Tesla's grave. Two grave diggers walking through the graveyard notice the stake in Tesla's chest and mistaken it for a bomb splint. They remove the stake from Tesla's chest. Little do they know what they have unleashed. Tesla returns to life.

Like the original Dracula (1931), Tesla becomes obsessed with a beautiful, young blond woman. Nicki, played by Nina Foch, is the ingenue who falls under Tesla's spell. Nicki was bitten in the neck by Tesla in 1918 when she was just a little girl. Tesla returns to seek revenge on Lady Jane for driving a stake through his heart. Professor Saunders dies in a plane crash, which is a curse placed on him by Tesla.

Lady Jane employs Andreas in her research lab as an assistant. Little does Lady Jane know that Andreas has teamed up with Tesla and once again becomes a werewolf. With the help of Andreas, Tesla takes on the identity of a Dr. Hugo Bruckner, a respected scientist.

The graveyard sequences in The Return of The Vampire give the impression that the film is a Universal Studios picture. Lugosi and Andreas walk through a fog-covered ground with twisted trees and eroded tombstones, which look similar to the graveyard scenes in Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943). Lugosi covering his face with his cape in an opening scene as he walks through the graveyard looks like a sequence that Ed Wood could have easily used in Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959).

The film ends with another bombing raid striking the graveyard, but this time the raid kills Tesla. Andreas is freed of his werewolf curse and returns to normal. Tesla melts into a hot glob of wax. The police commissioner of Scotland Yard, arriving on the scene, looks at the audience and asks if they believe in vampires.

After Dracula in 1931, Lugosi was type-cast to a career of low-budget, bottom of the barrel productions with studios such as Monogram and PRC. Despite his poor salary on many of these films, Lugosi always gave an amazing performance, and was always a true professional in all his work. No actor plays a vampire with as much charm and effectiveness as the great Bela Lugosi.

Happy viewing.

Lederer as the vampire, Return of Dracula

By Doug Gibson

I avoided watching "The Return of Dracula" for a long time, mainly because it always annoyed me that Bela Lugosi was passed over for so any Universal monster rallies (except for Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein). It would have been cool, and a potential career boost for Lugosi to have played his signature role in a real Dracula sequel. But he was long dead by the time Gramercy, not Universal, made this inexpensive $125,000 "sequel" in which Count Dracula, posing as artist Bellac Gordal -- who he kills off on a train in Hungary -- to visit relatives in California who are eager to see him, consider him a dear member of the family, but apparently have never swapped photos with dear Belac!

Eventually, Count Dracula, the faux artist, behaves so oddly (He's never around during the day, you see, and spurns affection, and demands that he not be disturbed in his "room") that family teenager Rachel Mayberry, played by a sexy Norma Eberhardt, begins to suspect that her dear relative may be something more sinister. A game of cat and mouse develops between the old predator and the young teenager, and it eventually leads to a finish to the film, directed by Paul Landres.

If this has started to sound like a pallid "remake-in-everything-but-name" of Alfred Hitchcock's classic "Shadow of a Doubt," give yourself 10 points because you are right. It's not nearly as good, by a mile, as the standoff between Joseph Cotton and Teresa Wright, but as a low-budget 1950s horror flick, it's not too bad. The film moves swiftly and the acting is passable with one positive exception.

The positive exception is Francis Lederer, who is marvelous as Count Dracula. He blends the cold continental manners of a Bela Lugosi with the physical menace of a Christopher Lee to produce -- amazingly -- an unforgettable portrayal of the vampire. I cannot call it iconic because not enough people have seen the film. Lederer is arrogant, merciless and predatory when consumed by a thirst for blood. He is a film monster that may stay in the nightmares of viewers for awhile. It his for his portrayal that I recommend this movie.

There is a lot of hokum in this film, thanks to the low budget. Virginia Vincent, as a victim of Dracula, overacts badly as an ill shut-in, and mediocre writing contributes to a ridiculous scene in which Rachel discovers her vampire guest has painted a picture of her in a coffin! Nevertheless, this is a breezy, corny vampire flick, likely overshadowed by Hammer's Horror of Dracula, that should merit a watch by cult film fans.

'Tod Browning's Dracula' a defense of an often-maligned film and director

By Doug Gibson

It’s a safe bet that when the word Dracula is uttered, most of us think of Bela Lugosi, who played the iconic role, or Bram Stoker, who wrote the novel. But far fewer have heard of Tod Browning, the man most responsible for Dracula and other vampires maintaining their edge in the popular culture and not stuck on the sidelines with, say, Svengali.

Academic Gary D. Rhodes, of Queen’s University, Belfast, is one of the best genre scholars and he’s often tackled the film career of Bela Lugosi, who starred in Browning’s 1931 “Dracula.” In recent years, he’s broken new ground in books he co-wrote with others on Lugosi’s “lean years,” the mid 1940s and 1950s. Rhodes, along with Arthur Lennig, Frank Dello Stritto, Andi Brooks, and others underscore why Bela Lugosi, and Dracula, exceed Boris Karloff, the Frankenstein monster, Lon Chaney Jr., and the wolf man, as icons. 

But one man who has got the shaft the past couple of generations is “Dracula” director Tod Browning. In fandom and scholarship, it has become the norm to demean the 1931 film, to trash Tod Browning’s direction, and even occasionally Lugosi’s performance, although that’s more rare. David J. Skal and William K. Everson are among respectable researchers who often maligned Browning’s “Dracula,” notes Rhodes in the book “Tod Browning’s Dracula,”  376 pages Tomahawk Press, 2014. Another strong genre writer, Tom Weaver — who graciously praises Rhodes’ book — has been none-to-kind to Lugosi, Browning, and “Dracula” over the year, particularly in his excellent multi-authored book, “Universal Horrors.” 

I’m taking a long time to get to Rhodes’ book, but I enjoy the minutiae, and want it all on the pages. But here we go. Rhodes’ new book, out in the USA this year, is a spirited defense of Tod Browning’s direction of “Dracula” and the film’s high quality (which by the way, was nearly universally praised by critics when it was released 84 years ago). 

Unlike a lot of apologetics, “Browning’s Dracula” is not full of forced defense or spin; he has accumulated a strong amount of evidence to support his claim that “Dracula” is worthy of classic status and that Browning’s direction was carefully nuanced and designed to create a dark, scary classic story that is both creepy, other-worldly, full of specific images and very well-paced. Also, Rhodes easily swats away long-accepted myths, such as that Browning offered little direction to the film, or that cameraman Karl Freund actually directed the film, or that Freund, in protest left the camera static, or that Browning’s “Dracula” had less camera movement than the longer “Spanish” version. 

Take this example: It’s long been a source of amusement to “Dracula” and Browning critics that there is a piece of cardboard stuck between a lamp and a headboard of the bed where “Mina,” Helen Chandler’s character, is resting. Through careful examination of the film, Rhodes makes a strong case that the inclusion of the cardboard is a story device in which the protagonists, eager to protect a resting Mina, have placed the cardboard there to keep light rays off her face. Also, Rhodes notes that the scene as displayed also allows more light to shine upward. One can criticize Browning’s choice of prop, but it wasn’t a result of carelessness or ineptitude by the director, as so many have claimed..

Rhodes also, I hope, puts the definitive end to the long-held fantasy that the “Spanish” “Dracula” is a better film than Browning’s “Dracula.” It’s a splendid film, I agree, and a lot of fun, both as a companion piece and bit of history that’s mostly lost today (films made specially for foreign lands). But it’s not as good as Dracula. It plods at 30 minutes beyond Browning’s 74-minute film, and the acting, save Lupita Tovar’s “Eva,” (Mina) is too melodramatic. Also, as Rhodes writes, Browning has far better camera placement and interaction between his principal actors, better pacing, better continuity, better symbolism, better lighting, better dialogue, better scene selection (the Spanish “Dracula” neglects Dracula’s attack on the flower girl) and, as mentioned, the direction is better paced and more suspenseful.

As Rhodes notes, much of the criticism of Browning’s “Dracula” is rooted in what we wish we could see, such as victim-turned vampire Lucy’s death scene, or more depth to Dracula’s sea voyage, or a deathly flight back to Transylvania, or even more blood (although Rhodes notes that many critics error on their tallies of blood in the film.) However, Universal was working under budget constraints due to the Depression, and finances were tight. Rhodes’ thesis, which I agree with, is that a very talented director made a memorable, classic film. Particularly interesting uses of symbolism recounted include Chandler mimicking a bent-over male figurine — representing Dracula — by Lucy’s bedside, and an insect in the Dracula’s castle opening scene appearing to be near the size of a “coffin.” More examples: the symbolism of three women on Lucy’s bedside lamp, and their relationship to Dracula’s three wives; and Browning having Chandler, with long dress train, following Lugosi on Carfax Abbey’s stone stairs as if she is nearly another vampire wife. In the Spanish Dracula, the symbolism is lost with Tovar being carried by actor Carlos Villarias.

There’s far more to this book than I’ve mentioned. Rhodes deals with the public perception of vampires through the 19th and early 20th centuries. Readers may be amused to learn that in the early days of silent cinema, Theda Bara and “vamps” were more often associated with vampires. In fact, Universal, wary of complaints, pitched “Dracula” initially as a strange romance. As Rhodes adds, once the film was out, it quickly become known as a horror film. 

Besides Rhodes’ intent to set the record straight on “Dracula” and Tod Browning, the book, with loving detail, delves into the minutiae of the making of the film, its initial reception, and its long lifespan through the decades. Our opinions are subjective, and we are entitled to like and pan as we please. But facts are important, and Rhodes has compiled the facts well in “Tod Browning’s Dracula.” I imagine it will settle a lot of arguments and debates. You can buy the book from the publisher here or via Amazon here.

Mark of the Vampire -- Bela turns out not to be a vampire!

By Doug Gibson

MGM's 1935 thriller, Mark of the Vampire, directed by Tod Browning, is such a marvelous film for 50 minutes that you just want to scream at what Browning did to cheat viewers in the final 9 minutes. Yeah, I know it's a sort of remake of the 1927 London After Midnight, (now lost) and Browning stubbornly refused to mess with that plot. But nevertheless, it was a big mistake to turn this supernatural fantasy into a murder mystery. There's a reason Mark of the Vampire is not discussed in the same revered tones today as Dracula, Frankenstein, or even White Zombie ... it's because that cheat of an ending.

First, the plot: Sir Karell Borotyn, master of an estate in central Europe, is found dead, bloodless, one night in his reclusive castle. The villagers are sure it's the work of a vampire, but Inspector Neumann (Lionel Atwill) scoffs at such a theory. And inquest declares the death from causes unknown. A planned wedding between the Sir Karrell's daughter, Irena, and a young man named Fedor Vicente, has been postponed. Baron Otto Von Zinden (Jean Hersholt) is handling the late man's estate.

Move forward nearly a year. The murder is unsolved. The castle is decaying, full of vermin and insects. Suddenly, two vampires are seen by villagers and other. They are described as the undead bodies of Count Mora (Bela Lugosi) and his daughter, Luna (Carroll Borland). Fedor and Irina are both attacked, presumably by the vampires. The villages are in an uproar. The skeptical Inspector Neumann is joined by eccentric Professor Zelen, played by Lionel Barrymore in an outstanding performance of a very chewy, Van Helsing-like role. Zelen supports the vampire theory. Through further investigation, it is revealed that a personage who resembles the dead Borotyn has been seen roaming the castle and heard playing the organ. A visit to his crypt reveals an empty coffin. Baron Otto Von Zinden is getting very nervous.

The gothic, horror atmosphere in this film is superb. Lugosi is at his best. His vampire performance, short though it is, rivals his Dracula performance. The beautiful Borland radiates screen presence as Luna. Inexplicably, she had a very small film career but her image became iconic because of this role. A scene where she swoops down, in batlike fashion, to the castle's floor, is one of the finest scenes I have seen. The ghostly, filthy decay of the castle is better than Browning's depictions in Dracula. As mentioned, Barrymore is great with his dedicated persistence as the "vampire seeker."

The final 10 minutes reveal the whole affair to be an elaborate practical joke to enable the actual killer, Baron Otto Von Zindon, to recreate the murder on the actor playing Sir Karell. That's bad enough, but Browning also turns Lugosi and Borland into actors and provides silly dialogue at the end. One reason the film maintains such effective mood and atmosphere for so long is because Browning only revealed the trick ending near the end of shooting. Legend has it that most of the cast was furious. In his biography, "The Immortal Count," Lugosi's biographer, Arthur Lennig, mentions Lugosi suggested that the real actors for Mora and Luna arrive at the very end, apologizing for arriving late. That sounds like a great idea that would have retained more fame for this otherwise excellent film, but Browning, and MGM, said no.

The short running time, 59 minutes, was trimmed from an original 75-minute film (the excess is lost). Some say that village humor scenes were cut, Others claim that a subplot, where it's mentioned that Mora committed incest with his daughter Luna, and later killed her and himself, was taken out.It is ironic that Lugosi's Mora has a clear bullet wound on the left side of his forehead/temple. As mentioned, Mark of the Vampire is a remake of Browning's London After Midnight, in which the faux monster is played, with truly horrifying makeup, by Lon Chaney Sr. A 45-minute version of that lost film has been gathered into a movie comprised entirely of still shots. It has played on TCM and turns out to be much better than it would seem to be.