Article: Going Gothic - Dracula (1958)

Even though January is nearing its end, the days have remained gloomy. The night sky still appears to be darker than usual. In this cold, dark month I decided to watch a small collection of gothic features. These films are designed to chill the spines of those who watch them. However, I hope the films I picked, warmed my typing fingers as the cold nights set in. The first film is one I’ve never seen before. One I should have perhaps seen by now. Hammer Horror’s first Dracula entry.

Shockingly, I had seen Gerard Butler’s unremarkable display as Drac in the regrettable Dracula 2000 (2000) before I’d seen any of Christopher Lee’s iconic turns in the role. More fool me. The bigger surprise came when I realised the number of creative liberties the Hammer adaptation takes with the material. Terrence Fisher’s Dracula is abridged and truncated in ways that would make modern fanboys lose their mind. Budget limitations and time constraints ensured that canon was not the main concern. Because of this, Dracula, or Horror of Dracula as it was retitled in America, becomes a rather lean revenge thriller. Having a similar affected production situation as a Marc Forster Bond film, one could call this version of Dracula A Quantum of Coffins. Not like that makes a lick of sense, but then again did Quantum of Solace?

Bad jokes aside, this Dracula rendition feels streamlined because it's leaner than turkey. Many of the bones of Stoker's original story remain. However, the changes implemented in the story alter the fabric of the narrative substantially. One example occurs right at the beginning of the movie in which Johnathan Harker travels to see Count Dracula in the guise of a commercial venture. Unlike Bram Stoker's original story where Harker is rather innocently heading to Dracula Transylvania for real estate matters, in this Hammer rendition, Harker is travelling to Klausenburg intending to kill Dracula already on his mind. Harker’s already-acquired knowledge about vampires is a startling twist. So also, is his fate in which Harker is dispatched early in the film. This sets forth an altered arrangement of the sequences and characters from the original narrative. Here Dracula feels like a strongly concentrated vendetta upon the Harker and his kin.

Of course, Dracula‘s hunting and stalking have always been predatory. But there’s a joyless, tragic nature to proceedings here that’s not always sensed in other renditions of Dracula. In John L Flynn’s Cinematic Vampires: The Living Dead on Film and Television, Christopher Lee states how he saw the character: "I've always tried to put an element of sadness, which I've termed the loneliness of evil, into his character.” Lee’s Dracula seems hellbent on dragging Harker and those around him down. The loneliness that Lee considers can be felt after the film when you realise that Dracula only has sixteen lines in the whole picture. He’s said all of them by the 10-minute mark. Most if not all of them are shared between himself and Harker, the man who has set his sights on killing him. Lee also says of his development of the character “Dracula doesn't want to live, but he's got to! He doesn't want to go on existing as the undead, but he has no choice." This brings a strange underlying tension to the narrative. Nothing is shocking about a vampire with a death wish, fighting to survive. However, in fighting against Harker and embarking on an aggressive attack on everyone he loves, the “plague” of Dracula feels concentrated in a way that differs from other versions.

It’s a stark contrast to Francis Ford Coppola’s 90s overblown adaptation of the material which focuses heavily on the idea of Dracula being so deeply bereft of love that his need of Mina is a love that bleeds through the ages. Coppola’s OTT interpretation of the material is extremely on the nose. In one of its more memorable sequences, a literal beast ravishes a young woman during a storm. The '58 Dracula, despite its bold colour palette, honking score and dramatic performances, is more subtle in its design, and more controlled in its metaphors. This can be considered in the aftermath of the first attack on Mina by Dracula. Van Helsing has Mina’s husband Arthur give her a transfusion due to the amount of blood loss. The process is straightforward and clinical in its execution. Drained of cinematic flair or fancy. The procedure also feels unemotional given the relationship between the two patients. This sexlessness in the operation helps distinguish the eroticism given by Lee’s Dracula. Fisher believed that Dracula preyed upon the sexual frustrations of his female victims. And felt that the relationship between Arthur and Mina was a sexually frustrated one. Mina, much like Lucy earlier on in the film, never hides the anticipation of her and Dracula's encounters.

Removing precautions and defences to ensure his presence. And while Dracula’s encounters are never explicit, we see the profound desire he creates with his victims in the aftermath.  Mina’s transfusion with Arthur is as mannered and stiff as their interactions. The irony is that the lifesaving operation involving her husband holds no allure as opposed to becoming Dracula’s undead bride. Lee places a stamp on this in an interview with Leonard Wolf:

 "He had also to have an erotic element about him (and not because he sank his teeth into women) ... It's a mysterious matter and has something to do with the physical appeal of the person who's draining your life. It's like being a sexual blood donor... Women are attracted to men for any of hundreds of reasons. One of them is a response to the demand to give oneself, and what greater evidence of giving is there than your blood flowing literally from your own bloodstream? It's the complete abandonment of a woman to the power of a man."

Arthur and Dracula might be both doing the same thing. But when it comes to one of them, things just hit differently.

What makes the 1958 Dracula stand out is the remarkable way that it is still quite startling. Today’s audiences may perhaps have a more sophisticated palette and are less scared of repressed sexuality in technicolour. However, Lee’s Dracula brings a varied distillation to the vampire templates set by Bela Lugosi in Tod Browning’s Dracula (1931) and Max Scheck in Nosferatu (1919). His tall, dominating presence is something other incarnations of Dracula don’t necessarily have. His charming, British manner early on is in stark contrast to the “foreign” persona of Lugosi and Gary Oldman in Coppola’s 90s rendition. The othering that inhabits some versions of the character could now be seen as kitsch. It’s not surprising that Lugosi’s version is still ripe for parody. But the elaborate politeness from Lee in the few scenes in which he has lines, disorient the viewer for when Dracula acts. The most shocking moment is when Dracula reveals himself to Harker early on. The shot switches unexpectedly from a typical mid shot to an extreme, shocking close of Dracula’s face. Blood is dripping from his mouth.  His eyes are bulging and bloodshot. His smile is manic and unhinged. It’s difficult to believe it’s the same person smattering Harker a few scenes ago. Fisher and editor Bill Lenny use a similar tactic when Lucy tries to lure Tania, daughter of the Holmwood’s maid, to a graveyard. Both close-ups of Dracula and Lucy emphasise the drastic change undertaken by the characters and how uncanny and removed they now are from society. For all the lavish art direction and effects in Coppola’s version of the story, nothing in it captures the simple sinisterness found here. From the narrative change involving Harker to the very simple scares that are found in the movie. This Dracula is the most unsettling of the versions I’ve seen.

There’s a boldness in the film’s presentation which sets Dracula ’58 apart from its counterparts. Its narrative changes help maintain a sense of loss and tragedy. Its colour and eroticism set itself apart from what came before it. The simplicity of the storytelling makes it more memorable than the films that come after it. Christopher would become Dracula 6 more times for Hammer and was Dracula ten times in total. It was a role that, while perhaps his most iconic, one that he never truly relished, despite what he infused into it. He may not have necessarily enjoyed the work, but he is perhaps the person who wanted to understand the assignment best. Funny how these things happen.

 

I caught Dracula streaming on Amazon Prime.

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Article: Looking back at City of God

Despite my recent viewing being an umpteenth watch of City of God, my reaction is still the same. From the opening credits to the final moments, I was pulled back to when I used to work at my local cinema and I dragged my friends and co-workers to see a Brazilian Gangster coming of age film that they have never heard of. I saw a five-star review of the film in the now-defunct Hotdog magazine. To this day the best film magazine, I had the pleasure of reading. The magazine hyped the film as a Brazilian Goodfellas (1990), which was enough for me to lure my pals into the feature. As the “film guy” of the group, they never truly trusted my opinion on movies. They still don’t.

The film guy came good in this case. We all left the film rocked by what we just saw. Not just due to being the perfect age (18) to be blown away by a gritty, gun-toting journey into the favelas of Brazil. Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund’s piece is an astonishing piece of filmmaking. The Goodfellas comparisons from critics were clear and understandable, but the film’s signifiers came from a different place. They bought a new and eclectic vibrancy to proceedings. The way the film exploded on to the screen was simply something else. Watching the film now, it still hums with energy. 

A Docufiction adapted from Paulo Lins’ 1997 novel of the same film, the film throws its viewers into an intertangled mesh of organised crime beginning in the late sixties and continuing throughout the seventies. We’re guided through the film’s narrative by Rocket (Alexandre Rodrigues), as he navigates his way around the drug wars which inhabit the Cidade De Deus suburb where he lives. The film wouldn’t feel too out of place with the criminal coming of age films of Made in Britain (1982), Scum (1979), or Neds (2010). However, while the mentioned films have moments equally as shocking in their way, none have the same vibrancy that takes place here. It’s a film that truly illuminates, not only shedding light on the unlawful activity of Brazil’s notorious favela but doing so with a spark of electricity. High contrast, richly saturated cinematography, quick sharp cross-cut editing, and converging stories. Even now rewatching the film again, I found myself astounded by the breathless way directors Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund inform the story. It’s a shorter film than Goodfellas or The Godfather (1972), but it holds a similar richness. From its expressionistic close-ups to its Funkadelic soundtrack. It is an ugly story beautifully told. 

If there is one thing I forgot about the film, it’s how horny it is. From the first meeting between the young hoodlum Shaggy (Jonathan Haagensen) and Bernice (Bernice) to the death of one character (and the war which comes later from it) hinging partly on the sexual frustration and machismo of a character. Isn’t it funny that a film writer who co-hosts an erotic thriller podcast would note this aspect of the film? That said, this is a film that has no qualms over showing beautifully tanned bodies, often encased in sweat. One reason why this film writer felt so aware of the film’s libido, is because it feels like 18 years on, films have only now seemingly reached a point where they are more undaunted with ebony bodies and sensuality. Yay progression.

Films are no less violent than they were back in 2003 and yet the volatile acts that occur within City of God still feel like a sobering slap to the chops. City of God crafts an environment where poverty and struggle breed corruption. Existence is cheap. The emotional tug which comes from the film’s bleak set pieces often stems from just how young the victims and killers are. The grim fatalism which hangs over the death of groovy playboy Benny. The still horrific hand or foot sequence which befouls some kids who may not have even reached double figures in age. The despair that loiters in the dark alleyways is set against the modest desires of the film’s more amiable characters. To remind us of the previous paragraph, so many of these guys should be out trying to get phone numbers.

The films of Fernando Meirelles often portray an element of innocence lost. Something that the kids in City of God were rapidly losing while teenagers like myself and our first world problems held on to. Granted I am sure many more films have done similar. Let us not be so naïve that I knew nothing about the world at large. But there was something about this film’s urgency despite being a period piece struck me. Something that Meirelles did further on in his career with the likes of The Two Popes (2019), a fictionalised account of a meeting between the incumbent, conservative Pope Benedict XVI, and the liberal future Pope Francis. City of God was a film that blunted the fairy-tale coming of age that I started to notice in American films at the time. Films that were quick to mark growing pains as a passing awkward phase. It expressed a greater world in which young people at my age were inhabited by people who would not be so lucky. 

This is probably why the film is such a formative one for me. That first watch of City of God came at a time when I so close to the age of the characters. With much of my time watching coming of age films and television where the pubescent struggles were somewhat “safer”. It’s understandable to see how the film's violence could provide a stigma to those who live the favelas of Brazil, it’s also films like City of God which broadened the horizons of a viewer like myself. It’s a film that never felt exploitive but impassioned. It tells its story without the kind of romanticism that the likes of Coppola or Scorsese invoke. A period piece with a powerful immediacy.  

City of God wasn’t just a film that became a small bridge to me and my friends in terms of film watching (I also got turned one of my same friends on to Duncan Jones’ brilliant Moon). For me, it’s still a marvel of bold cinematic filmmaking. You don’t need to hold a degree in the socio-politics of Brazil to get what’s at stake, but it does prime a viewer for what is witnessed in films such as Elite Squad (2007). It’s also no surprise there was a boom of production filming shortly around the time the film was released with 45 productions being completed around the same time. People were seeing the potential of creating new challenging works with different areas of the world. The film introduced me to a director whose future work on similar themes of corruption and exploitation have been executed with a comparable amount of skill. 

City of God was one of the films that started the odyssey. The gateway to different and challenging experiences with film. A strange liberation in watching teenagers who we’re trapped in hell. A film that would make how you look at other movies differently. I still marvel at the film's rich use of technique and inventiveness in its intricate storytelling, but as a piece of cinema, I was able to sit with my friends in a dark cinema and hold a shared cinematic experience. It’s also why I find the warm reception at the cinema of the likes of the Oscar-winning Parasite (2019) to also be a large positive. When World Cinema is given the distribution and push, it finds the audience. It makes the connection. Then film guys get to sleep soundly at night.