Whenever Mrs D sees Sven Goran Eriksson on the TV, she finds herself unable to resist the charming aside: "He looks just like Gary Oldman did in that Dracula film." Think about it and try to stop a grin sneaking across your visage - imagine Our Sven sinking his fangs into the lilywhite virgin neck of Michael Owen, unable to resist the temptation of the flesh, or better still Oldman giving the team talk as England sit 1-0 down to Transylvania: "Ve need much more BITE up front, my dears, so I vill make my debut on der ving ... MWUHAHAHAHA."
One thing's for sure, there would be no crosses raining in if Drac was there, but doubtless Emile Heskey would still be tumbling to the floor, weakened by loss of blood, or just naturally clumsy...
Okay, leaving aside the wacky world of Chez dave27, on with the show.
Bram Stoker's Dracula, dating back to 1992 and brought to the world by the masterly Francis Ford Coppola, is one of the more faithful depiction of the original book, oozing menace and genuine terror, with a nod to the Nosferatu of Klaus Kinski, though Oldman's Dark Lord is a more sympathetic and multi dimensional creature, a poor unfortunate to whom Fate has dealt a terrible hand. It's a dark and eerie tale and with the twin maestros of Oldman and Coppola in control, what else would you expect?
Stir in thoroughly dependable and pleasing contributions from Keanu Reeves as Jonathan Harker, Anthony Hopkins as van Helsing and Winona Ryder as Harker's fiancee Mina, some great sets and doom laden staging, and you get a true horror masterpiece, thoroughly captivating, believable and intriguing, deep and frightening.
Coppola's retelling of the tale starts back in the history of time with Oldman playing the sadistic Vlad the Impaler, a historic character from the time of the Crusades who committed unspeakable crimes against his victims. When he loses his beloved Elisabeta, he curses God for his Fate, and is repaid by being doomed to walk the planet for ever, sustained only by the consumption of human blood.
The brooding, haunted immortal Undead retreats to his deserted castle in Transylvania. For centuries he inhabits his dark and lonely world, but the film sees Harker an estate agent summoned by the Count to do him some work. The sight of the aged Oldman as the Count is genuinely disturbing, but his resurfacing as a young and vibrant man and his seduction of Mina's friend Lucy, with the inevitable drawing of blood, is somehow more threatening.
Harker is imprisoned in Drac's castle and subjected to some erotic blood letting by three female vamps (and what a turn on that has always been), but eventually escapes, now sporting a dashing flash of white in his hair.
Van Helsing of course helps Harker and the rest is pretty much in line with the stereotypical Drac tale, although extremely stylishly recreated and staged.
That, however, is a pretty slim description of what is actually a gloriously Gothic tale of darkness, dismay and despair, quite one of the strongest stagings of the Dracula legend we have ever enjoyed. In many ways it shares much of the splendour of the Frankenstein film starring Kenneth Branagh, a faithful version of their original novels.
Coppola is an extraordinary film maker and with Bram Stoker's Dracula he has created a memorable film, thoroughly blood curdling and gruesome, absorbing and seductive, capitalising on all the erotic delights and associations of the vampire legend. It's vivid and sensual, doomy and dark, just like we always wanted our Dracula to be, but at the same time you almost feel sorry for this despicable fiend, more hapless victim than criminal reaper of souls.
Coppola lifts all the best things about all the best vampire movies of all time, including all the eerie shadows of Nosferatu, flicks aside all the standard chaff and leaves behind one helluva strong film, quite one of the most effecting of all time.
Oldman dominates proceedings throughout and Hopkins and Reeves never seriously rival his presence. They are slightly irritating at times, but then few actors can really live with Gary when he is on form and no one does evil better than the master. He's such a natural as the Count that you tend to think he was made to play the part, and he carries off the charisma and brooding loneliness to perfection, dripping a chilling aura wherever he goes.
The film may be dripping with cliche, but with films about Dracula that is always going to be a danger, but despite seeing this story a million times, handled usually with clumsiness and inanity, Coppola has managed to breathe fresh and creepy life into a familiar legend, making us believe it all over again, and producing the necessary feeling of unease and terror at what might be hiding underneath our bed.
A bit like David Seaman, and the sight of that suntanned, buck toothed monster in a yellow shot mishitting his long cross, dipping fiendishly past him, sentencing him forever to relive his moment of horror. Sven must be turning in his grave...
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