Junta Juleil's Top 100: #70-66

70. FAT GIRL (2001, Catherine Breillat)

I'm the first to admit that, like BAD LIEUTENANT, CRASH, and any number of movies on this list, FAT GIRL is not for everyone. But I will also say that it's probably the truest, most important film about adolescence to come out in years, and its final, 400 BLOWS-mirroring freeze frame conveys an intent to shatter the complacency of watered-down "youth in turmoil" movies, just as Truffaut's film did back in '59. Catherine Breillat is a provocateur, to be sure, but she's neither a dime-store shock-peddler nor an obnoxious feminist. Her films attempt to glean meaning from the ever-shifting dynamics of sex and power which govern human interaction, and she doesn't shy away from asking the tough questions or handing out the tough answers. This is her masterpiece.

69. THE DARK CRYSTAL (1982, Jim Henson & Frank Oz)

I've said this before, but here it goes again:
True creativity, for me, is and has always been the ability to build something out of nothing- with your hands. THE DARK CRYSTAL is the apex of Jim Henson and designer Brian Froud's interminable artistry (they also collaborated on LABYRINTH), and here, they've built a timeless universe of breathtaking spectacle, exotic unfamiliarity, fanciful magic, ancient mysticism, exacting detail, and uncompromising depth. They are so confident (and deservedly so!) in their vision, that they've chosen to dispense with humans altogether, relegating them to puppeteering and vocal duties. There's no CGI here, no poorly rendered computer animations fabricated by some lazy skeeze at his PC. Everything's been rigorously fashioned and laboriously crafted from the ground up. While it's been designed for children to grasp, this is by no means merely a children's film. Using the familiar framework of the "quest" mythos, there's still philosophical complexity, palpable trauma, and visceral evil. Certain images possess a real potency, and stand out from the others: the dying Skeksis Emperor literally crumbling away in mid-screech as his vile, potential successors circle like vultures; the charming, faithful, lovable Fizzgig and his impossibly gaping maw; the genius matte paintings and meticulously sculpted forests that spare no detail from the tiniest of insects to the largest of trees to creatures I cannot even begin to describe. There is a certain REALness to the entirety of the proceedings because the screen is full of objects, animals, and characters that ARE real- someone could hold and manipulate them by hand or by string or by lever, and this is what gives them the breath of life. And with that breath, this film exhales upon the viewer the vivacity, exuberance, and sincerity that were poured into it by its creators. So eff you, CGI. You can toss my motherlovin' salad.

68. PULP FICTION (1994, Quentin Tarantino)

It was difficult to pick a favorite Tarantino. In general, he's something of a polarizing figure– in turns he's pompous, restrained, and occasionally misunderstood by slavering fanboys and disapproving critics alike. RESERVOIR DOGS has the tautness and intensity of a capital-G Great stage play, JACKIE BROWN features Tarantino at the height of his powers as an actor's director, KILL BILL is a helluva lot of well-orchestrated kung fu-spaghetti western fun, DEATH PROOF features perhaps the greatest car chase ever filmed and Kurt Russell's sleaziest, most ridiculous performance since BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA, and INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS forces us to question how each of us (consciously or subconsciously) constructs narratives out of history. In fact, I might have even picked BASTERDS for this list, but I think I need to sit on it for about ten years first. Regardless, PULP FICTION is perhaps the most lovingly-constructed paean to American cinema ever to be sung from the rooftops; it's KISS ME DEADLY and PSYCHO and TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and RIO BRAVO and CHARLEY VARRICK and SHAFT and ZARDOZ and THE PANIC IN NEEDLE PARK rolled into one, razor-sharp, fast-paced indie crime-fest that got Travolta dancing again, Keitel into a tuxedo, Eric Stoltz eating Fruit Brute, Uma looking like Anna Karina, and Amanda Plummer shivering and shuddering with the force of her own insanity! ...I could go on. A damn good movie, and my only complaint is that Dick Miller got left on the cutting room floor!

67. LOST HIGHWAY (1997, David Lynch)

A spider climbs the wall. Gary Busey whimpers. Robert Blake points a camcorder at you. David Bowie croons "Funny how secrets travel..." You careen down a highway into blackness, the only illumination coming from your flickering headlamps... LOST HIGHWAY is truly an experience. And it makes plenty of sense if you think about it long enough, so don't tell me that "it's needlessly confusing"– it just demands a certain, brooding sort of viewer who'll allow themselves to be lured into the veritable labyrinth that Lynch has constructed. Plus, Robert Loggia's livid, red-faced rant about tailgating is surely worth the price of admission alone. And one of my favorite facets of Lynch's oeuvre is the fact that his movies often linger, long after you've finished watching them; hanging dangerously at the periphery as you continue your day. I first saw LOST HIGHWAY on a VHS with my sister during an overcast, Midwestern afternoon in late summer. Afterward, we went out to dinner with the rest of my family, as it was a special occasion. As afternoon turned to evening, the sense of mystery and uncertainty remained. As I walked into the restaurant, I took a fleeting, sidelong glance into a dimly-lit room adjoining the kitchen. I saw an older woman chopping something, quite robotically, and with a hint of menace. She turned toward me, our eyes locked, and in one forceful movement, she shut the door. The entire exchange couldn't have lasted more than four or five seconds, but it carried with it a frighteningly palpable sense of dread. The only reason I repeat this story is to illustrate that Lynch's power is such that his films don't just invade your dreams (as many have already posited), they invade your waking hours! The best ones are potent enough to put you in a genuine state, whereupon you see the hidden menace in everything. Obviously, it's not a state you ought to be in all the time, but it's a darkly magical one that I deeply appreciate. Brace yourselves for more Lynch as this list continues.

66. THE UNKNOWN (1927, Tod Browning)

Almost everything I could say about this film carries with it the potential of sullying your maiden viewing by way of 'knowing too much.' So I'll tell you this: It stars Lon Chaney, whose virtues I have extolled HERE; co-stars Joan Crawford, whose acting talents and frightening eyebrows I have praised HERE; and was directed by Tod Browning, whose penchant for nightmarish silent and early sound cinema has been raved about HERE. All I'll say is that it deals with ill-advised obsessions, the blossoming of twisted love, and the madness that dances around a man's eyes when he discovers the senselessness of it all. Oh yeah, and it takes place at A CIRCUS. It's bold, it's brutal, and Lon Chaney (near the finale) delivers what has to be the finest reaction shot in all of cinema. One of the greatest films from the silent era (or any other, for that matter).

Coming up next... Philip Glass, my second-favorite ghost story, and Ed Harris fights the dragon!

Previously on the countdown:
#75-71
#80-76
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2

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The Runners-Up to Junta Juleil's Top 100, Part 2

Ah, more spillover. But next, we'll be cracking the Top 100 for real.

DRACULA (1931, Tod Browning)

I've said before that "DRACULA is a monster classic, full of fleeting, mystical moments and ethereal majesties. Exceedingly atmospheric and possessing one of the most iconic leading performances in film history, DRACULA is a Halloween fixture and a classic of early sound cinema; it's mandatory viewing not only for horror fans, but for cineastes in general." The maniac élan of Dwight Frye; the ineffable, funereal poetry of Lugosi's performance; the weight and the torment of centuries... while it may not be an objectively perfect film, dammit, it's close enough for me.

STROZEK (1978, Werner Herzog)

"No one kicks you here, Bruno." –"Not physically...here they do it spiritually." So Herzog tackles the American Dream, er, let's make that the American Nightmare. How do we get from a point where the emotionally and institutionally damaged German street performer Bruno S. (played by the emotionally and institutionally damaged real-life German street performer, Bruno S.) is escaping thugs in Germany to find a better life in America, to the point where a cop is screaming "WE CAN'T STOP THE DANCING CHICKENS! WE CAN'T STOP THE DANCING CHICKENS, SEND AN ELECTRICIAN!?" Well, I'm not going to tell you how. See the film for yourself. But be prepared for more humanity in non-actor Bruno S.'s little finger than in the entirety of your average, unfortunate member of that species we call Homo sapiens.

THE MECHANIC (1972, Michael Winner)

A Michael Winner movie permitted to even bask in the presence of the top 100?! Yeah, you heard me right. While this might not be the best movie that Bronson was ever in, this is probably the best "Bronson movie." I've written of my love for this flick before: It's a detached, melancholy thriller with crisp, artistic cinematography; a dissonant, unnerving Jerry Fielding score; and perhaps Bronson's most complex, compelling performance. And, boy, has it got a doozy of an ending. Highest marks. (Plus, this might mark the beginning of Bronson's love affair with ice cream– not to be confused with his love affairs with chicken or bananas.)

THE LIMEY (1999, Steven Soderbergh)

The style of swingin' 60's Godard, but without all the pompous, pseudo-revolutionary hogwash and self-congratulatory pretension that've infected his films sometime since 1965 or so, THE LIMEY has what every movie should have: an aged, blood-spattered Terence Stamp screaming at the top of his Cockney lungs, "Tell him I'm fucking comingggg!" The brutality of a POINT BLANK or an OUTFIT combined with the thoughtfulness of a Jean-Pierre Melville or an Antonioni, THE LIMEY is, hands-down, Soderbergh's masterpiece. Cliff Martinez's somber, furtive score; the use of counter-culture icons like Peter Fonda, Barry Newman, and Joe Dallesandro; the lunatic improvisations of a pony-tail'd Nicky Katt; brilliant, deadpan sidekickery by Luis Guzman; and the ethereal cinematography of Edward Lachmann all revolve around the furious, uncompromising, force-of-nature lead portrayal by Terence Stamp. It's THE REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST for the Sons of Lee Marvin.

EXTREME PREJUDICE (1987, Walter Hill)

Because I can't really think of any way to put it better than I already did, I'll say this: "Before you stick this thing in your player, I want you to mark out an 8 foot radius around your TV set. Then I want you to make sure there's nothing in that zone that you wouldn't mind having 40 gallons of testosterone poured over. EXTREME PREJUDICE has been proven to make wombs shrivel and has turned the frilliest of ladies quite husky; it makes men stumble, confused, into the street with a mysterious desire to chomp on cigars and arm wrestle. It's robust, potent, severe, and is completely safe when used as directed." It's the ultimate manly man's 'manly man' movie, and just about the most fun you can have indoors on a hot summer's day. And I'll leave you with two words that you should always remember: "Michael," and "Ironside."

THE SADDEST MUSIC IN THE WORLD (2003, Guy Maddin)

"If you're sad, and like beer, I'm your lady." To that, I answer "why, I'm all of the above, but I thought Isabella Rossellini was already my lady." Guy Maddin, George Toles, and Kazuo Ishiguro put their heads together for a completely deranged, nostalgia-soaked, impeccably-desinged paean to silent and early sound cinema, a film so utterly bizarre and completely sincere that it avoids the typical pitfalls of pastiche. And even though the ending is borrowed from HANGOVER SQUARE, by God, it still takes the guts outta ya. (Also: Isabella Rossellini has prosthetic legs filled with beer, which might be enough to get this near the Top 100 alone.)

DOWN BY LAW (1986, Jim Jarmusch)

Picking a favorite Jarmusch film is a lofty task; I've got major soft spots in my heart for STRANGER THAN PARADISE, DEAD MAN, GHOST DOG, and MYSTERY TRAIN, to name a few. But nothing can match what Tom Waits called "a Russian neo-fugitive episode of THE HONEYMOONERS," the dingy-bayou prison-break (that doesn't actually show the prison-break) classic, DOWN BY LAW. You can almost touch the peeling paint, feel the haze of everpresent New Awlins humidity, smell the stench and stagnancy of the swamps... And that's not the half of it- there's the inscrutable John Lurie, the drunken Tom Waits, and the never-better zany Eye-talian, Roberto Begnini!

LE TROU (1960, Jacques Becker)

Speaking of prison breaks, this one's all about the logistics, the timeframe, and the little details that make it feel real. Jacques Becker's observational style is applied to a group of desperate, jailed men, and the results are astounding. He documented the behavior of criminals before in TOUCHEZ PAS AU GRISBI, but these men are anguished, doomed souls, yearning for freedom– they aren't zoot suit-wearing bon vivant gangsters; they're working-class buddies who had to push the acceptable limits of human behavior to survive in the free world (until they got busted), and now they have to push the limits of their own ingenuity if they want to survive a caged world. Often, in a film of this type, we'll see a man digging with a spoon or a toothbrush or a what-have-you, and then, via montage, we see the completed tunnel. There's an economy of storytelling in that, but it occasionally feels staged, contrived, or worse. In LE TROU, some men in real-time pass around a steel bar, taken from a bed, and smash at the concrete. When one man tires, he passes the bar to the next, and then to the next. Finally, with nary an edit, they break through, creating a hole. We've just seen the process and the effort which went into making the hole, and that is strangely satisfying. No smoke and mirrors here; it's real men doing real things. Strange that a genuine moment as simple as this should stick out to me in a life-time of film watching. Of course, it's not as simple as pointing a camera at someone doing something real and recording it– but I suppose therein lies Becker's genius.

BLOODSPORT (1988, Newt Arnold)

"What?!," I see you saying, way in the back, lurking in the darkness. "Who the hell lets BLOODSPORT within 30 miles of a Top 100 list?!" Well, 'Mr. Too-Fancy-to-Appreciate-Van-Damme's-Mastery-of-Splits-and-Full-Contact-Martial-Arts,' I do. Because there's something to be said for a movie (even if it's a big, dumb, fun movie) that can be watched again and again and again and again, forever. Cannon Films churned out some silly content and some serious content, but it was always audacious– ballsy, even- brimming with a genuine joie-de-vivre that was infectious then, and it's infectious now. Golan and Globus were producers who allowed their directors artistic control, who refused to stomp upon their creativity, and infused their production company with the sense that something new and exciting was happening– yeah, what were they thinking, right?! "Golan and Globus used to be big," says the naysayer in the rear. "No," I say, "they ARE big– it's the pictures that got small! KUMI-TE! KUMI-TE! KUMI-TE! KUMI-TE!"

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING (1975, John Huston)

A grand adventure film from a time when that didn't mean a CGI fuckfest with a heavily airbrushed poster, a $200 million budget, a cast of brain-dead fluffballs for the younger demographic and "wait, do we have a script yet?– here, let's assign these eight guys to it, each of whom has a notable credit from a high-profile reboot." Rudyard Kipling's tale of fortune and glory and deification has been laid out on the screen here by John Huston, perhaps the best-suited man for the job from Kipling's time to ours. Somehow, all at once, he captures rollicking fun, the absurdities of imperialism, the outrageous hubris of man, and the pathos which often swells beneath it. And rarely have two lead actors (here, Sean Connery and Michael Caine) been so perfectly cast, so full of life, so connected to material that flits to and fro from the light-hearted to the downbeat like the oscillations of a river's current, flowing through a dramatic, uncharted slit of a canyon, somewhere on the other side of the world...

HIGHBALL (1997, Noah Baumbach)

Though this film's cult following outside of my apartment is likely pretty slim; I will say, that inside my apartment, said cult following is rather extensive and rather rabid. I've spoken of my love for this film before, and I have to say "it's the ultimate party movie for people who generally dislike party movies." Rae Dawn Chong as herself, Chris Eigeman, Carlos Jacott, John Lehr, Peter Bogdanovich... it's fantastic. Acerbic wit, low-budge' moxie, and an incredible re-watchability factor.

THE SCARLET EMPRESS (1934, Josef von Sternberg)

Holy shit– let von Sternberg do whatever he wants, and this is the result: a cast of thousands; imposing, grotesque statuary and sets that spiral toward the heavens; intertitles and silent film techniques in the midst of sound film; Sam Jaffe leering with half-witted insanity (he gives Dwight Frye a run for his money); and Marlene Dietrich in opulent period costume pieces and shot with starry-eyed closeups. Some have described it as "kitsch," and maybe it is, but it's really a weighty examination of the nature of power: we only see Dietrich become the "Scarlet Empress" at the film's close, in fact, we spend the majority of our time with her as a frightened young woman spirited away to a foreign land, yanked to and fro by forces beyond her control. Ultimately, she embarks on an inevitable, fascinating journey towards becoming the sort of deadened, manipulating individual capable of wielding absolute power. It's pretty damned spectacular.

THE GARBAGE PAIL KIDS MOVIE (1987, Rod Amateau)

Now I've done it– I've put Josef von Sternberg and John Huston in the same room as the Garbage Pail Kids, and I'll defend that decision to the death. Rarely does a movie achieve such a perfection of badness; not even TROLL 2 can quite compete with this schizophrenic tale of one-dimensional misfits. Take Ali Gator, for example. His dogged, single-minded quest to eat people's toes quickly vaults him onto the shortlist of my favorite characters in all of cinema. Seriously, his only character trait is that he longs, unswervingly, to hasten the union between your toes and his teeth. We've got little people in hideous, quasi-animatronic costumes. We've got "Captain Manzini," a sort of gutter-Shakespeare stock player. We've got bodily functions. Vomit. Farting. Musical numbers. We got a plot that revolves, entirely, around a fashion show. There's underage romance. Genuine rage. Powerlessness. Cries unto the night. Biker gangs. Toxic sewer sludge. Is it burlesque? Is it grotesque? The modern-day GARGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS THING?! All I do know is that it's truly something special, and if you'd caught me on a different day, hell, this thing could've cracked the Top 100 proper. So consider yourselves lucky. For now.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: THE UNHOLY THREE (1925, Tod Browning)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 86 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Lon Chaney (THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, THE PENALTY, THE UNKNOWN), Mae Busch (FOOLISH WIVES, ALIBI), Matt Moore (COQUETTE, SEVEN BRIDES FOR SEVEN BROTHERS), Victor McLaglen (THE INFORMER, GUNGA DIN), Harry Earles (THE WIZARD OF OZ, FREAKS), Edward Connelly (THE SAPHEAD, THE MYSTERIOUS LADY). Directed by Tod Browning (FREAKS, DRACULA, THE UNKNOWN).
Tag-line: "A Metro Goldwyn Picture."
Best one-liner: "If you tip that boob off to who we are, I'll lay some lilies under your chin!"

Though I don't believe he's ever been discussed on this site until today, I'm of the opinion that Lon Chaney might be the greatest actor who ever lived. From his achievements in self-mutilation to his mind-blowing makeup effects to his mastery of the crazy-eye to his portrayals of mad jealousy, mangling frustration, and unfettered pathos; he assembled a vast body of work that really can't be matched for variety, commitment, or poignancy- and half of his films are lost! Most are familiar with his turns in THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA and THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME, but others, such as THE PENALTY, THE UNKNOWN, and HE WHO GETS SLAPPED reveal layers of brilliance that his most iconic films can only hint at. Some of my favorite Chaney anecdotes include:
•his performance in 1927's TELL IT TO THE MARINES was so convincing that the powers that be made him an honorary marine.
•a 1928 murderer claimed that Chaney's performance in LONDON AFTER MIDNIGHT was so disturbing that it drove him insane.
•the apparatus worn by Chaney in THE PENALTY to make him appear legless caused permanent muscle damage and was so painful he could only wear it and film for a few minutes at a time before there was the chance he would lose consciousness. Take that, actors' unions!

Regardless, the film at hand is 1925 version of THE UNHOLY THREE. Directed by Tod Browning, who collaborated with Chaney on ten films from 1919-1929, it was later remade (as a sound film) with most of the same principals (including Chaney). While I haven't yet had the chance to see that version, most scholars tend to prefer the original.

The plot is truly whacked-out: a ventriloquist (Chaney), a midget (Harry Earles), and a strongman (Victor McLaglen) escape their day jobs at the carnival in order to perpetuate a long con at a pet shop where they pose as a sweet old lady (Chaney), a baby (Earles), and a regular dude (McLaglen), respectively. I don't wish to reveal too much beyond that, so here are- delightfully out of context- my eight favorite things about THE UNHOLY THREE.

#1. When we first meet Chaney's 'Professor Echo,' he's delighting the crowd with his well-cultured comedic stylings, featuring such rib-ticklers as the following:





It's almost an anti-joke, with a sort of amazing anti-climactic punchline. I love it. Afterward, he tries to sell his illustrious joke-book to the crowd- no wonder he got into a life of crime!

#2. When we first meet Tweedledee the Midget, he's raging on a stage across from Chaney's ventriloquism act. Actor Harry Earles may have the facial resemblance and stature of a baby, but his gnarled, take-no-shit-from-anyone, Edward G. Robinson-style countenance must be seen to be believed.

Then this guy down here, with a smirking little tot upon his shoulder, begins to heckle our dear Tweedledee...

...who commences to–

KICK THE SHIT OUTTA THE KID TILL HE'S BLOODY IN THE FACE AND BEGINS AN ALL-OUT BRAWL!

Now that is a character introduction, ladies and gentlemen. As an asskicker, I suppose that Harry Earles was the Weng Weng of his day.

#3. The leering grin and psychotic gaze of Lon Chaney, whenever he lays out an evil master plan. 'Unholy,' indeed! I believe that the same expression rests upon his face in THE PENALTY when he explains his insanely complex scheme in that film (which involves a sweatshop of women making hats!).

Also: Tod Browning's use of shadow whenever Chaney lays out an evil master plan.


#4. The disguises. While Victor McLaglen just has to take off his Tarzan/Hercules costume and put on some regular clothes, Chaney and Earles undergo complete physical transformations.

Earles sells us on the baby 100%, and as soon as the victims leave the room, he whips out the cigars that he keeps hidden in his diaper and lights one up. Overall, his movements and facial contortions are so uncannily accurate that you'll probably be taking a closer, warier look into the strollers you pass on the street each day. One of them might conceal a murderous jewel thief.

As Granny O'Grady, Chaney combines wig, posture, gesture, and costume (check out those lacy half-gloves!) into a flawless impersonation.

The lengths to which he perfected his gestures become especially evident when, for example, in a scene where a mark looks away and Chaney must accomplish something rapidly, out of character, but still in costume. You- like his unwitting victims- are lulled and have become unaware of the extent of the deception! Also, it's terrific to see him quickly pull off the wig and start yelling at his fellow crooks:


#5. Oh, and did I mention this is a Christmas movie, too?


#6. One of Chaney's cons involves tricking prospective pet shop customers into believing that his deadbeat parrots are of the learned, talkative variety. Of course, being a ventriloquist, he can fool the patrons quite easily. But how to visualize the act of birds 'speaking' in a silent film?...


It's pretty damned great.

#7. The courtroom scene. I won't give away any of the actual proceedings, but suffice to say, it allows for some fine character-acting. The judge, played by Edward Connelly, has that elitist gaunt-faced malice later realized in our era by the likes of Peter Cushing and Angus Scrimm. He's superb.

Chaney, on the other hand, embodies absolute anxiety to perfection.

In silent cinema, so many emotions run purer and freer: here, we can look past the traditional 'will-he-get-caught' pretense and look at Chaney embodying the entire concept of human frustration, the idea of an unscratchable itch. Bravo.
(And as a side note, in THE UNKNOWN, he takes this to a whole new level when he...shall we say... has a rather... disarming epiphany.)

#8.

GIANT

APE

ATTACK!!!

In the end, while THE UNHOLY THREE is by no means my favorite of Chaney's films, or even my most loved of the off-the-deep-end collaborations of Chaney and Browning, it's another fundamental example of the man's genius and a 'gift from the past' of true imagination and unhinged virtuousity. Four and a half stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: DRACULA (1931, Tod Browning)

Stars: 4.9 of 5.
Running Time: 75 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Béla Lugosi, Dwight Frye (FRANKENSTEIN, BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN), Helen Chandler (DAYBREAK, THE SKY HAWK), Edward van Sloane (THE MUMMY, FRANKENSTEIN, DRACULA'S DAUGHTER), Herbert Bunston (THE MOONSTONE, THE RICHEST GIRL IN THE WORLD), David Manners (THE BLACK CAT, THE MUMMY). Cinematography by Karl Freund (KEY LARGO, METROPOLIS, THE GOLEM, THE LAST LAUGH, I LOVE LUCY; director of THE MUMMY- allegedly uncredited co-director of DRACULA). Directed by Tod Browning (FREAKS, THE UNKNOWN). Makeup by Jack P. Pierce (FRANKENSTEIN, THE WOLF MAN, THE MUMMY, WHITE ZOMBIE, THE MONKEY TALKS). Based on the novel by Bram Stoker (THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM).
Tag-line: "The story of the strangest passion the world has ever known!"
Best one-liner: "For one who has not lived even a single lifetime, you're a wise man, Van Helsing."

DRACULA is far from a perfect film: it's more derivative of the theatrical adaptation than the Stoker novel, it suffered persistent budgetary setbacks, the production was plagued by disorganization, and the director (Tod Browning)- despondent over losing his friend and intended Dracula, Lon Chaney- became disinterested and irritable, allegedly handing off the reins to DP Karl Freund on occasion. Despite it all, however, DRACULA is a monster classic, full of fleeting, mystical moments and ethereal majesties. Exceedingly atmospheric and possessing one of the most iconic leading performances in film history, DRACULA is a Halloween fixture and a classic of early sound cinema. Mandatory viewing not only for horror fans, but for cineastes in general, what could I possibly write to add to the critical discourse? Perhaps I'll just write about a few of my favorite moments- those sublime cobwebs of perfection which waft in and out of the nightmarish fantasia...



#1. The Fauna of Castle Dracula.

Some of you may think I'm ragging on the film by bringing this up, but I'm not–there's something so bizarre– almost alien– about the eclectic selection of critters which inhabit Castle Dracula. There're armadillos (Tod Browning spent time in Texas) wandering amongst the dilapidated furniture,

'possums skittering to and fro, and fake bats twirling on strings outside the Palladian windows.
A striped termite (?) wriggles out of its tiny coffin.

As Renfield parts the world's largest spiderweb,

we see its arachnid creator clambering up the wall.

Er, make that dragged upward by a stagehand. But it doesn't matter- in the midst of the awe-inspiring set (more on that in a bit), this strange bit of artificiality only adds to the unsettling grandeur of Castle Dracula.

#2. The sets– more specifically, the sets of Castle Dracula and Carfax Abbey.


The sheer scope is breathtaking. If the production hadn't been underfunded, I can only imagine what constructed Hollywood wizardry could be dazzling us– as it stands, only the beginning and end of the film possess these towering, Cyclopean sets; for the most part, the rest is all drawing rooms and boudoirs. But it doesn't matter- even just one of these two sets could carry the movie.

#3. The Philip Glass score, composed in 1999. Purists prefer the Tchaikovsky and the silence (with a touch of Wagner during the concert scene), but I wish there could be a happy medium– I can't imagine DRACULA without "Swan Lake" playing over the main title, but I absolutely adore the rest of Philip Glass' score. It's swirling and mesmerizing, shadowy and indistinct. It billows and surges relentlessly from the darkest depths of the human soul. It's DRACULA. It often creates the illusion of a silent film (despite all the dialogue) and complements the Browning and Freund imagery perfectly. Now I find that there are moments in the film which I can't imagine without the Glass score.

#4. The first appearance of Count Dracula.



The power of this scene perhaps lies in its simplicity. The slow tracking shot. The gnarled hand steadily emerging from the coffin. The torpid mist which lends a general haze to the entire milieu. The peculiar expression upon Dracula's face- it is not one of malevolence, but one of immutable passivity. The cycle begins anew. The blood and the night and the taking of life.

#5. Freund's pencil lighting.

Today, I feel as if the actor's unions would have a problem with the director of photography shining concentrated bursts of small, high-wattage lamps directly into an actor's open eyes, but I don't hear Béla Lugosi complaining. I think he's too connected to his character to think of anything besides the tremendous hypnotic power he wields over mere mortals.


The effect is wonderful, and it proves that you don't require special contact lenses, prosthetics, or CGI to depict a monster's indescribable gaze... all you need is an inventive lighting designer and a really intense Hungarian.

#6. Dwight Frye as Renfield.

Speaking of really intense people- for your consideration, Dwight Frye:


Sort of the 1930's Crispin Glover, Frye tackled roles with a genuine, maniac élan that likely will never be matched. He was a Broadway legend (originating "The Son" in Pirandello's SIX CHARACTERS IN SEARCH OF AN AUTHOR), he played the iconic role in FRANKENSTEIN which many people mistakenly call "Igor" (in actuality, it's "Fritz"); he appeared in THE VAMPIRE BAT and THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, had bit parts in FRANKENSTEIN MEETS THE WOLF MAN and THE INVISIBLE MAN, and was immortalized in song by Alice Cooper (while singing in a straitjacket, to boot!).

It's easy to see why he was later typecast as this parade of lunatics, crazies, and madmen, yet before Renfield gets 'buggy,' so to speak, he skillfully plays it straight as the dandy-solicitor who's in a little over his head.



#7. Helen Chandler's (Mina's) vampire gaze.

I'm not sure I like it as well as Sybille Schmitz's in VAMPYR, but Helen is certainly bringing something to the table– something murderous and childlike.

#8. The scene where Dracula attempts to hypnotize Van Helsing.




There's an ineffable, poetic quality to this that makes it so memorable. A simple enough scene of Dracula failing to exert his will upon Van Helsing, it humanizes both characters considerably. Initially, Van Helsing falls victim to Dracula's powerful trance- he briefly appears as a wobbly, helpless old man. Then he regains his mental footing, and reveals the sheer magnitude of his determination, earning a degree of Dracula's respect and drawing his ire. The two titans have clashed without raising their voices or exchanging blows, they've merely wielded the forces of their respective wills against one another. And it feels real– the weight of tormented centuries, the fortitude of one who fights monsters- it's all made very tangible in this scene.

#9. The scene in the opera box.

It's only a brief dialogue scene, but it's quite possibly my favorite moment in the film. Dracula meets Harker, Lucy, and Mina for the first time. Dracula explains his recent purchase of Carfax Abbey and how it reminds him of the crumbling battlements of his castle in Transylvania. The girls are waxing poetic about death and other such morbidities, and Dracula interjects...


Dracula reveals himself, his true human self, to a trio of oblivious bon vivants and ingenues. Lugosi speaks deliberately- Dracula chooses his words carefully because they carry great import. "There are far worse things awaiting man than death." He breaks eye contact with the girls, because now he's looking into himself. Harker mutters some cheap, hollow sentiment, and Dracula tunes him out... he tunes out the rest of this vapid world, a world full of those who dare to speak of death as if they've experienced it...

The Philip Glass music swells, and it's a pleasure to the point of pain.


-Sean Gill


Side note: Dracula's screams during the staking have been a matter of some controversy. Available on VHS, many were angered by their exclusion on the Universal DVD, but they're actually there if you know where to look. There are three audio tracks– #1, the edited audio (but with the original music) which does not have the screams. #2, the Philip Glass score, does have the screams, but they are very faint because the music is playing rather loudly. Track #3, the commentary by David J. Skal, is with the original, unedited audio, but he's speaking nearly the whole time. So if you really want to hear the screams, choose the audio commentary during the final scene, and he actually pauses as they happen, for your listening pleasure. Why Universal did this is anybody's guess, but at least they're on there somewhere.

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