"How do you do?" Frankie, Drac, James and me...or an introduction to Universal Horror...pa
"How do you do?", is perhaps one of the most memorable opening lines of any horror film, a deliciously witty and knowing wink to the audience, as a tuxedo clad Edward van Sloane ominously warns us, in the most amiable manner, of the moral lesson of the film we're about to see. Universal's 1931 Frankenstein, directed by James Whale holds a special place in my heart. It rests in that precious nest because it was the first film I saw when I began my Friday night rituals of watching horror double bills at the age of eight. The second one, the following week was Hammer's The Brides of Dracula. It was an intoxicating and heady juxtaposition of two distinctly different styles and moments in the history of horror and they're both indelibly branded on my brain.
I want to take this opportunity to say a little about Universal's heritage and its treatment of this classic and try to identify some of the remarkable elements in the film and it's relationship to its source material. I also want to reflect on how Hammer's later reinvention of the story and how it tries to define itself as distinctly different from Whale's film and consider some of the effects of these differences.
Universal and Dracula
We need to take a few steps back and sketch in some context before looking at James Whale's creation. By 1931 Universal had already established its relationship to horror with silent classics such as The Phantom of the Opera
and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, both of which featured Lon Chaney, 'the man of a thousand faces', who was already infamous for what he called his 'extraordinary characterizations'. Typically, these were characters were with extreme physical deformities so extreme they seemed impossible for an able-bodied actor to mimic. Perhaps the most extraordinary example of this in Chaney's work was The Penalty, released in 1920 and directed by Wallis Worsley. In this film Chaney plays Blizzard a sadistic double amputee. Chaney achieved the extraordinary illusion by wearing a harness which strapped his lower legs to his back. It proved so painful he could only endure it for very short periods of time. The final effect is astonishing and a powerful testament to Chaney's level of commitment and the discomfort he was willing to endure to transform his appearance and body, it quickly became his trademark. Wherever possible he kept his make-up techniques a closely guarded secret, devising and applying them on his own whenever he could. Although there have been many theories, there's still no definitive explanation for how he achieved that extraordinary truncated snout-like nose in The Phantom of the Opera.
Chaney's horror work and the iconic look he achieved for Erik and Quasimodo, the deformed deaf bell ringer in The Hunchback of Notre Dame will forever define his career. They have become definitive representations of the characters, clearly influencing the appearance and interpretation of the character by all who followed him. Chaney's impact on American horror can't be underestimated. his extraordinary dedication and commitment played a massive part in the financial success of both these films, he was American horrors first star and guaranteed box-office draw.
However, for all Chaney's talents, Universal's association with the genre was primarily driven by another unfamiliar figure lurking in the shadows of the studio's history. This was Carl Laemmle Junior. Junior was the driving force in recognizing and exploiting the popularity of horror, making it synonymous with Universal during the 1930s. Although the shoot and post production of The Phantom were plagued with problems , the film proved to be a box office hit and was profitably re-released (in different versions) several times throughout the 1920s. Laemmle junior astutely sensed there was a killing to be had, however Laemmle senior was no fan of the genre. This is apparent in both The Hunchback and The Phantom, both can be productively thought of as exercises in epic spectacle as well as claustrophobic horror. Both were incredibly expensive to make, constructing huge recreations of Notre Dame and the interior of the Paris Opera House (which still survives on the Universal lot).
Universal was already beginning to make tentative plans for a production of Bram Stoker's Dracula when the studio, the cinema and the country were shaken by a series of unconnected events, but each one would play a decisive role in shaping the future of horror in Hollywood. Chaney had, of course previously played a vampire
(or a detective/professor masquerading as one) in Browning's now lost London After Midnight. There had been some tentative discussion about Chaney taking on the role of Dracula, but in late 1929 Chaney was diagnosed with lung cancer. Three weeks after of the release of The Unholy Three, he suffered an acute throat hemorrhage and died. American horror had lost its first superstar. If Dracula was to go ahead it would have to do so without Chaney.
1929 also ushered in sound and changed the face of film forever. After Chaney's death Universal considered a number of actors for the lead role, including Conrad Viedt. However, this tantalizing prospect was (perhaps ironically) squashed after the studio felt Viedts's German accent was too thick for audiences. After a protracted casting process they finally settled on the little known Hungarian actor Bela Lugosi who had played the role on Broadway and lobbied hard for the role. He also came cheap. reportedly agreeing on a fee of $500 a week for the film's seven week shoot.
The Great Depression plunged America into economic chaos and Hollywood was not immune from the financial catastrophe. Studios had to tighten their belts. If Junior was to proceed with Dracula it couldn't be realized on the lavish scale and budget of The Phantom of the Opera of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Something more modest was called for. Universal found it's solution and it's leading man when it bought the rights to Hamilton Dean's stage version of Stoker's novel.
Hamilton Deane was a theatrical entrepreneur and actor/manager of a touring company. In 1924 he achieved Stoker's never realized ambition to bring Dracula to the stage.
However there were some fundamental changes between the novel and Deane's vision. For ease of staging, Deane realized the piece as a drawing room drama conversation piece, removing the scenes in Transylvania and transforming Stoker's hairy palmed, ranked breathed protagonist into an urbane drawing room lounge lizard. Initial reviews were mediocre, but the production was a massive success with audiences. The role of the Count was initially taken by British actor Raymond Huntley, when the play crossed the Atlantic in 1927, Huntley was replaced by a then unknown Bela Lugosi and sections of the play were rewritten by American playwright John Balderstone.
The Deane/Balderstone script provided a practical solution to Universal's conundrum, but results in a distinctly odd cinematic experience. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there's not the hint of a fang, or a drop of blood. The film opens with Renfield's journey to Castle Dracula and features some spectacular matte work, resulting in some impressive shots of the craggy landscape and Castle Dracula. This is also true of his entrance into the ruins of the castle and the his meeting with his host on the vast space of the splendidly
Gothic staircase which is shrouded in layers of cobwebs. It's an impressive piece of staging, but tragically this highly atmospheric set is underused in the film and only employed in this initial meeting between the two. The same is also true of the drawing room where Dracula hypnotizes or drugs Renfield and the brides make their memorable appearance. The set is once again epic in it's scale and height, and the large expanses of empty space highlight Renfield's vulnerability in this foreign, ancient environment.
There are some visual flourishes in these scenes that hint at a more dynamic and fluid visual style, such as the entrance of the brides, but overall the visual style is oppressively static and unimaginative. Director Todd Browning seems more confident of himself in the film's wordless scenes. This is apparent in Dracula's introduction as we see his hand claw at the coffin lid. After he emerges, the camera slowly tracks in towards him as he fixes the camera and audience with an
unblinking, hypnotic stare. There's no denying it's a powerful introduction. Browning even injects a sly touch of humour into the scene which is oddly out of step with the tone of the rest of the film. As Dracula and his Brides emerge from their coffins we cut to a wasp emerging from a tiny coffin. Is this an attempt to assure or comfort audiences, balancing this macabre moment with a pinch of absurd humour? Or is it a sign of Browning's own disinterest? It was no secret that Browning was ambivalent about the script and often left large portions of the directing to cinematographer Karl Freund.
The static nature of the film's visual style is made all the more apparent in the exclusion of key scenes, which could have provided moments of intense drama. Moments such as Dracula's escape as a wolf, or the final staking actually take place off screen. This, combined with Lugosi's rather laboured, one-note delivery all render the film rather ponderous and slightly jarring in its tone. There are glimpses of potential, but the experience is a little underwhelming. However, it proved a hit with audiences. Within 48 hours of its opening at New York's Roxy Theatre, it had sold 50,000 tickets, building a momentum that culminated in a $700,000 profit, the largest of Universal's 1931 releases. Junior Laemmle sensed ever blood more acutely than the cinematic vampire he had helped to fashion. There was money to be made in horror. Universal quickly turned its attention to a radical reinvention of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and the results would be quite startling.
