Dracula (1958)

Dracula (aka Horror of Dracula) (Terence Fisher, 1958) Jimmy Sangster's screenplay for the initial Hammer version of Dracula starts out much as Bram Stoker did—with an entry in the diary of Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen). Castle Dracula (in Klausenburg) is a good deal cleaner than previous domiciles (no cobwebs, no dust, but then the Count (Christopher Lee) does state his housekeeper is "away"), although it does an ever-present atmosphere of mist—one can even see Jonathan Harker's breath in his quarters.

 

But, Harker is not there to sell the place (as in the novel and so many versions). He announces that he is pleased to be accepted as the castle's "librarian" but he writes that he wants to "stop his reign of terror forever." You'd think, then, that he'd be a bit more wise to night-gowned beauties asking for help in the middle of the night, or that he might have come with holy water or a crucifix or a bible or some garlic of something. Or to choose his priorities on whom to stake a bit more wisely. 

Within days after Harker's arrival, Dr. Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) arrives at the Klausenburg Inn inquiring about Harker, and is stonewalled until he goes up to the castle. Upon entering the grounds, he sees a coach leaving in a big hurry, and investigating further, he finds two coffins in the basement, one holding a staked vampire woman turned old with age, and in the other, Jonathan Harker. Van Helsing makes quick work of him with a stake through his heart.

Returning to Karlstadt (Karlstadt?), Van Helsing informs the family of Harker's fiancee, Lucy (Carol Marsh), of the young man's death. Lucy has taken ill...with anemia...and her brother Arthur Holmwood (Michael Gough) and his wife Mina (Melissa Stribling), who rebuff the doctor despite his reputation as "a very eminent man." They choose to delay telling her the terrible news until she recovers. There's not much chance of that, as it turns out.

Van Helsing may be "very eminent" (as Stoker described him as a philosopher a "metaphysician") but he seems to have a weird specialty. We seem him dictating his thoughts on vampirism, and it gives us a veritable "Vampire Rulebook" for this film's iteration of the myth. He tells us that vampires are allergic to light (and that sunlight is fatal), that vampires are "repelled" by the odor of garlic, that the "power of the crucifix symbolizing the power of good over evil, protects the human being but exposes the vampire or victim when in advanced stages."

"Victims consciously detest being dominated by a vampirism but are unable to relinquish the practice, similar to addiction to drugs. Ultimately, death results from loss of blood, but, unlike normal death, no peace manifests itself for they enter into the fearful state of the Undead." Changing into bats or wolves is dismissed later as "a common fallacy." It's in the Stoker, but sometimes a vampire's weakness is actually budgetary.

That also may be why so many of the characters from the Stoker novel are missing (as they are in the stage play), or switched out. Lucy Winestra and Mina Murray are transferred to a more nuclear Holmwood family, Quincey Morris is sent to a farm, and Dr. John Seward's presence is minimal and there's no Renfield or mention of an asylum. Then, again, there's no transcontinental travel, either. Everybody stays on the continent. Stoker's novel is boiled down to the minimal, but in a different way than the Hamilton Deane/John L. Baldeston play (which was copyrighted and held by Universal). And, of course, it being Hammer, there are bit-pieces for character actors, some of which are rather comic.

The treatment of the Count is a bit different. Christopher Lee has 16 lines, all of them in the first fifteen minutes. The rest of the time, he is silent and menacing, baring his fangs and growling—it IS difficult to deliver dialogue when you're slurshing through fangs. There is no pretense that he is a nobleman, or even having the manners of a member of the upper class. He is a monster, a hunter, with no motivations other than to feed. And his close-ups are animalistic, with reddened eyes, wolfish fangs and without the thought of even wiping his mouth to take away the blood of his victims. But, despite that, there is a carnality to him that enflames the ladies (it is Hammer, after all) and makes them toss garlic, doff crucifixes and open balcony doors in lustful invitation to him.

There is also an overt physicality to this Dracula, as well, no doubt owing to the lack of dialogue. During the first confrontation between Harker and Dracula, Lee leaps over a large dining room table to attack Harker, at one point, running up stairs three at a time to make an escape, and, during the climactic confrontation, Van Helsing—or Cushing's stunt-double—goes full-on Douglas Fairbanks to rip down the drapes to let in the sun-light in order to reduce Dracula to ash. Talk about leaving a carbon foot-print!

Lee is quite amazing in the movie and makes a stark contrast to the cool, collected Cushing, but, the most remarkable performance belongs to Carol Marsh as the poor, unfortunate Lucy, who exhibits a wily lust before she is dispatched and then, abject terror when she is stopped from attacking her brother-in-law by a relentless Van Helsing (Marsh was also noticeable as "Rose" in Brighton Rock). She's quite amazing, especially considering the performances of Lee and Cushing, which could overshadow anyone, and which are considered—even without the benefits of vampirism—immortal.

The Man in the White Suit

The Man in the White Suit (Alexander Mackendrick, 1951) My favorite of the Ealing Studios British comedies of Alec Guinness is this genre-crossing sci-fi/fantasy/corporate satire about the financial efficacy of building a better movie-trap. The canard is that the world will beat a path to your door, but the reality is that the mouse-trap industry (no doubt led by the appropriately-named "Victor®"—a division of Woodstream Corp.) will probably suppress it, buy the patent, or, in some other way, bury the innovation to protect their own short-term (dare I say "fiscal") interests, even if it might (indeed) revolutionize the industry. Sure, it might be the greatest thing since sliced bread, but that's only because the knife industry allowed it (talk about "the cutting edge!).

The Man in the White Suit tells the story of researcher Sidney Stratton (Guinness), who, through chemistry and some minor combustion (which gets him fired from his original job at Corland Mills, run by Michael Corland (Michael Gough), he is snapped up by the rival Birnley Mills, where his attempts finally succeed in concocting an innovative thread, a polymer that repels everything, making an indestructible, water-proof, stain-resistant weave—it even resists dyes, thus making it a permanent glow-in-the-dark white color.

It's seen as something of a revolutionary break-through, a boon to the consumer. And Stratton sees it as a revolution of sorts: who wouldn't want an indestructible suit or dress that would never wear out and never need to be replaced?

Clothiers, for one big example. The garment industry. With clothing that can never rip, fray, stain, or shrink, who would want to buy other clothing ever again? So, after the initial flush of excitement over the innovation, the corporation Stratton works for, Birnley Mills, looks down the fiscal road and sees consumers with no need to further buy replacement clothing. And so the corporate board acts to repress Stratton's invention, trying to buy out the rights in order to do it, but Stratton, with an inventor's righteous zeal, refuses.

And lest anyone think this is a liberal screed about corporate greed, it casts equal shade at the trade unions who also want to stop progress, as the fabric is seen as a threat to industry that will cost workers' jobs, should it ever see the business end of a coat hanger. Despite being offered a million dollar deal to sell out, Stratton resists, and is held captive as long as he holds out, but he has the sympathy from the daughter (Joan Greenwood) of the mills' head (Cecil Parker), if only because the board tries to recruit her to turn Stratton's mind around.

Stratton ensures that he will always be the brightest guy in the room.

It's a great story and a great movie, and over the years I've seen it reflected—rarely—in other films. For example, Disney's The Absent-Minded Professor can be seen as an American version of the same story, with the military over-zealously pursuing Professor Brainard's version of "Flubber." A true-story equivalent is Francis Ford Coppola's Tucker: The Man and His Dream, about inventor Preston Tucker and his intent on creating a safe, stylish and efficient "car of the future"—and the auto industry's successful attempt to hinder the production of any of the innovative cars to just 50.

There's another aspect to The Man in the White Suit that endears it to me, but it's purely personal—it's the charmingly goofy lab sounds that emanate from Stratton's efforts that create a sort of obsessive fandango as he pursues his efforts. I came across the track (created by sound editor Mary Habberfield) in a BBC sound effects library, and, when I worked on a certain kids' science show, I had the intention of using the track on a proposed second season episode about "Psuedo-science." Budget considerations pushed the subject to the third season and, by that time, I had moved on to other things. Still would have loved to have had that little private joke realized, though.