“Yeah, she was in great pain! Then we cut off her head, and drove a stake through her heart, and burned it, and then she found peace.”
I’m not sure it’s possible for me to be objective about this film, seeing as how it was one of the first R-rated films I was allowed to see, and my first viewing of it was on a Halloween night, no less. Not as iconic as Browning’s take on the tale, nor as “pure” or critically popular as Murnau’s Nosferatu, Coppola’s take remains the most faithful to the book in spirit, tone, and plot and is my favorite overall. It even nods to the book’s construction as a series of journal entries, diary confessionals, and recorded medical musings. Everyone loves to rag on Keanu Reeves’ performance here, but I’d counter that he’s actually note-perfect. If you want to delve into the novel’s/film’s themes of sexual deviance, then Jonathan Harker represents the staid, vanilla, and secure. Thus, Reeves’ wooden and proper take is entirely appropriate, and the contrast is never more evident than in the first act, watching him robotically stumble about whilst Gary Oldman’s Dracula slinks, slithers, and stalks around him wraith-like, both physically and conversationally. Oldman’s Dracula is the obvious stand-out performance and he brings the necessary pathos that nearly every other actor seems to pass over in favor of pure monstrosity – the Count is a tragic figure and Oldman understands this; you can feel the centuries-old heartache gradually sap away at him, even as his outward vitality and vigor increases. Anthony Hopkins is at his scenery-chewing best as Van Helsing, and Tom Waits is both hilarious and stomach-churning as the pitiable Renfield. Operatic in scope, Coppola’s Dracula is a feast of garish colors, ornate sets, and larger-than-life performances.
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