Before you break out the stakes and torches, let me briefly lay out my reasons for that opinion.

First, I’d ask that you read my various posts (1, 2, 3, & 4) about the experience of rereading Dracula recently. They lay out what I see as both the strengths and weaknesses of that novel.

Balanced against that rereading has been my recent experience with the Twilight series…

My daughter K8 dragged me to the movie on its opening weekend. I didn’t want to go, having read that they were expecting huge box-office receipts based on an audience of “teen girls and their mothers.” For one thing, I have a love/hate relationship with theaters—with having to put up with other people’s chatter while I’m trying to lose myself in a story. For another, having raised four daughters, sometimes I just get tired of romantic tales. (Okay, to be honest, it’s frequently the disjoint of my Army Basic chromosome wanting to kick the ass of the chromosome that’s making my eyes tear up. A man can stand only so many years of that internal conflict.)

The film surprised me. Quite a satisfying tale. Enough so that I wanted to read the book to find out why K8 was disappointed in the movie characters. The desire to read a book after watching a film doesn’t strike me that often. Let me offer this desire as Defense Exhibit A, then.

While the first book annoyed me in places (after all, I’m a 53-year-old guy and the protagonist is a high school gal with teen angst), the love it depicts resonates with my own experience of meeting my wife (a sort of head-on freight train inevitability that carried me to wonderful places once I quit resisting), the characters are so real, the plot builds so nicely, the descriptions leave images in my mind, the action scenes are spot on, the climax is pretty much perfect, and the dénoument unwinds in a more satisfying manner than much I can remember reading elsewhere. To give you more specifics would be to give away spoilers, but I hope you get the idea.

But here’s the clincher—Defense Exhibit B, if you will. I couldn’t put the book down. And once I’d finished Twilight, I had to read New Moon, and then Eclipse, and then Breaking Dawn. I lost quite a bit of sleep for a couple of weeks to finish those books between other projects. And each one unfolded so naturally from the previous one, leading to an ending I never really saw coming, but found thoroughly satisfying.

Granted, Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles (barring, perhaps, book 1) engaged me in a deeper way than the Twilight series, but Twilight and its sequels are virtually as satisfying.

And that’s something I just cannot say about Dracula.

Okay, bring on the stakes and torches. I’m ready.

1. This time I approached it as 19th-century invasion literature.
2. I’m reading it as research for an upcoming poem and an in-progress rpg.
3. I’ve been somewhat underwhelmed by Stoker’s writing.

If you’re curious about any of those points, please see the earlier posts on the subject.

Pretty much all that’s left to be said on the subject is that the chase of the Count is one of the more exciting parts of the book. But it still ain’t that exciting. At least, not enough to keep a few nagging questions from popping up even during the action:

• How could Van Helsing expect the Host (Catholic wafer) to bar the Count forever from his grave? Couldn’t someone just remove it for him? Wouldn’t it decay over time anyway? Actually, this whole “he has to sleep in holy earth, but not too holy” rationale seems a bit thin.
• Why did Jonathan and Quincy push through the armed gypsy’s instead of ordering them away with their rifles? (Answer: Because Stoker felt it necessary to have at least one of his heroes die, for veracity’s sake, and this way Quincy—a veteran of numerous other combats, mind you—could get knifed and die in Mina’s arms. *Ptooey!*)
• How did Jonathan manage to lift by himself the “big square box” containing the Count (a box of the sort the novel has repeatedly described as too heavy for any but the Count to lift alone) and throw it off the wagon?

Add in the timing: The sun sets just as Harker and a bleeding Quincy wrench open the box (Godalming and Seward idly watching, apparently, even if you assume that Van Helsing and Mina are farther away), leaving Dracula to open his eyes in triumph just as Harker’s kukri severs his head and Quincy’s Bowie knife punctures his heart.

It’s a staged ending, to be sure, capped by the last rays of the sun shining through the now empty castle high above.

One more question in general: How is it that Dracula, who is apparently centuries old, has only recently decided to leave his barren home for richer lands? Stoker himself seems to be confused about this, sometimes claiming that in former times there were many vampires spawned by him, and then having Van Helsing go on at length about how the Count’s “child brain” has not yet developed to match their adult brains, which is why they have any chance of thwarting him at all.

I’ve said it before, but let me summarize it here: Dracula is a flawed novel, written by a relatively untalented one-hit-wonder. But don’t take my word for it: Read it yourself!

—Lester Smith

In my rereading of Dracula, (this being my third time through since college—this time as research for a poem and the When Shadows Rise rpg), I’ve reached the point where Harker and Godalming are pursuing the Count by steam launch up the Sereth and Bistritza rivers toward the Borgo pass. Harker opens by writing in his journal by the light of the boiler fire Godalming is stoking. (Hence my post title.)

It’s striking how much more exciting Harker’s journal is than Dr. Seward’s has been, or Mina’s since the death of Lucy. (You may recall my saying in a previous post that the letters between Mina and Lucy are well done.) In part, I have to give Stoker his due that Harker’s persona is simply more focused and driven—at least in his own journal. And in part, I suspect, it’s that the group is again entering foreign lands that Stoker himself once visited and found interesting. There is, to be sure, a fascination in the exotic, and a sense of danger in simply being away from home.

However, a major reason this section works better than what has come before, I’d argue, is that Stoker has stopped dithering around, having his characters waffle back and forth as to what should be done, and throwing their hands into the air in dramatic displays of “overwrought” emotion. I’ve mentioned in an earlier post that Stoker was a business manager for the actor Henry Irving and his Lyceum Theatre, and that the characters in Dracula often act as if they were on stage. (Hmmm. Perhaps this explains why my wife and I so enjoyed an ISU stage production of Dracula some years ago.)

I’ve complained earlier that Van Helsing, as recorded in Dr. Seward’s diary, talked far too at length about revealing nothing until the appropriate time. The latest episode of Stoker’s apparent uncertainty as to how to proceed came in the group’s first keeping Mina out of their planning sessions, so that her feminine mind might not be overtaxed (after having earlier praised her strength of mind and great aid in—among other things—having collected and typed all the journals thus far), then deciding that she must not be kept out any longer, then deciding that she could not be trusted because the Count had infected her, then deciding she must be taken along because she couldn’t be left on her own, then deciding she and Van Helsing would actually proceed overland toward Castle Dracula (the why of which still hasn’t been explained) while the others pursue the Count’s boat.

Mind you, this all sounds much less problematic when summarized as above. Read it in the ongoing dialogues, as recorded by Dr. Seward, and you’ll understand why I say the book is simply uneven.

Lest you dismiss my complaints as jealous ravings, let me give you two last things to consider. First, as mentioned in a previous post, Stoker wrote Dracula ten years after the first Sherlock Holmes tale, making him a late contemporary of Doyle. Doyle’s writing puts Stoker’s to shame. Second, Dracula was written fifty years after Frankenstein; or The Modern Prometheus, in which Mary Shelley posits a perfect (not hideous) creature abandoned by its flawed creator, a creature that goes to increasing extremes to demand its creator’s attention. That’s some deep sh*t, as they say, compared to which Dracula is just a summer potboiler.

Frankly, Anne Rice’s vampire novels are better than Dracula, particularly Memnoch the Devil, which I think approaches Frankenstein as both a literary and philosophical endeavor.

—Lester Smith

In this third of the series of Mummy movies, the O’Connells find themselves in China, battling the resurrected Han emperor, who wields magical powers, and his army of terra cotta warriors.

The Good: Pretty much everything about this film is good. Visually, it’s powerful, with great settings and excellent special effects—fully up to what you’d expect, given the previous films. The story itself is well written, with a clear arc of rising conflict, driven by the desires of opposing characters, and those characters are, themselves, well conceived. Everyone has a believable motivation, even the emperor’s modern toady. Further, the dialog is well-written, with some great little moments of true humor injected into otherwise tense scenes. (”The next time I say we’ve been in rougher spots before, this is the spot I mean!”) The acting is right on target from opening to ending, without a hitch. And the action itself is so smoothly integrated into the story that I forgot I was watching an action film.

The Bad: Not much to complain about. I might argue that the nod to Shangri-La was unnecessary, and not really in keeping with the water of life in the cavern on the way to that valley—but then, I’m a fan of the original Lost Horizon novel (and of the Lost Horizon film, although it wimps out on the ending a bit, reducing the effect.) A more significant complaint might be that Rachel Weisz did not reprise the role of Evelyn this time, and while Maria Bello did an excellent job, the casting change interfered with my initial enjoyment (especially given that the opening scenes deal so much with the domesticated days of the O’Connells attempting retirement). Imagine if someone other than Brendan Fraser were cast as Rick, and you’ll know what I mean. And finally, there is a plane landing that stretches the limits of credulity a bit more than I’m comfortable with, but not enough to spoil the movie.

Final Thoughts: I’m surprised, genuinely surprised, that reviewers and viewers alike rated this film in the C range. It struck me as every bit as good as the original movie, considerably better than the second, and certainly worthy of my admiration. This one goes into my favorites list, to be watched again on DVD for certain!

—Lester Smith

This one’s from a couple of years back. It’s loosely based on H. P. Lovecraft’s tale, “Herbert West—Reanimator.” The game has a pleasantly creepy ambiance: Those silhouettes of bare trees against the different background colors, the whistling wind, and the endless, shambling creatures make it nerve-wracking enough to keep you tense, while the play is engaging enough to keep you shooting to the bitter end. (Watch for the various different ways you can die.)

Use the shift key to switch between revolver and shotgun. Sometimes that’s critical. And best of luck.

De-Animator

—Lester Smith

*sigh*

Yes, that’s one of the cheesiest titles I’ve ever heard for a movie. Yes, you’re right, I must have no pride at all to even think of watching such a film.

But you know what? The film surprised me. Imagine if Joss Whedon decided to jam Buffy and Serenity together into one movie—and wrote the script on one of his off days. The result could very well have been this film. It certainly has the sort of cast Mr. Whedon might have put together, and the dialog is well written. Even the special effects are respectable—while you can see where they had to cut some corners on location shots, they did a great job with what was available, and the computer animation is considerably better than average.

Now, given that concept, what would you have titled it?

Exactly. There are simply no good options for titling a movie about vampire hunters in outer space.

Buy Vampire Wars at Amazon

—Lester Smith

It is a given that Dracula is a great novel. Not as great as Frankenstein, I’d argue. But great nonetheless. It’s very longevity argues the fact.

It is not a given, however, that Bram Stoker is a great novelist. Consider that it took him ten years to write Dracula, and that nothing he wrote before or after has stood the test of time. Most often, authors grow better with practice. Stoker did not. His final novel, Lair of the White Worm, proves that point. In effect, Bram Stoker was the George Lucas of his day—without the financial success of Industrial Lights and Magic to add clout to his later efforts.

I argue this about Stoker in order to say that while Dracula may be great, it isn’t perfect. There remains room to discuss what works best in the novel, what drags, and what writers might learn from analyzing the good and the bad in it.

Which brings me to Van Helsing. He is such a central figure that we have come to love him—but I’d argue that’s more from his legendary status in subsequent tales and movies than from his depiction in the original novel. The fact is that in Dracula, whenever Van Helsing shows up, the story begins to drag.

Lately I’ve been thinking that much of the reason for this is Stoker’s lack of comfort with the character.

Here’s my rationale: The novel opens excellently in Jonathan Harker’s voice in his journal; Stoker then really hits his stride with the letters between Mina and Lucy, along with their journals (he obviously connects with these characters); Dr. Seward’s journal also conveys the author’s comfort with this character. Now we come to the characters who are presented to us only secondarily: Arthur Holmwood is a caricature of an aristrocrat-cum-fiance; Quincy Morris is a caricature of a Texan; Renfield is slightly more interesting as a madman, mainly because of his mood swings, but ultimately he’s still just stage dressing; and Van Helsing is the biggest caricature of them all—a genius deus ex machina who exists to deliver needed explication in broken English (was Stoker intentionally lampooning the Dutch?), and that only at the dramatically appropriate time.

Perhaps I’m being slightly too hard on Van Helsing; he does show moments of honest worry that the others will think him mad or hate him if he tells too much too soon. My main point, however, is that Stoker seems uncomfortable in portraying Van Helsing as a real person. Maybe if he had taken the effort to cast more of the novel in journal entries by Van Helsing himself, rather than relying upon Dr. Seward to repeat their dialogs, these scenes would seem less dull.

Frankly, if the whole novel were presented from Van Helsing’s point of view, incorporating the other characters’ journals and letters as evidence, it would probably be much better. Then it would be truly an invasion tale: in this case the story of a foreigner who comes to London striving to save the city from another foreigner. Stoker seems to be attempting something of the sort, but he’s no Shakespeare, not even an Arthur Conan Doyle.

You can read pretty much anything by Doyle and enjoy his storytelling abilities. And the way he uses Watson to reveal Holmes is genius. Frankly, if Stoker had spent the ten years between the publication of A Study in Scarlet (1887) and Dracula (1897) studying Doyle’s unfolding work, Dracula would undoubtedly be a much better read, and Lair of the White Worm might actually be readable.

Of course, Doyle didn’t have to make a living as personal assistant to the actor Henry Irving and as business manager of Irving’s Lyceum Theatre in London. Much of what’s stultifying in Dracula could also be attributed to the “hamminess” of the stage. (You could almost make a drinking game of the number of times characters in Dracula clap their palms before their tear-stained faces in a sudden transport of sorrow.)

Still, we come back to Dracula time and again because of the sheer dramatic power of the villain. Go ahead, give it a read if you haven’t already. Forgive Stoker his Victorian depiction of ruling-class bonhomie and enjoy the book. (Then go read Frankenstein, and discover just how literary a horror tale can actually be in the right hands.)

—Lester Smith

1. Jonathan Harker’s journal makes a great beginning. The story therein is quite moody and wonderfully tense, and the uncertainty at the end carries a reader well into the next part of the book.
2. The letters and diaries of Mina and Lucy that follow not only further unfold the plot but also reveal the voices and natures of these two young ladies. I suspect Stoker had a great time writing from their point of view.
3. I had forgotten just how drawn out and dramatic Lucy’s “illness” is in the book. Most of it is told from Dr. Seward’s point of view, and effectively and entertainingly so.
4. Van Helsing really bogs down the book. His dialogue is virtually endless and pretty much pointless. I’m not sure what Stoker was thinking here, unless he just wanted to make the Dutch seem like windbags. Certainly his writing shows none of the delight in previous parts of the book. Also, I think Stoker may have let Lucy’s death subdue his writing at that point; it seems to lack heart.
5. Mina’s personality and diction begin to return some life to the tale. Even Van Helsing seems more direct around her (and not simply because it’s time to move the plot forward).

Summation: Sometimes even the best of writers need a good editor—or at least a workshop of other writers—to point out weak spots. I think Stoker could have benefited from a hefty editing of Van Helsing’s dialogue from the time of his introduction up to the point of Lucy’s death.

We’ll see what the next few chapters bring.

—Lester Smith

Just to be clear, of the four movies by this title, I’m talking about the 2007 film, about a murdered lady ventriloquist taking her revenge on the town that killed her.

Not being a big fan of slasher flicks, I’m happy not to have known ahead of time that this film was created by the same team that created the Saw trilogy. Some people might actually find that an added attraction, of course, but I might have avoided Dead Silence in lieu of something else on the agenda.

And I would have missed out on a great film. There’s pretty much everything to like about this one. The story is tight, with surprise turns right up to the end. The concept is creepy, as are the events. (I got chills several times.) The acting is transparent, by which I mean that the characters are so well played that you get caught up in the story, forgetting it’s just a movie. And the cinematography is some of the best I can recall. There’s a starkness to the colors that leaves the impression of black and white, with just a touch of jaundiced green, against which dark red elements stand out, and the angles are carefully chosen to heighten the dreamlike effect.

It’s obvious the creators of this film poured their love into it. I’m impressed! Guess it’s time to reconsider watching Saw.