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Dracula

by Hope Madden

There are those who would call Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 film Bram Stoker’s Dracula a masterpiece. The score is undeniable, the costuming and set design glorious, the use of shadow, the creature design, the pulsing sensuality, Gary Oldman—all of it is exquisite. The entire balance of the ensemble? Terrible. There, I said it.

Still, it’s a memorable take—for many, a beloved all-timer—on Stoker’s vampire classic. I will assume that French filmmaker Luc Besson (Léon: The Professional, La Femme Nikita) is a fan. While his Dracula delivers much in the way of new ideas, the source material for his script is less Stoker’s novel than Coppola’s film.

He’s not hiding it. He even borrows—homages—bits and pieces of Wojciech Kilar’s score.

Caleb Landry Jones is Vlad the Second, Count Dracul. He loves his wife, Elizabeta (Zoë Bleu). He fights the Crusades to eradicate Muslims for God. But God does not protect his Elizabeta, so he curses God and searches the endless centuries, hoping for his loves return.

This storyline is 100% Coppola, not in the novel at all. Landry Jones is a talented actor, and versatile. See Nitram. But his performances tend to be somewhat interior, and you cannot help but compare his anguish over Elisabeta with Oldman’s in the ’92 film. Landry Jones comes up short.

And though Besson manages one pretty impressive wide shot of the Vlad armies, the earth burning behind them, nothing can compare to the macabre puppet masterpiece Coppola brought to the same scene.

But, after Act 1, the film settles into some new territory. France! No Renfield, no Van Helsing, no fight for Lucy’s hand, no Demeter. Christoph Waltz (a little bit autopilot here) is a priest whose order has been tracking vampires for 400 years. With this storyline, Besson, who wrote the script, forges some new ideas. Newish. And Matilda De Angelis is a particular joy as Dracula’s helper.  

Fresh ideas aside, Besson doesn’t bring much Besson to the film. There’s too little action here, and most of it is carried out by little CGI gargoyles, more comedic than thrilling. One scene doesn’t naturally lead to the next, characters feel disconnected to the plot, and, worst of all, it’s very talky and a bit dull. I’d call it a fanciful period piece before I called it horror.

It’s OK to borrow. What’s hard is to come up with anything original, because no fictional character has been on screen more often in the history of film than Dracula. Even Jesus hasn’t been depicted as often in film. So, it’s fine to borrow as long as you can do something new to merit another go. Besson just about accomplishes that. Just about.

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Across the River and Into the Trees

by Rachel Willis

Based on the novel by Ernest Hemingway, director Paula Ortiz’s Across the River and Into the Trees is a stunning-to-look-at film about an older man struggling with his past.

The film opens with Colonel Richard Cantwell (Liev Schreiber) receiving unpleasant news from an army doctor. However much the doctor pleads with Cantwell to check into a hospital, the colonel refuses, instead claiming he’ll do so after a weekend trip to Venice.

Along for the ride is Jackson (Josh Hutcherson) a naïve young soldier who wants nothing more than to leave the war behind and return to Kentucky.

Though based on Hemingway’s work, much of the movie’s dialogue feels like the creation of screenwriter Peter Flannery. For a film that relies on character interaction and discussion, much of the dialogue is either heavy-handed and unnatural or terribly banal. The moments shared between Jackson and Cantwell have little depth, despite the pair’s shared experiences with war.

There is also a distinct lack of chemistry between the actors, which only worsens when we met the young Italian woman, Renata (Matilda de Angelis). Though she and Cantwell are supposed to share a deep connection, the audience never feels it. And as Renata claims more of the film’s screen time, Jackson’s presence becomes even more superficial.

Of the bunch, Schreiber is the most effective, conveying more emotion with small moments of silence. Hutcherson is not without talent, but he is given so little to work with that his part is frustrating. His character’s lack of depth becomes more disappointing as we learn more about the reserved Cantwell.

As for Renata, her role in Cantwell’s story is the most superfluous. Her backstory is neither original nor compelling, and though de Angelis may be a fine actor, you wouldn’t know it from this film.

What works for the film is the setting, the costuming, and the cinematography. They’re a pleasure to behold in a film that otherwise brings nothing substantial to the table.