For their
third official instalment in the Dracula
series, following the first film in 1931 and the weak cash-in of Dracula’s Daughter (1936), Universal stretched
the tendrils of implausibility even further with Son of Dracula released in 1943. The first sequel at least had the
benefit of Gloria Holden’s ethereally strange Countess Zaleska to offset its
tenous link to Lugosi’s original. For this follow-on, the studio plugged in Lon
Chaney (Jr) as part of his unique but ill-conceived run inhabiting every other
famous Universal creature aside from The Wolf Man
(1941). The experiment had so far proved a wasted series of opportunities in roles
ill-befitting the qualities or leading status he had demonstrated for himself
as their sole werewolf actor. His monster in The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942) only made use of his physical
size; lumbering around under bandages in The
Mummy’s Tomb (1942) could have been any big contract player, except that it
kept his name above the title on the poster. Only his return to lyncanthropy in
Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man
(1943) reminded audiences of the wounded vulnerability he could bring to his signature
horror part of Larry Talbot.
Son of Dracula (1943) completed Chaney’s tour of
duty now covering all four of the legendary icons, yet for my money is the most
unsuitable of all. Chaney did not have the natural, aristocratic imperiousness
of Bela Lugosi, which the Hungarian star could channel effortlessly as the
Prince of Darkness (and in many other later roles). Instead, he comes across as
wooden as the stake he fears under the direction of Robert Siodmak, whose
brother Curt (The Wolf Man) Siodmak created
the story for this film.
The story
attempts to create intrigue by bringing the undead Count Alucard (do you see what
they did there?) to America for once, with a set of luggage whose semordnilap
name is immediately picked up on by Frank Craven’s Dr Brewster. Craven
incidentally achieved theatre and film fame as the Stage Manager in Thornton
Wilder’s classic American play Our Town
in 1938. Here, he gives shrewd busybody wiliness from the start by being
suspicious of the foreigner even before we meet him. Accompanying him is Frank
Stanley (Robert Paige) who is just as wary of the mysterious nobleman since he
seems to have an unholy influence upon Stanley’s fiancĂ© Kay even from afar. Kay
(Louise Allbritton) is one of two daughters to Colonel Caldwell (George Irving)
and stands to inherit his estate along with her sister Claire (Evelyn Ankers in
her third Lon Chaney vehicle after The Wolf
Man and The Ghost of Frankenstein
during a run of many horror films for Universal).
Kay is a
morbid soul who appears an easy mark for the undead-related, having already brought
back from Hungary an occultist called Queen Zimba. The old lady pays her way by
warning Kay with deathly simplicity: “I see you marrying a corpse...living in a
grave”. (Incidentally, the elderly Adeline DeWalt Reynolds who plays Zimba must
have set a record for advanced age film debuts as she was 79 when cast as James
Stewart’s grandmother in 1941’s Come Live
with Me). The queen promptly loses her throne courtesy of that herald of the
supernaturally abysmal, a dodgy rubber bat.
Kay also has
an unhealthy interest in taking full ownership of Dark Oaks, the family’s
gothically-named New Orleans plantation. She achieves this via a previously-secret
second will leaving it to her, that comes to light with unfortunate haste when
the Colonel dies of petrified heart failure mysteriously soon after the Count’s
arrival.
Our first
glimpse of Chaney’s Alucard is unintentionally amusing. He surveys the dancing
guests earlier that evening, then offers a sly look seemingly at us over his
shoulder. What this is meant to convey escapes me, but if there is actorly
regret in there, it is too late. Chaney’s performance throughout is bereft of
vampire fangs and any real bite at all. All that Emmy Eckhardt and Jack P
Pierce can do is give him a hair and moustache combination aiming perhaps for seasoned elegance, instead suggesting Rhett Butler at a Halloween party . Chaney’s well-fed, stout labourer’s
build is of no help however in conveying the cadaverousness of a desperate bloodsucker.
Nor does his accent aid him, consisting of plain American spoken without
contractions. This only makes Eric Taylor’s hokey dialogue sound worse: “The
soil is red with the blood of a hundred races” he tells Kay. “There is no life
there”.
There is
little here either for Dracula fans. The lineage alone is confusing. Brewster
enlists the help of Hungarian genealogy expert Professor Lazlo (genuine
Austro-Hungarian J. Edward Bromberg), who partly clarifies that Count Dracula
died out in the nineteenth-century, which tallies with the Stoker novel, then
speculates that he may be a descendant, but questions the sense if he was to be
an imposter since all Hungarians know the family name as “only associated with
evil”. Later on, Kay will add to the mystery by telling Frank that Alucard
actually is Dracula.
Whoever he
is, this creature is a menace who although unable to appear comfortable in
human acting form, can assume the shape of the aforementioned winged mouse and
wisps of spectral smoke. The effects work is effective when portraying vampiric
vapours, less so when called upon to handle the transformation from bat to man.
This is shown simply by a jump-cut from suspended rubber air-rodent to Chaney.
One notable element is Hans J. Salter’s reedy organ cues underscoring Alucard’s
scenes. These foreshadow the distinctive soundtracks of Fifties science-fiction
horrors.
Kay and the
Count marry with obscene clandestine haste, the news of which Frank takes less
than well by shooting Alucard. Not understanding his newly-spliced nemesis, he
is mortified to discover the bullet passes right through Alucard and kills Kay.
To make matters worse, he must endure a swamp chase pursued by the flapping
bat. The demands of the role are tough all round on Robert Paige, a capable
B-movie lead who continually goes up the meter into over-wrought melodrama in
trying to either convince Kay of his rightfulness for her, or the authorities
of Alucard’s wrongfulness.
Whilst Dr
Brewster is inclined toward a suspicious curiosity, it takes the arrival of the
expert Lazlo to lay out the grisly mythology of the real vampiric evil at hand,
much to the Dr’s disbelief: “That’s a nauseating thought”. And then, as if to
illustrate the theorising, Alucard materialises in a milky mist to threaten
them both. Only now is Brewster fully convinced that Frank was right about the powers
of the cuckolding Count. Meanwhile Frank is accorded a ghostly visit of his own
by Kay in jail, whose conscience overcomes her vampire Svengali and a light
snacking on Frank’s blood enough to urge him to destroy her master’s grave.
Then the two of them can be immortal together as the undead.
Wisely, Frank concentrates
on the first mission and burns the Count’s sacred coffin before him. This is
the one moment where Chaney is affecting in his portrayal. His fatal witnessing
of the sunrise as its rays bathe his face shows us the inner torment that was
his greatest strength as an actor. How much better the film might have been if
his role was conceived with that forlorn, yearning quality - as for example
Klaus Kinski brought strikingly to Herzog’s Nosferatu
(1979).
Frank must
of course suffer his own soul-crushing despair in knowing that he must take the
life of Kay the same way to ensure her eternal peace. As he watches the flames
consume his love, fans of the Universal horror monsters would soon come to know
the same feeling as their beloved creatures would go up in the fiasco flames of
House of Frankenstein (1944) and House of Dracula (1945).
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