Ken Russell's Dracula (3 page)

Russell’s
Dracula is set in the 1920s, the decade in which he was born, and the decade he
loved best. It’s the decade of great silent cinema (Chaplin, Lang),
Women in
Love
,
The Boy Friend, Valentino
. Stoker’s in-England scenes are
changed to Russell’s home county of Hampshire, specifically the city of
Southampton where he was born, and from where the Titanic sailed (Dracula’s
steamship arrives crashing into the iceberg that’s Southampton pier); and to
the neighbouring New Forest where Ken Russell lived. Quincey is remodelled into
a Douglas Fairbanks action-hero, a characterisation which works well alongside
the exotic Dutch Europeanism of Van Helsing. Lucy is no longer just a pretty
face. She’s a great opera star dying from leukaemia, a huge improvement on
Stoker’s characterisation. The film has spectacle and a lot of humour. It has
the best opening and closing scenes of any adaptation, and too few moments of
horror. It is, in fact, the absolute opposite of Werner Herzog’s
Nosferatu
(1979)
which, with
Love at First Bite
(1979) and John Badham’s
Dracula
(1979),
scared off the funding for Russell’s film. Herzog’s is a horror film on the
theme of loneliness. Herzog’s Dracula wants to die. Ken Russell’s Dracula wants
to live forever, he’s a great artist who is able to change his style throughout
the centuries. That’s the idea, but it isn’t very evident in the script. We
could assume, I suppose, that Dracula is responsible for creating the Aubrey
Beardsley-style bedroom where Harker spends his first night. We see Dracula
listening
to music by Schubert. We see him watching from the wings at what we can
presume will be a gloriously imagined staging of Tchaikovksy’s opera, The Maid
of Orleans. And Russell would say: ‘What about the pop art statue of the
blood-fountain of youth which Harker stumbles on during his escape?’.

And I’d say, ‘I
don’t like it, Ken.’. I’d be admiring the full wall collage of fiery pop art
images of Madonnas and saints which Russell has made that day for his entrance
hall. I’d have eaten a late meal of roast chicken, and I’d be drinking a
welcoming glass of fine Tokay. I’d say: ‘It’s not enough, Ken. It’s asking too
much of the audience to imagine that Dracula made it. We need to know that he’s
a great artist. His tragedy is that he has to
destroy
Life to
create
Art.

I’d ask: ‘Is he
going through a visual art phase or is he a musician? Is he a filmmaker?’

‘A filmmaker?’

‘You’ve set it
in the Twenties, Ken. Could Dracula be Chaplin? Fritz Lang?. We could see him
turning the handle of the camera as his stage-managed horror starts to unfold.’

Then I’d pause,
because the truth would dawn on me that Russell is at least one step ahead. Ken
Russell’s Dracula is a cloaked portrait of Ken Russell himself. And I’m sitting
in his house, looking at a few legal documents for him. The day has darkened.
And I’m a long way from home.

----------

For Lisi Russell, whose
love gave him life.

EXT. A STREET IN BISTRITZ.
NIGHT.

A young man encumbered by a heavy
suitcase in one hand and a bulky briefcase in the other fights his way along a
sidewalk crowded with people dressed in the national costume of Transylvania
which reflects the meeting of two cultures - East and West. The flustered
traveller, hot and perspiring in a new overcoat is JONATHAN HARKER, a handsome
if somewhat gauche young Englishman lost in a new world of strange sights and
peculiar customs, such as the procession confronting him at the moment. Giant
articulated bats operated by masked mummers flap and flutter down the main
street flanking the giant figure of a sinister medieval prince belching
coloured smoke from his ears and exploding firecrackers from his mouth as the
town band plays a mournful dirge. Jonathan takes the carnival in with only
fleeting glances and is obviously looking for a landmark, which he soon finds
in the shape of an old clock1 tower, at the foot of which waits a liveried
COACHMAN seated on a beautiful open caleche and holding the reins of three fine
white horses. Jonathan approaches the Coachman who jumps down and bows
respectfully.

COACHMAN

Herr Harker is it, ya?

JONATHAN

Good evening, yes.

You are to take me

to Count Dracula, yes?

COACHMAN

Whenever you wish,

Herr Harker.

JONATHAN

(briskly)

There’s no time like

the present.

He goes to enter the carriage but
although the coachman has hold of the door handle he hesitates to open it.

COACHMAN

I’m sure his Excellency

The Count would not object

if you broke your journey

here and continued on

tomorrow, much refreshed,

Herr Harker. I understand

you have come all the way

from England and the Golden

Crown has a first-class

cuisine and the finest

gypsy band in Bistritz.

JONATHAN (
eagerly
)

Business before pleasure!

It’s most thoughtful of

you but I’d rather press

on, thank you ...

But still the coachman seems
reluctant to open the door.

JONATHAN

... er, the sooner

the better.

The coachman’s formality slips away
as he takes Jonathan into his confidence and talks to him man to man.

COACHMAN

Please sir, do you know

what day it is?

Jonathan is puzzled yet growing
impatient with the delay.

JONATHAN

The Fourth of May, 1925.

And unless we get a move

on, it will soon be the

Fifth.

COACHMAN

It is the Eve of St.

George’s Day.

Tonight when the clock

strikes midnight all

the evil things in the

world will have full sway.

Jonathan finally realizes that it is
the Coachman’s fear rather than concern for his comfort which is the real
issue.

JONATHAN

(
condescendingly
)

My dear good fellow,

where I come from, ladies

sell paper roses in the

street on St. George’s Day

and donate the proceeds

to a charity for homeless

children. There’s nothing

to be frightened of I

assure you. After all,

he is our patron saint

you know.

The Coachman bows his head and,
admitting defeat, opens the door at last and assists Jonathan into the
carriage.

COACHMAN

Herr Harker is fortunate

To live in such a

civilized country. Our

homeless children have

their own begging to do.

He nods at a couple of scruffy
URCHINS who are pestering Jonathan with trinkets, then gives them a rough shout
and a cuff on the head. This annoys Jonathan who has taken a positive dislike
to the Coachman.

JONATHAN

Hey, steady on ...

(
calling out to the

retreating children
)

Here ...

He offers them a couple of coins,
as the Coachman, with a look of disapproval, hauls Jonathan’s luggage on board.
The Urchins thank Jonathan and stuff a trinket in his hand.

JONATHAN

No, I don’t want ...

Too late - they have disappeared
into the darkness before he has a chance to return ... a rosary. To throw away
such an object, which is obviously alien to his beliefs, would seem ungracious
so he stuffs it in his pocket and settles down to his journey. As the Coachman
guides the carriage through the crowds Jonathan sees, with some satisfaction, a
carnival float representing St. George slaying the dragon.

JONATHAN

There! What did I tell

you? Our chap will soon

put paid to your bogies.

But his laughter is not shared by
the Coachman who crosses himself and steers the horses away from the friendly
light of the carnival towards the darkness of the country beyond.

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD. NIGHT.

Moonlight shining through slender
pines lulls Jonathan into a romantic mood as the carriage jogs gently towards
majestic snow-capped mountains until flames flickering through the trees break
the reverie.

JONATHAN

Driver, do you see that -

not a forest fire is it?

In reply, the Coachman urges his
horses into a fast trot.

JONATHAN

No, I see people...

what’s the hurry, aren’t

gypsies friendly around

here?

COACHMAN

No, gypsies ... not

friendly. Evil!

By now the coach is drawing level
with the flames and the strange ritual they illuminate. Jonathan’s curiosity
turns to alarm.

JONATHAN’S POINT OF VIEW:

Cloaked and hooded FIGURES with
flaming torches surround an altar on which some fiendish ceremony is being
celebrated involving a naked WOMAN. A PRIEST holds a silver chalice in
readiness while another brandishes a knife aloft as if invoking a blessing from
the darkness. A blood-curdling scream cuts through the night as the knife
plunges into the heart of the sacrificial victim. Blood pours into the chalice
which is raised in thanks and then drunk by the officiating priests. Now the
trees thicken up and, with a last brief flicker of light, the scene disappears
from view.

RESUME:

INT. CARRIAGE.

Jonathan, stricken with horror by
what he has just witnessed, rises swaying to his feet and grabs at the Coachman
in desperation.

JONATHAN

My God! Did you see

that? Is there nothing

we can do?

The Coachman refuses to be involved
and doesn’t even turn his head.

Nothing!

COACHMAN

Nothing!

JONATHAN

(
angrily
)

Go back to Bistritz –

we must inform the

police. I order you.

Slowly, the Coachman turns around
with a growl. He has changed into a WEREWOLF. Jonathan’s blood chills in his
veins as the Werewolf snarls, showing his gleaming fangs. Jonathan acts quickly
and snatching up the whip from its holder, jumps to the back of the carriage
and lashes the beast across the shoulders causing it to roar in pain. Once
again Jonathan lashes out but this time the beast is too quick and tearing the
whip from Jonathan’s grip hurls it into the road and jumps at him with flashing
claws. Jonathan ducks and the claws merely rip his coat, but the next moment
man and beast are locked in a deathly struggle... and just when it seems the
Wolfman must tear out his throat, Jonathan gets his knee into its chest and
heaves with all his might, toppling the beast over the edge of the carriage and
into the road where he rolls over in the dust howling with rage.

Jonathan’s next thought is to get
the horses under control. Accordingly he starts clambering into the swaying
driver’s seat as the vehicle continues its headlong career. It is then he sees
yet another astounding sight. A PEASANT GIRL has collapsed on a rock at the
edge of the road and pants in delirium as a vampire bat, wings quivering, sucks
blood from her jugular vein. Before he has grasped the reins she is a vanishing
figure in a nightmare where his own survival is the keynote. As he strives
unsuccessfully to check the runaway horse, he becomes aware that his flight is
taking him through a wood of dead fir trees on the spiky trunks of which are
impaled a number of LUCKLESS MEN, WOMEN and CHILDREN whose screams mix with the
howling like the hounds of hell. Over his shoulder he sees that a pack of
wolves are in hot pursuit. As the leaders snap at the flying hooves, the horses
thunder across a drawbridge and into the courtyard of:

CASTLE DRACULA.

Round the yard they gallop with the
howling pack in hot pursuit until, suddenly, someone is standing in their path.
It is the figure of a MAN IN BLACK who must surely be trampled down by the
crazed steeds. But the burning eyes and hypnotic will of the man prevail over
the fear of the plunging horses who halt inches before him, trembling, snorting
and foaming with exhaustion. But there is still another danger to contend with.

JONATHAN

Save yourself ...

the wolves!

And indeed the wolves are almost
upon the man in black who bears an uncanny resemblance to the carnival figure
of the Medieval Prince seen in Bistritz.

MAN IN BLACK/ DRACULA

Down Berserker. Good boy.

Down!

To Jonathan’s astonishment, the
wolves behave like lambs and frisk around their master who feeds them lumps of
sugar and treats the exhausted Jonathan to a warm, disarming smile.

DRACULA

I am Dracula, welcome

to my home. Enter freely

and depart in peace,

leaving something of

the happiness you bring.

He treats Jonathan to a
good-natured laugh in which he is joined by a number of PEOPLE in smart
evening-wear pouring from the big open doors which lead to a brightly-lit
hallway. Jonathan doesn’t know if he is awake or dreaming, it is impossible to
reconcile recent horror with present laughter.

JONATHAN

I’ve just seen ...

Fearful things...

your driver ...

DRACULA

A versatile fellow,

Lazlo - coachman,

chauffeur, actor ...

With a wave of his arm, he turns to
the archway through which purrs a Rolls Royce Silver Wraith. As it draws to a
halt, Jonathan recognizes with disbelief the Werewolf at the wheel and, by his
side, the Peasant Girl waving a rubber vampire bat. They are laughing and
chattering, obviously enjoying themselves no end.

DRACULA

And this is Katya,

our little sewing maid.