**POSSIBLE SPOILERS**
I’ve never been big on Dracula or
vampires, in general. I’m all for women
with heaving bosoms coming under the thrall of a vampire, and the scenes of
“consummation” can be a lot of fun. Back
in the day, I loved watching the Hammer Dracula films on television on a
Saturday afternoon, because they were so different from the staid portrayals of
vampires up until then (but, hey, isn’t that why Hammer became so popular to
begin with?). I still love Horror of Dracula, largely because of
that absolutely kickass ending, and some of the later Hammer films, when they
incorporated Satanism into the mix, are a joy, as well. The 1931 versions of Dracula (Spanish and English language versions) are great stuff
(the former especially elides the cumbersome elements of Browning’s take, and
it doesn’t hurt any that Lupita Tovar is absolutely ravishing). That said, the romance angle that so many
films hang their coats on does nothing at all for me. Coppola’s Bram
Stoker’s Dracula bores me to tears, this despite some fantastic effects
work (all done practical and very, very old school). I’ve never wanted to watch John Badham’s Dracula with Frank Langella even a
little, and stuff like Twilight are
as far away from the mark for me as you can get. Give me Nosferatu
(1922 or 1979; I’m not picky), or Near
Dark, or Martin, or Shadow of the Vampire, anything with
either something to dwell on intellectually or respond to viscerally (sure, sex
can be considered visceral, but I like monsters, and blood and sex is more
interesting to me than sex and sex).
Aren’t you glad I didn’t say, “give me something with some bite?” Javier Aguirre’s Count Dracula’s Great Love (aka Cemetery
Girls aka Dracula’s Virgin Lovers
aka El Gran Amor Del Conde Dracula)
gives me so much of what I want, but still flubs it.
A carriage carrying Imre (Victor
Alcazar), his secret love Marlene (Ingrid Garbo), and three other chicks, Karen
(Haydee Politoff), Senta (Rosanna Yanni), and Elke (Mirta Miller), throws a
wheel in the middle of the Burgo Pass.
Seeking shelter for the night, and since the coachmen is dead from an
ill-timed horse hoof to the head, the gang make it to the old sanitorium, where
they are taken in by Dr. Marlow (Paul Naschy).
From there it isn’t long before the blood and boobs start flowing.
I have a weakness for many of
Naschy’s films, because, like the man himself, I have a weakness for the
classic Universal monster movies. His
Waldemar Daninsky character is a true member of the lycanthrope hall of fame,
though my all-time favorite film of his (and Aguirre’s) is The Hunchback of the Morgue (reviewed previously on this
site). He loves his monster mashes, and
he’s not afraid to tackle multiple characters in a film (witness: Dr. Jekyll and the Werewolf). He even managed to inject some life (man, the
puns are flowing tonight) into the Mummy (The
Mummy’s Revenge). Naschy was fantastic
at playing the physicality of monsters, incorporating his background as a
bodybuilder to give his performances a kinetic energy. His films have a concrete atmosphere that
plays with the gothic trappings of the classics of the Thirties through the Fifties.
It is entirely possible that
Naschy’s Dracula could have been all the things I look for in a vampire
film. The problem is that the movie
follows its dopey, half-baked love story to the point of schmaltzy
sentimentalism. The film does have some
fine moments for any exploitation/horror fan.
The actresses are all willing to get naked. There is enough blood to make things pop here
and there, and it’s often intermingled with female flesh. Naschy gets to tussle with other men often,
showcasing his Shatner-ian slugfest skills.
The male vampire makeups include these great contact lenses that really
give the monsters an otherworldly, creepy mien.
There is just enough sadism to please fans of whippings, and some sleazy
moments are mixed in with them (the lady vampires suck the blood from the
wounds incurred during a lashing). There
are even some “what the fuck?!” elements, such as the knife sticking through a
character’s throat like Steve Martin’s old arrow-through-the-head bit.
That said, the filmmakers are
infinitely more interested in the love between Dracula and Karen, and even that
they get wrong. Much ado is made about
how the only way for Dracula to regain all of his powers and resurrect his
daughter Rodna (yes, Rodna) is for a virgin to fall in love with him of her own
free will. Now, you may recognize this
plot device, as it’s the exact same one used in every one of Naschy’s Daninsky
films, and it’s handled in the exact same way (as is the film’s structure). The women in these films fall in love at the
drop of a hat, all for the sake of the tragic endings these movies have to
have, and it feels like it. Karen is not
only no different from any other Naschy heroine (and I really hesitate to use
that term to describe them) in this respect, but the boundaries of just how
much love can forgive is stretched past breaking. After giving of herself physically and
emotionally to the Count, he promptly cuts Karen open as part of Rodna’s
resurrection ceremony. Then he throws
her into a cell for what must be a couple of months (he keeps having to
inexplicably wait for another full moon to complete the next step of his little
ritual), where she sleeps on a straw bed and shouts for help. During all this time, he keeps begging her to
love him (I’m confused; didn’t she already say that she did?).
Before the “finale,” Dracula and
his lady vamps bounce around the countryside, attacking peasants, thither and
yon (these sequences are actually entertaining, and had there been more of
this, the film probably wouldn’t stink as bad as it does), and Dracula continues
to pontificate about this, that, and the other thing and plead with Karen, who
remains as emotionless here as she does in the rest of the picture. The filmmakers then give up on any semblance
of reason or narrative in one of the most anticlimactic endings you’re likely
to see. There are so many “WHY?!”
instances in the film, it really deflates the bits that work well (because they
do work so well). I can’t say I
recommend Count Dracula’s Great Love,
but goddamn it, I want to.
MVT: The elements that deal
with the more graphic aspects of the story, both red and pink.
Make or Break: Dracula’s
monologue in the third act, that seems to go on for over twenty minutes and not
make a lick of sense.
Score: 4/10
