Lurid, entertaining but hardly shocking mid 60's Hammer horror production, probably most noteworthy for the fact that the title character played by the normally stentorian-voiced Christopher Lee says nary a word throughout, reputedly because he was so dis-enamoured of his allotted dialogue. While there are some plus features to the movie, this central flaw, which leaves a red-eyed Lee to ham it up like a refugee from a silent-movie throws the movie too far off-kilter for it to really recover.
Those plus features I mentioned would include the lush, airy location filming, ditto the castle interiors, in fact the cinematography on the whole is great on the eye, with blood-red the naturally dominant colour in the director's palette. The story pits the usual stereotypes and archetypes for our delectation, from holier than thou God-fearing priests, to a would-be (but in reality, not very) creepy butler attending on Lee, the timid superstitious townsfolk who watch and cower as usual and of course four upper class English twits, the perennial innocents abroad, who commit every clichéd horror-film action you can think of. These include, the obligatory ignoring of the warnings by stern priest Andrew Keir's about avoiding ol' Drac's castle, then disregarding one of their number's dire premonitions of death and destruction, wandering around the castle at night unaccompanied and of course ending up with stiff-upper-lip Francis Matthews, pre-Paul Temple, going back to the castle for the climactic duel with Lee.
I quite enjoyed the first hour, particularly the shenanigans in the castle, with a reasonable build up of tension, assisted by effective background music and sound effects but felt the last half-hour, up until just before the not-quite-redeeming conclusion on the ice, appeared grafted on, particularly the utilisation of a daffy old eccentric, a relapsed disciple of Dracula, who turns out to fully engage the trust of Matthew's fiancée when she hardly knows him and then is able to overpower with one blow a pretty virile looking priest. And yet there are one or two images that linger in the memory (just) beyond the end-titles, notably the transfiguration return of Dracula in the castle dungeon, sparked by the dripping blood of the spit-roasted corpse of Matthew's slain brother and also Lee's deathly gaze from under the ice which has claimed him to the deep (and no, I didn't know running water was fatal to vampires either).
It doesn't feel as if this was a particularly long shoot with an attendant unnecessary briskness of manner prevalent - you never feel for a minute that the actors ever really inhabit their parts, improbable as they are. Keir is probably the best of them though his Scottish Presbyterian accent does seem out of place in the likes of Carlsbad! Perhaps the film's most glaring fault is the re-run as a sort of prologue, of the conclusion of its predecessor "Dracula" (1958) with the memorable climax between Lee and the great Peter Cushing as Van Helsing. The remainder of this film lacks a scene as effective as this and is definitely the poorer for the latter actor's absence. Not, in conclusion then, the best of Hammer's horror recreations, but like an adult's ride on the ghost train, a pleasant enough journey, without ever getting close to actually frightening you out of your seat.
Those plus features I mentioned would include the lush, airy location filming, ditto the castle interiors, in fact the cinematography on the whole is great on the eye, with blood-red the naturally dominant colour in the director's palette. The story pits the usual stereotypes and archetypes for our delectation, from holier than thou God-fearing priests, to a would-be (but in reality, not very) creepy butler attending on Lee, the timid superstitious townsfolk who watch and cower as usual and of course four upper class English twits, the perennial innocents abroad, who commit every clichéd horror-film action you can think of. These include, the obligatory ignoring of the warnings by stern priest Andrew Keir's about avoiding ol' Drac's castle, then disregarding one of their number's dire premonitions of death and destruction, wandering around the castle at night unaccompanied and of course ending up with stiff-upper-lip Francis Matthews, pre-Paul Temple, going back to the castle for the climactic duel with Lee.
I quite enjoyed the first hour, particularly the shenanigans in the castle, with a reasonable build up of tension, assisted by effective background music and sound effects but felt the last half-hour, up until just before the not-quite-redeeming conclusion on the ice, appeared grafted on, particularly the utilisation of a daffy old eccentric, a relapsed disciple of Dracula, who turns out to fully engage the trust of Matthew's fiancée when she hardly knows him and then is able to overpower with one blow a pretty virile looking priest. And yet there are one or two images that linger in the memory (just) beyond the end-titles, notably the transfiguration return of Dracula in the castle dungeon, sparked by the dripping blood of the spit-roasted corpse of Matthew's slain brother and also Lee's deathly gaze from under the ice which has claimed him to the deep (and no, I didn't know running water was fatal to vampires either).
It doesn't feel as if this was a particularly long shoot with an attendant unnecessary briskness of manner prevalent - you never feel for a minute that the actors ever really inhabit their parts, improbable as they are. Keir is probably the best of them though his Scottish Presbyterian accent does seem out of place in the likes of Carlsbad! Perhaps the film's most glaring fault is the re-run as a sort of prologue, of the conclusion of its predecessor "Dracula" (1958) with the memorable climax between Lee and the great Peter Cushing as Van Helsing. The remainder of this film lacks a scene as effective as this and is definitely the poorer for the latter actor's absence. Not, in conclusion then, the best of Hammer's horror recreations, but like an adult's ride on the ghost train, a pleasant enough journey, without ever getting close to actually frightening you out of your seat.