A Pigment of My Imagination

About two years back, I had to read this article in an English class about Superman and his role as an American icon. Written by Gary Engle, the article “What Makes Superman So Darned American” is an excellent look into the character, his development, and his significance on American culture.
http://cc.ysu.edu/~satingle/gary_engle.htm

Then I had to write a review/summary of it:

In his essay “What Makes Superman So Darned American?”, author Gary Engle describes the myth of Superman and his alter-ego Clark Kent and discusses how it relates to America’s history of immigration and assimilation. Engle starts by revisiting his childhood dilemma—deciding who would win the fight between Superman and cowboy legend John Wayne. His constant back-and-forth ended, he says, when he realized that the two would never battle because they didn’t start fights, but rather defended the American way of life.
Even in a country full of regional legends and myths such as Davy Crockett and Paul Bunyan, Engle comes to realize that Superman is “the great American hero”, one who incorporates the cultural traditions, beliefs, and indomitable spirit of the American way.

Although Superman has endured many transformations over the years, there is a core to his story, and this is key to its meaning. Superman is orphaned on planet Earth after the destruction of his home planet, Krypton. He is then rescued and raised by the Kent family of Smallville. Once grown, Clark Kent moves to Metropolis to be a reporter by day and world savior by night. Along the way, he falls in love with Lois Lane.
According to Engle, Superman is such a popular and resonant character to Americans because he is an orphan and an immigrant. From the first Pilgrims to today, America has been a country of immigrants. Like Superman, many Americans were forced to flee their native country because of famine or war, and traveled to America, in hope of a better life. Engle says that, as opposed to Batman, and other superheroes who wear a mask to hide their humanity, Superman actually is an alien, who wears the disguise of a human to hide his special powers.

Engle shows that much of America’s history rests in dealing with cultural dislocation. In literature, he says, American legends like Daniel Boone, Natty Bumppo, and Huck Finn are all condemned to restless travel, searching for the American dream and a national sense of identity. Individual mobility, Engle states, is an “integral part of America’s dreamwork”. This is why learning to drive is a part of manhood, and why writers like Charles Kuralt and William Least Heat Moon take to the roads of America to expand their humanity. Engle says it is no surprise, then, that Superman can fly. This flying allows him great personal freedom, making him essentially omnipresent, thus eliminating the curse of dislocation.
Superman the orphan, like many Americans, is forced to form a new identity, so he can assimilate into his new culture. He chooses to be the geeky Clark Kent. And while Kent seems far from heroic, Engle says, Superman and his weaker alter-ego are required for the myth to be complete and succeed.

Indeed, Engle argues that Superman is more effective than the Western legend because he transcends the Western’s flaws. Westerns were in many ways a precursor to Superman, tales about men exiled from their homes traveling west to start a new way of life, and, along the way, having to learn from and incorporate the traditions of the natives who were already there. The limits to the Westerns, as Engle says, are that they were pastoral, set in rural locales, and historical, forced into a specific, although inaccurate point in place and time. Superman solved these issues by being contemporary and global. Clark Kent moves from a rural town into a cosmopolitan metropolis, a move that many Americans could relate to personally.
The creators of Superman tried to give him not just cultural, but also religious significance. Engle highlights Superman’s bright red cape, which unlike any cape before it, seems to grow right from his chest and serve as the wings of an angel. After further research, Engle shows great spiritual symbolism in Superman’s Kryptonic name, Kal-el. In Hebrew, the affix “el” (Isra-el, Micha-el) means “of God”. “Kal” means “swiftness”, and “hal” translates to “all”, making Kal-el mean “all that God is”. The name Kent appears in the Bible meaning “I have found a son”.

Because America has no national religious icon, Engle argues that Superman himself has become a kind of religious myth, a “visitor from heaven”. An American’s non-denominational tale of a savior, the protector of the helpless, the defender of justice, truth and the American way. Engle argues that Superman is a young child’s ideal vision of a hero, and puts John Wayne to shame.

    Director Michael Curtiz brilliantly used black and white photography to create a beautiful and classic look for his film, Casablanca. As opposed to color, black and white really forces the cinematographer to carefully plan out his lighting setups. And though, technically, black and white needs more finessing to get the picture exposed correctly, when seen, its very format creates a dramatic play of light and shadow.
In film, the visual elements captured by the photography always serve a larger purpose—to serve the characters, and add to the story. One place in Casablanca in which this is seen is in the classic “of all the gin joints…” scene. This takes place after Rick reencounters Ilsa for the first time at his bar. This scene is set later that night as Rick is having a drink in the dark, trying to wash away the feelings that arose when he saw Ilsa.

Because this scene was shot in a studio, the DP could control every light in the scene, without having to worry about natural light. This whole scene (excluding Rick’s flashback of Paris) was shot very low-key. Right away, this clearly defines that the scene takes place at night, which the previous shot (the front exterior of Rick’s Café, with the sign lights turning off) established. The scene starts with a medium close-up of Rick sitting at a table at his bar. All the overhead lights are off, and he is alone, a wine bottle in front of him. This careful setup establishes not only his location, but also reflects his thoughts at this point—he is mad and heartbroken and wants to hide from others and forget the past.
As we track out, we begin to see some detail in the background, but it’s mostly in shadow, drawing our focus to Rick. Rick is wearing a solid white jacket, and he is strongly lit from the side, making him really pop out from the background. We now see that the scene is light with very high contrast (though later in the scene, once Ilsa enters, the whole value system lights up a bit more). This contrast, together with the side facial lighting (which splits his face in two) illustrates a part of Rick’s personality—he is two-sided, at this point in the movie, we don’t know who he will end up supporting in the film or what his motivations are. At this point in the scene, his face is mostly under-lit, so his dark hair fades into the background, drawing you to his eyes. The harsh underlighting also creates strong shadows in his face and shows the furrows in his forehead. This shows his deep vulnerability and frustration, while whenever he has his “public face” on, like with guests at his bar, he always has a soft, even lighting.
All this time meanwhile, in the background, we see the tower search light probing the city, coming in and out of the shot, a constant reminder of the dangerous world he lives in, and how he feels he’s always being watched. As Sam enters, he emerges from the darkness and stays that way. He is not really lit himself, there is only the small amount of light in front of him that reflects into his dark face. This serves to make Sam part of the background, and not compete with Rick, it almost makes him like a ghost, like a voice in Rick’s head.

Ultimately, the lighting works well in this scene to illustrate Rick’s inner dilemma. The light seems very controlled and almost painterly. You can tell it was artfully crafted for an almost surreal look, not natural realism. Despite some simulation of natural light, like the window in the background, the lighting is all designed to highlight Rick. This scene shows the emotional power of low-key lighting to set a dark and depressing mood that can be full of fear and mystery. It also shows that when setting up a shot, you don’t have to see every detail in the background. If it is distracting or interferes with the subject, it can be placed in shadow and made into negative space. This scene in specific, and the whole movie in general clearly demonstrate the power of cinematography and lighting in developing character, and show that no matter how qualified the photographer is, or how stylish the shoot looks visually, it should all be there only to serve the story.

(A project I worked on last year for a “Film as Art” assignment, analyzing a specific shot in the film, doing a whole run down of what comprises  that single image. A great little film, by the way.)

Film: “The Matador”
Director: Richard Shepard
Cinematography: David Tattersall

This entire film was blessed with a unique vision. From the quirky and eccentric characters and dialogue to the great art design and cinematography. Acclaimed director of photography, David Tattersall, brought to this movie a great sense of style and fashion, and a sense of professionalism above the film’s budget. The photography throughout the film is nearly always bright, saturated, and colorful and the shots are strongly based on shapes and lines and color contrasts to create visual tension and movement.
This scene in the film is when Julian Noble (Brosnan) and Danny Wright (Kinnear) go to a bullfight in Mexico City. It takes place about 25 minutes into the film. These two main characters first met in the hotel’s bar, had a fight, and later made up in the scene in the hotel’s driveway. Danny’s business tells him that the sale might not go through, and that he is going back to the States, leaving Danny to wait in Mexico. Overhearing this conversation, Julian, in desperate need of a friend, offers Danny a ticket to a bullfight. Danny is at first reluctant, but ultimately accepts to go. This specific shot happens pretty early on in the scene after we first get an aerial shot of the arena and then the camera travels up through the crowds in the stands to show Danny and Julian talking, we then cut to this overhead shot, looking over them, into the bull ring.

Mise-en-scene Breakdown:
1.    Dominant—Because of the circular, centered shape of the arena, and the because the two main characters serve to frame the shot, our eyes are first drawn right to the center of the arena, where the matador and the bull’s showdown is taking place. The shrinking concentric circles of the ring appear from overhead like a bull’s eye, drawing you right to the center.
2.    Lighting Key—This shot uses high key lighting and with a fair degree of contrast. This key really helps emphasize the strong colors and all the visual details of the crowds and the bullfighters.
3.    Shot/Camera Proxemics—This shot is a medium wide shot of Julian and Danny, but because of how it’s angled, you also get an extremely wide view of the bullring below to really sell the idea that they are watching a bullfight. It is set up in a way that you have foreground and background action going on at the same time, so while the camera might be only a few feet away from the main characters you can still see what is going on hundreds of yards below in the ring.
4.    Angle—This is shot from a high angle shot. It is not a bird’s eye, because this would have made the two actors less important. Rather, the angle gives prominence to the actors, letting them fill up a large portion of the screen, but lets you look down, almost as a POV shot as if you were another crowd member sitting a few rows higher than the two characters, looking straight down into the action.
5.    Color Values—In this movie, colors serve to represent different characters, Julian normally being a bright orange, and Danny being a blue. In this shot, the whole world is dominated by reds and yellows and browns—Julian’s colors. Julian himself is wearing a beige and red shirt with an orange/brown leather jacket on top. This color scheme really links Julian to the background setting both visually and symbolically. A central metaphor in the film is the link between Julian and the world of the matador. And the colors in this shot cement this connection that Julian is right at home in this fighting world, a world of action and adventure, but also a world of death. Danny, on the other hand, is a complete opposite color. The turquoise shirt he is wearing seems to pop right off the screen due to the extreme contrast. Despite this though, we start to see bits of Julian creeping into Danny’s character. At the beginning of the film, Danny was always surrounded by dark, almost purple blues, but now his color scheme is gaining some of Julian’s warmth giving it more a greenish color. Also, a subtle costuming trick—the collar on Danny’s shirt is rimmed with red and yellow stripes, showing how he is being affected by Julian.
6.    Lens/Filter/Stock—This was filmed with very wide angle lens. The wide angle gives an extremely long depth of field, which is proved because even the matador, who must be hundreds of yards from the two actors, is still in sharp focus. This was probably filmed using slow stock film which gives the film its very rich, detailed, and saturated look.
7.    Subsidiary Contrasts—After first looking right at the center of the bullpen, our eyes are drawn up and out. The circle shape of the ring guides our eyes around the frame till we reach Danny and Julian. We realize that just as there is a battle going on in the bullring, there is also a sort of battle between these two characters.
8.    Density—This image is very high density. You see tons of visual detail crammed into the shot (like the thousands of people you see seated). Yet because all these people are mostly in the far background, they are smaller, and so don’t totally distract us from the main character action in the foreground.
9.    Composition—The dominant shape about which the shot is composed is clearly the circle. The concentric rings create the bull’s-eye image. The circle helps to visually unite Julian and Danny. Also to break up the image from being strictly centered, we have Julian and Danny each placed roughly on the left and right imaginary vertical lines of thirds, respectively.
10.    Form—This shot is closed because it does not look like a random image, but rather, a highly composed and well-framed shot that ties foreground and background into one.
11.    Framing—This image is somewhat loose. It sets up the vast wide shot and also gives the two actors prominence on the screen, but still giving them room to move around and act.
12.    Depth—The way the image is shot, there is almost no middle ground, but rather a very sharp drop-off between the foreground actors and the background arena. This really clarifies that Julian and Danny are the main characters. A more eye-line angle would have made them “one of the many,” but this angle really separates them from the rest of the crowds and juxtaposes them directly on top of the arena fight.
13.    Character Placement—The two actors are at opposite ends of the screen to show their antagonist and to serve as a “frame within a frame,” highlighting the arena far below.
14.    Staging Positions—In this shot, we only see the back’s our the two actors, demonstrating how little we know about them, and how little they have revealed to each other.
15.    Character Proxemics— At this point in the movie, Danny is still very wary of Julian and not sure how to take him. Although a friendship is starting to develop, there is still a sense of mystery separating the two characters. Because of this, in this shot, they are at opposite ends of the shot, with the background action separating the two of them from each other. Symbolically saying that Julian’s “matador” lifestyle isolates him from Danny and his suburban life.

So as a bit of an addendum to my previous post, I wanted to discuss briefly the concept of names in film. One of my biggest pet peeves in film (btw, I hate the word pet peeve, but until I find a functional equivalent, I’ll have to stick with it) is when you spend most the movie wondering what the characters are actually called.
In the case of “The English Patient”, for example, we only hear references to Almasy for the first hour or so, or people call him just Count, and I think only one do we hear his full name. Often people joke about his name being foreign and hard to pronounce. Which in the sense of the story could all work to build his character. But for me as an audience, I found it extremely annoying. If a movie presents a main character and expects me to connect with them, the least they can do is be perfectly clear as to what his/her name is. Granted, in some rare cases, this information is withheld on purpose from the audience, to make the character alienated or mysterious. But most times it seems it is done merely as a mistake.
Especially in a case like this, where is a bizarre name, the filmmakers should find a simple and clever way to show us names: on a nameplate on a desk, painted on an office door, on a name-tag, etc., something to give us something visual and definitive to latch on to. I’m not saying that all details in a film should be spelled out and spoon-fed to the audience (and certainly if the name is “Joe” or the like, it doesn’t take much work), but I believe that a name is crucial to developing a character (just like their physical appearance or costumes), and thus, needs to be clarified.
Often, I think filmmakers don’t stop to think about this little detail and how it might affect the audience. In their case, they’ve been living in the world of the story for years and know all the names and details from the script, and so maybe they assume all this information will automatically be picked up by the audience, instead of realizing that sometimes that audience needs to be fed at least a few solid pieces of information before they can really engage.
Just my two cents.

This film, an epic tale of a mapmaker’s romance and tragedies set in WWII, seemed to steal both audiences and critic’s hearts alike when it came out in 1996. The following year, it won by a landslide at the Oscars (taking away an impressive 9 Awards, including Best Picture, Director, and Supporting Actress). Thus as a fan of grand period pieces and romantic dramas in general, I knew it was about time I finally saw this flick.

Despite all the hype, my viewing of the film left me a little cold. I don’t know what exactly it was, probably a combination of many elements, but somehow I could never fully connect with the story or the characters. I haven’t watched other Anthony Minghella films to see how this one compares with his later ones (although I do want to see most of them), but I know he was a pretty well-acclaimed director before his early death a few years back.

From a technical point, the film is pretty impressive. It is a grand romance tale, with numerous characters, set among a dramatic war-torn canvas. In some ways, it feels is a throwback to old Hollywood romances like “Gone with the Wind”. The film has a smashing cast. Ralph Fiennes plays the Count Almasy. The film opens with his disastrous plane accident that leaves him charred and approaching death. Hana (Juliette Binoche) is a nurse who decides to leave the war train and move Almasy to an abandoned house to care for his as he grows weaker. Almasy then, through means of his Herodotus diary/photo book, begins to tell us his tale and what led him to where he is now. I must say, this method of storytelling (a main character on his/her deathbed sharing flashbacks of their life with a younger bedside audience), although quite popular (recently used in “Benjamin Button”) and rather poetic, I personally find it a little distracting, and would sometimes just like to see the story play as a live account, instead of always breaking the narrative by going back to a dying storyteller…

(caption credits below go to IGN.com, who not only write excellent film reviews, but terrific captions, just couldn’t pass this one up to share)

Do you prefer your Ralph regular…

…or extra crispy?

Kristin Scott Thomas plays Almasy’s lover, Katharine Clifton, who cheats on her husband (Colin Firth). Willem Dafoe plays Carvaggio, the thief with a secret past (he immediately calls attention to his performance as a wild personality, but personally I found it distracting, and his personality never really seemed to pick a consistent tone). Finally Naveen Andrews as Kip, who falls in love with Hana (and I must say, he always seems to play the same character, but certainly has improved a lot by his “Lost” days). I must say, Kristin Scott Thomas and Juliette Binoche both are probably some of my favorite actresses working on Hollywood today. They each, in their respective ways, always feel very classy (in a Golden Age Hollywood kinda way), while at the same time having a very international and edgy feel of modernity, so it’s a treat having them in the same film. Fiennes here seems to play a snobby jerk for the first half of the film, and I could never really see him as the “hero” of the story. Apparently many film fans consider his and Thomas’ romance here to be one of the all-time film romances, but personally, I always felt it was a little forced and based on mere infatuation and loneliness, instead of true love. And even if it is true love, I find it hard to support an affair, no matter how desperate the circumstances. Also, there a too nudity, which really adds nothing to the story, except to highlight the scandalous nature of the affair, I suppose.

John Seale’s cinematography is large in scope, and really stands out when you see the planes flying and the wide shots of the desert sands, and showcasing the production design and period set decoration. However, the look of this film is a little dated and definitely feels like a 90’s movie.

Gabriel Yared’s score is a rather bizarre mix of very classical-feeling romance music, and ethnic desert, wailing voice music. Ultimately, it felt a little too distant and not conceptually cohesive. I was never quite bought the burn make-up job on Fiennes, granted I’m no expert on burn wounds, but it always seemed a bit too plastic-y, and his whole performance as a dying man a bit too forced.

All in all, a solid film, one with a large scope and ambition, but one that falls a little flat for me. I’ve heard that it improves upon more viewings, and so maybe it’ll grow on me after subsequent watching. Still though, I wish Hollywood made more movies like this, as I’d rather see an overly ambitious film than an overly cautious and cliché one.

(so you can enjoy the End Titles of the film while you read…)

So, till now, most the films I’ve been reviewing are favorites of mine or one’s I’ve always wanted to see, and thus, for the most part, I’ve simply been gushing over them, with endless positive things to say. However, not all films quite float my boat, and in fact, I tend to be quite critical sometimes. Now that I’m back at school, hopefully I will have more regular access to a variety of films other than just my own choices, and have to deal with things I do and don’t like. Last night I watched “The Duchess”, starring Keira Knightley and Ralph Fiennes, and sadly, was pretty disappointed.

I must start off by saying that I am a huge fan of period films. I have always loved history and studying ancient cultures. Pretty much all my favorite movies are epic costume dramas (whether it’s historical fiction or fantasy, etc). In fact, these are the very types of movies I would love to ultimately direct (unfortunately they don’t work well in college with a lack of budget…). Many people talk about loving or hating movies. I almost ever am at either of these extremes. I normally always find things I really like, but I also am very demanding and can feel very disappointed if the movie fails in some way.

Anyways, onto the movie. I remember when this came out a while ago, and thought it looked interesting (always have to see what the competition is for period films… aka, what I’ll have to top), but missed this one in the theaters.

“Based on a true story,” this film tells the story of Georgiana, her tragic marriage to the Duke of Devonshire, her social and romantic life, and all the scandals involved. However, I found this film to be very flat. From a technical standpoint it’s pretty solid: good cast and pretty decent acting, clearly a competent budget that shows on screen, etc. Yet I never was really able to connect much with the characters despite all the hardships they go through. The film just seemed to keep me at the edge, looking on all this tragedy, but I never really entered their lives. I admire that the film wasn’t just a gushing cliche Hollywood romance, and instead, tried to present the awkward, cold, formal, ceremonial, and pointlessly superficial life of the British elite of that time period. Many scenes in the movie captured this unique feel well (like the first utterly un-romanticized sex scene).

The film shows just how different these people were from us, and how they were bound by their cultural norms. I wish however that there was something to relate with to these characters. Fiennes’ Duke was  completely heartless, not really trying to be a jerk, but with no real sense of compassion or connection to his wife at all. She responds with a life of superficial show: playing to the crowds, becoming an ancient form of star celebrity, wasting ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous dresses and hairdos. She also carries on a rather stupid love affair with Grey, and although I can sympathize with her horrid life and lack of love, this still does in no way justify her rash actions and childish affections for this man.

Visually, the film was both impressive and flat. The film does look very beautiful, with gorgeous intricate costumes, and locations. However, the cinematography itself struck me as very plain. In my opinion, when the shots looks beautiful, it’s because of what’s actually being filmed, and not because of how it was photographed. Keira Knightley is one of the luckiest new stars in Hollywood today, and somehow managed to be in nearly every big period piece done in the last few years, I’m jealous.

Probably what I thought was the most impressive and successful aspect of this film was the music. Rachel Portman yet again gives us a lushly orchestrated, thematic score. It is beautiful and romantic and flowing, and is one of the few things that actually helps keep the movie from being swallowed up in it’s own dull universe.

Ultimately, I found this to be a well put-together movie, but one that failed to really engage me as a story and as art. It was very much a downer, and even though it ends on a somewhat positive note, the characters really don’t learn or improve much, but only learn to adapt to their abysmal surroundings.  I must say, in this case, I almost would have seem cliche romance, at least that’s something I can enjoy…

    Ultimately, Coppola’s film is a mostly faithful adaptation of Stoker’s world, but takes some creative liberties in updating the tale for a modern audience. With a cast of mostly young, handsome, and popular actors, Coppola chose to break the Victorian impositions of the novel and made it appealing to a wider audience. The technical and artistic merits of the film are impressive and give the story the operatic grandeur that it deserves.

Coppola’s biggest departure from the novel was the incorporation of the romantic arc between Dracula and Mina. The film closes with them alone, in the same temple-like room where Dracula first abandoned God. Beneath the shadow of the cross, Mina plunges a stake into Dracula’s heart, freeing him from an eternity of suffering. Wrapped in Mina’s arms, Dracula is finally at peace. Thus, instead of celebrating the defeat of the ultimate evil, as per the novel, we are left with a heartbreaking Shakespearean ending. As the film’s tag line states, “love never dies,” but in this thematic change, Bram Stoker’s Dracula replaces the Christian faith with erotic romance. This is a drastic move, but one that seems to follow the pattern of many modern adaptations, and no doubt fueled the success of the film, especially among younger audiences. This change aside, the 1992 film is a faithful and vibrant adaptation of Stoker’s masterpiece. Coppola and Hart wanted to return to the original book, and for the most part, their goal was spectacularly accomplished, and this intoxicating film is worthy of its title—Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

…

There’s that! Read the book, very fascinating. And watch the movie, there’s a brand new Collector’s Edition DVD with a new transfer and special features.

Also, here’s some books to check out: great books about Coppola’s life and films:

Clarke, James. Coppola (Virgin Film). London: Virgin Books, 2003.
Schumacher, Michael. Francis Ford Coppola: A Filmmaker’s Life. New York: Crown Publishers, 1999.

    Thus, instead of religious faith being the driving force behind the story, the filmmakers decided to replace this with a new element—romance. Stoker’s work presents a clear distinction between the sexually conservative Victorian life and the alluringly erotic world of the evil undead (most obviously embodied in the Count’s three “brides”). The novel’s strong and intelligent heroine, Mina Murray, is an image of innocence, purity and faith, a woman firmly in keeping with the strict boundaries of traditional Victorian ideals. The romance is the novel is minimal, with Mina’s marriage to Jonathan Harker not one of strong passions, but led by respect and devotion.

The film nearly flips this moral compass on its head. Coppola described his impressions of Hart’s script as story soaked in “passion and eroticism” (qtd. in Schumacher 437). This is where the plot and characters of the film most radically differ from the original material. The new take becomes a very romantic one—essentially a love story between Dracula and Mina. In a journal entry, Coppola described this relationship as two eternal “souls reaching out through a universe of horror and pathos,” an element not found in the novel (Clarke 213).

In fact, for the film, Hart and Coppola literally create a new life for the two lovers. This extends Stoker’s characters into a mythic past. Winona Ryder thus not only plays Mina, but also appears in the beginning of the film as Elisabeta, the wife of Lord Vlad. Elisabeta commits suicide upon hearing of Vlad’s supposed death. When Vlad (then a crusader for the Church) returns victorious from battle to find his wife excommunicated for her suicide, he runs his sword through a giant cross, drowning the room in blood, and renounces his faith, condemning himself to an eternity without divine mercy. As the movie progresses, we find Dracula searching for his lost love, and discovering her in the person of Mina (both of whom share a sort of psychic bond when they first meet). Later, Mina almost mystically becomes aware that she is Elisabeta reincarnated and thus destined to be with the Count. Consequentially, the scene where Dracula bites Mina and turns her into a vampire, instead of being a moment of horror and defeat, becomes a passionately erotic, mystical fusion of two souls, fated for each other in eternity (Dracula).

The character of Count Dracula similarly is adjusted. Like Mina, the Count has also been given a mystic link to the past. In the book’s third chapter, Dracula proudly recounts that he is a descendant of Prince Vlad (Stoker). In the film, Vlad is Dracula, cursed to be reborn into each new century, desperately searching for his lost soul mate. Instead of being a servant of evil, the ultimate villain, he now becomes a sexually charged and tragic anti-hero. With this new Dracula, played extravagantly by Gary Oldman, sexuality is no longer associated with moral corruption but is used to create a seductively alluring romantic icon.

    Coppola does, however, make a rather serious deviation in the tone and themes of the film and this casts a shadow on the rest of the story, and is largely responsible for the other changes in the adaptation. Bram Stoker wrote his book in the Victorian era. It was a repressed world, yet one on the verge of many new discoveries and much social upheaval. These changes included a more liberal view of sexuality, science, and ethics. Despite Stoker’s delving into many of these themes, his novel has a strong sense of absolute truth. He doesn’t shy away from describing violence or sexual references, and the novel often incorporates Eastern mystical concepts (“Dracula”). Yet, through it all, the novel retains a strong core of Christian belief that permeates the world and life of the protagonists. Thus, though Stoker presents a very dark world of temptations, it is clearly associated with evil, and it is in clear opposition to the Christian ethic that the book’s heroes embrace. It is a very visual and imaginative portrayal of the battle between good versus evil.

Coppola takes a different approach when it comes to the theme of spirituality. Although he doesn’t remove the religious elements from the story, he paints them in a very different light. While the novel had a sense of morality defined by faith, the movie is much more ambiguous. The film is filled with Christian imagery, yet its symbolic intent is not always clear. Crucifixes (as well as communion wafers and holy water) in the original are powerful tools given by God to fight the Devil, whereas in the adaptation, the cross motif often seems to highlight a more modern and pessimistic views toward the Church. The use of the cross now almost becomes an attack on clichéd fanatical religiousness. In the hands of Dr. Van Helsing, the cross is used as a weapon. But while the book shows him to be a firm defender of the faith, the film presents him as a near madman, obsessed with vengeance and glory. Thus, we are taken from a world of clear right and wrong into one where these very concepts are put into question.

The film also changes its focus in its use of symbols. Blood is used frequently in the novel. The blood is meant to be a shocking contrast to spirituality. In the practice of communion, Christians celebrate “the blood of Christ” and the cleansing power of blood. When Dracula drinks his victim’s blood to keep himself alive, it is a perversion of the act of communion, and thus, a direct attack against God himself (“Dracula”). In the film, blood is a central motif; this adaptation is practically drenched with it. From the extreme close-ups of blood cells from Dr. Seward’s microscope, to bleeding necks, to Vlad’s scarlet armor and robes, to the photography’s red tint, Coppola not only incorporates the motif as used by Stoker but takes it a step further. Coppola’s blood becomes a sexual symbol. The fear of sexually transmitted diseases is felt throughout this film as the danger of the unknown. During this time, Coppola was also developing a project about AIDS, and many of those ideas seem to carry into Dracula (Clarke 213). It is this blood that comes to dominate the film, and represents Mina’s surrendering to Dracula, as in one central scene where she literally drinks blood from the Count’s chest. Ultimately, blood becomes not a sacrilegious insult to Christianity, but an erotic bond that unifies the characters in the film, both physically and aesthetically. The red embodies both the horror and pain in the story, but also the passion and romance (Stoker).

 

The translation from paper to celluloid was successfully executed, and with great flair. The book is told entirely through journal or newspaper entries, which gives the piece a sense being grounded in reality. Coppola rejected the emerging capabilities of computer effects and instead opted to have all the effects done in-camera. He wanted the film to have an old-school look, using mirrors and “naïve” tricks, as if someone in the nineteenth century had actually filmed on location (Schumacher 448). Also, to tie into the book’s narration formula, Hart incorporates sections of the original text into the film. Anthony Hopkins, playing Abraham Van Helsing, becomes the main narrator of the film. We are also given short journal entries read by Mina and Jonathan that guide us through expository scenes early in the film (Dracula).

The production of the film is exceptional. Hart described the prose of the novel as a “wet” and “feverish” dream, and the film reflects this visually with the editing of the film, as well as its visual style (qtd. in Clarke 212). Bram Stoker’s Dracula is a sumptuous visual feast. The film was shot entirely on sound stages, giving it a highly theatrical look. This deliberate artificiality gave Coppola extreme control to manipulate the film’s operatic scope and a magical spirit. Michael Ballhaus’ cinematography is luscious, highlighting vibrant reds among pools of dark shadows. Eiko Ishioka’s exotically beautiful costumes graphically portray their characters and fill each shot with a sense of mythical grandeur.

Thomas Sander’s production design gives a stage-like sense of emptiness, isolating the characters, and filling the screen with impending doom. Wojciech Kilar’s pounding and lyrical orchestral score reaches from the epic to the intimate (Clarke 214). As a director, Coppola made brilliant choices when it came to hiring his crew. The inspired work gives a sense of seriousness and urgency to the film and elevates it above the typical Hollywood blockbuster. It is truly spectacular to see Stoker’s world unfold before your eyes under the hands of a cinematic genius.