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Dracula (1979), on an extremely othered note, did not begin its creation with this understanding of the potential of a Dracula as a deliberately cultivated and intended romantic depiction in mind. As with many explicitly visual adaptations of Stoker’s novel, the film begins with Dracula’s travel to England, trusting within the confines of a sopping wet (and likely rotting) wooden crate or coffin and the chaotic lull of storming, crashing waves to bring him safely (and secretly) to his (narratively) eventual “washing up” on land.
It ends with Dracula getting “the girl.” The girl, in this case, being Lucy.
Albeit only in the (debatably) distant future, once Dracula and his beloved “‘...have left behind those who would destroy us [them].’” (Dracula 1:36:29–1:36:33) so that she can “‘...join me [him] on a higher plane, feeding on them.’” (Dracula 1:36:36–1:36:42) in hopes the two may one day “‘...create more of our [their] kind.’” (Dracula 1:36:42–1:36:45). Passionate declarations follow the steady, gradual growth of their dynamic from two strangers that independently spark a small mutual interest in each other to a complete understanding of Dracula on Lucy’s part that inspires enough devotion (shared equally on the Count’s side) in her to forsake her lover (Johnathan) in favor of him. By this final moment between the two, the underlying message rings unabashedly clear: Dracula (1979) was written with demonstrably dissimilar romantic intentions in its interpretation of not only Dracula’s own character, but the remaining Dracula canon as well.
Though the movie covers the majority of the plot found in Stoker’s novel, it introduces a few sharp changes to the original novels established via a few original scenes of the Count staying at Lucy’s father’s place and one scene of Lucy tucking Mina into bed before coming downstairs to tend to the baby of one of her father’s mental patients at the same time Mina sneaks out to discover Dracula transforming from wolf to human; Lucy and Mina’s swapped characterizations and the Count coming to do business in the audience’s neck of the woods (i.e. England), opportuning him a chance to strike up a romance with Lucy and a bloodthirsty interest in Mina. In tandem, Jonathan airs his jealousy over Lucy’s romantic happenings with the Count in plain sight of an eavesdropping Dracula, Mina is bitten, Dracula recruits Renfield, Mina dies, and Lucy visits Dracula’s castle, bonding with him and gleefully surrendering to his bite while the men plot Dracula’s downfall. The movie’s rising tensions culminate when Lucy, carrying with her an abundance of confidence the audience has never seen on her before, sternly confronts them on their lethal stance against her newfound lover right before she finds him, resigning herself to his promise to come back so they can finally live out their eternal undead lives together, free from persecution. All that tension subsides with the reveal of Dracula’s escape to safety, a triumphant Lucy and dejected Jon watching him fly out of reach, to return for her another day.
Retained from its source material are the motivations of Van Helsing and the original suitors and Dracula’s dynamic with Reinfield and Van Helsing, along with a few of the original plotlines (the distressed woman’s begging for her baby back, the final showdown between Dracula and the men ending with a stake through the Count’s heart, etc.) dealing with Draucla’s violence and his move towards England’s downfall.
Directed by John Badham and written by Walter Duch Richter, Dracula (1979) is one of the earlier Dracula portrayals to go the route of a concrete, explicit romance between one of the lead woman instead of the far more commonly-used (at the time) innocuous world of subtext. Despite also being produced by Universal Studios and utilizing the same source material, the film’s wild shift in priorities never limits itself to the relationship between Dracula and romance, a clear ripple effect spilling over to the film’s many character dynamics (both including and excluding Dracula), characterizations (most notably their character development over the course of the story), tone, cinematography and blocking, and story/plot, (most notably the events of the third act), all in indirect response to the oh-so (at the time) unorthodox core concert of the film that shapes the movie’s understanding of the monstrosity that makes up its monster (i.e. Dracula) through its more fleshed-out romantic angle: The idea that “Fear of the Monster is Really a Kind of Desire” (Cohen 16). In layman’s terms, a desire that, instead of acting as a weapon actively held against the other character (sometimes by Dracula, and sometimes by the narrative itself), works as a representative of that which is taboo despite still holding appeal as a source of freedom that ultimately serves as a direct path to liberation from a few of the more confining elements of what’s “normal” or ”appropriate” for certain characters (particularly Lucy), displaying how “The same creatures who terrify and interdict can evoke potent escapist fantasies…” (Cohen 16-17) for the audience through what Cohen describes as “...the linking of monstrosity with the forbidden makes the monster all the more appealing as a temporary egress from constant.” (Cohen 17) for the character of Lucy.
This thematic framing of Dracula’s character can be pointed to in a number of scenes, however, the details of Lucy’s solo dinner with the Count provide the most clear cut evidence of how it takes effect within the film’s narrative. It begins with a shot of Lucy and the Count at the table, with Lucy’s face out of frame and the camera far away from the both of them. The camera stays there as they broach the subject of Mina’s death, but begins the pattern of cutting between individual shots of the two of them as each one takes their turn speaking once, the camera zooming in closer and closer as the scene continues and often facing opposite to the current speaker to show the effect their words have on the listeners, once Lucy refutes Dracula’s insistence that there are fate worse than death. Dracula explains how he has lost all he knew to the violence he and his “kind” used to wage and Lucy hesitates before cheerfully answering in an attempt to play off his words, showing how they took her off guard, forcing her to take them to heart. Dracula then playfully tricks her into smiling for him, again showcasing how much effect he has on her, before warning her that “If at any time my company does not please you, you will only have yourself to blame, for an acquaintance who seldom forces himself, but is difficult to be rid of.” ( Dracula 48:31-48:45) as the camera comes closest to him and then her as she stares back at him, the bundles of candles that have been framing them now fully out of focus, removing the visual (and metaphorical) barrier between them (and thus, everything the Count speaks of).
Dracula, so confident in his entrancement of Lucy, outright admits himself as something that allures her not by being any type of threat to her or coercing/tricking her, but something that simply hints at opportunity for that which Lucy has never been granted access to, implying that her growing emotional and romantic involvement with him—and therefore the darkness he represents—is of her own choosing, framing it as an act of autonomous self-liberation rather that unwillful corruption or tainting of her person on his end.
This idea is reinforced as the movie continues. In their later discussion of the night (meant to represent the monstrosity Dracula embodies), she kisses him in response to his suggestion that, unlike the dawn, it must be embraced and reveled in, brushing off his apology for “For intruding on your [her] life.” (Dracula 51:55-51:57) by assuring him that she “...came of my [her] own accord.” (Dracula 51:57-52:01). Lucy’s vampiric turning is done through the act of making love with Dracula, divorcing her from her monogamous relationship with Jonathan and gifting her the sexual freedom Jon, the rest of the men she knew, and society at large (in the metaphorical sense) have always denied her. This metaphorical freedom is further signified through Lucy’s constant outstretching of her arms, the exploding circles of red light illuminating their silhouettes that seem to expand with the effect of the retracting camera, and the inclusion of a flying bat and gathering of candles, color-graded in the same red and symbolizing the darkness Lucy has finally chosen to succumb to as they pan across the background above the silhouette of her body. This concept of desirability stemming from what Dracula’s monstrosity allows Lucy access to finally comes to a head, however, when as she and Jon bear witness to Dracula’s escape, with Jonathan’s despair at the sight representing the failure of goodness instead of monstrous to offer the smiling Lucy what the monster could.
Lucy’s choosing of the monstrous Dracula over her once-beloved Jonathan reminds the audience how that which is human can lose to the monster by coming up short solely via the inadequacies of that which defines it as human, unable to provide a better alternative to the escape the monster offers because it and it’s human limitations is the exact thing the monster’s prey is so desperate to escape from.