Review: Dracula's Daughter (1936)

When Universal announced in trade publications that they intended to finally produce a sequel to the film that started the horror boom of the 1930s, Dracula, they made it clear that the followup would eclipse the original--and every other Universal horror film--in scale and importance, with James Whale (director of many of the studio's horror hits) in charge and Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff and Colin Clive set to star. (Lugosi would only appear in flashbacks, since his character died at the end of the original.)

But by 1936, the horror boom had waned, with monster movies being censored or outright banned here, there and everywhere. Universal still went forward with Dracula's Daughter, but they scaled the production down significantly, keeping Whale, Karloff and Clive off of the project. (Lugosi remained under contract for the movie, even though he doesn't appear in it, even in flashback, and wound up getting paid more than he'd made for Dracula.)

This doesn't mean that Dracula's Daughter is a less effective movie for its reduced budget and lesser-known cast. In fact, it's one of the most interesting (if least-known) of the horror cycle of the 1930s, even if it comes at the tail end of that cycle.

Dracula's Daughter picks up immediately after end of Dracula, with Doctor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan, reprising his role) having driven a wooden stake into the Count's black, black heart. The police tend to frown on such antisocial activities, though, and Van Helsing gets arrested and charged with murder. Sir Basil Humphrey (Gilbert Emery) of Scotland Yard presents Van Helsing with his options, which are pretty limited: Either he's convicted and sent to the gallows, or he'd declared insane and spends the rest of his days in an asylum. Van Helsing asks for the help of one of his former students, Jeffrey Garth (Otto Kruger) to prove that he's neither crazy nor homicidal.

Meanwhile, Countess Marya Zaleska (Gloria Holden) comes to see Dracula's body--and then kills the attendant, steals the body and, with the help of her manservant, Sandor (Irving Pichel), burns it (actually, a wax dummy taking the place of Lugosi).

As you might have guessed, Zaleska is also the title character. But the Countess isn't a typical vampire--she hates what she is, believes that she's being dominated by her father's will, even from beyond the (now-permanent) grave, and wants Jeffrey to help change, even as Sandor (who appears to be a bloodsucker himself) scowls and doubts not only that she can change, but that there's any reason for her to change.

When she and Jeffrey discuss her compulsions (in the most general terms, of course--wouldn't want to tell a psychologist that you're a 100-year-old vampire), it sounds much more like they're talking about drug or alcohol addiction (Jeffrey even refers to treatment for alcoholics) than a taste for O-positive. Jeffrey recommends that she confront her impulses straight-on: "The next time you feel this influence, don't avoid it. Meet it. Fight it. Score the first victory." The Countess acts on Jeffrey's advice and sends Sandor out to find a victi...er, a volunteer to come back to her studio in Chelsea to "model" for her. Sandor finds a lovely young girl, Lili (lovely young Nan Grey), and brings her back to Zaleska, who finds herself unable to resist her bloodlust after all.

This scene with Lili has become famous because it plays very much like a lesbian seduction--something one doesn't expect to find in a mainstream horror film from a major studio. When Lili comes to Zaleska's studio and is offered food and warmth by the fireplace, the Countess can't take her eyes off the girl, especially when Lili removes her blouse and holds the front of her undergarment up with her hands. Zaleska stares not just with interest or even longing, but pure hunger. It's an erotically charged moment, no question. The legend of vampirism has always had sexual connotations--what with domination of another will, penetration, sucking, etc.--but said connotations were usually pushed to the margins in the horror films of the '30s and '40s. To see them displayed overtly in a movie of the period can be startling.

Alas, the Countess not only can't deal with her need for the red stuff, but can't control her emotions, either: She falls in love with Jeffrey and wants him to become undead, too. To this end, she kidnaps Jeffrey's wisecracking socialite secretary, Janet (Marguerite Churchill), who's also in love with him, and travels back to the old homestead in Transylvania to lure him there. Jeffrey, of course, charges off (since, of course, he's in love with Janet), with Van Helsing and Sir Basil in hot pursuit, toward the exciting conclusion.

Director Lambert Hillyer (who also helmed The Invisible Ray with Karloff and Lugosi that same year for Universal) and cinematographer George Robinson (who also lensed the Spanish version of Dracula a few years earlier) fill Dracula's Daughter with great mood and atmosphere, making the foggy streets of London even more alluring and menacing than usual. Holden, who never became a star and made very few movies period, gives a restrained, underplayed performance unusual for the Universal horror cycle where subtle acting was a rarity. Even when Holden delivers Lugosi's most famous line from the original--"I never drink...wine"--she does so offhandedly, as if Zaleska is acknowledging her dark nature without embracing it.

Hillyer and Holden's restraint helps make the title character a more-or-less sympathetic one, even as she's giving in to her destructive impulses. Given that, in most horror films, the audience looks forward to the defeat of the monster, it's very different--and refreshing--to feel sadness, even pity, when that defeat is delivered.