‘Dracula: Untold’ is a Bunch of Bullshit
When I discovered there would be a film concerning my fall into the throes of vampirism, I was enthused, to say the least. I believed it would inspire a litany of cherished memories to float to the surface of my thoughts, whilst also providing a few erotic thrills and frights for the mortal consumers, of course.
So it was much to my dismay when I viewed Dracula: Untold, and it was, forgive my crass words, a coffin full of rotting bullshit. The whole affair was vapid, cash-grabbing schlock that dispensed with narrative cohesion and suspense, while replacing what should have been horror with uninspiring action sequences.
I also fail to seduce and satisfy a single teenaged virgin. What’s worse — I don’t even try.
Where is the erotica? I kiss my wife a bit in this film and that’s it. Vampires are all about sex and horror, and there is very little of either in this PG-13 middle-aged knock-off of Batman Begins. Not once do I pop out of a coffin or enter a woman’s flower as a cloud of fog. As soon as I became a vampire that’s practically all I did for years.
The most I do in this film is turn into a bunch of bats. I HAVE NEVER TURNED INTO A BUNCH OF BATS. I can turn into a bat, a dog, a fog — really anything, but I’ve never turned into a crowd of bats. If I can turn into a bunch of animals, why not turn into a pack of wolves and eat everyone? Or turn into a bunch of fogs and give all the town’s women a night of misty cunnilingus?
One detail the film did nail were my giant red shoulder pads with a dragon on them. They were quite distracting and really limited my mobility, one of the reasons I would turn into fog a lot — well, that and the fact I could go up a woman’s fleur-de-lis for a little Dracula Surprise. Looking at those shoulder pads now fills me with embarrassment, though thankfully not the type of embarrassment the sex-fog-averse filmmakers should feel.
As a rogue vampire, forced to walk the Earth for all eternity, I’ve seen a lot of Dracula films, and you can toss this one in the Dracula box marked “Petty Garbage.”
Now that I think about it, the only Dracula film that got it right was Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula, mostly because I fill Winona’s Rider with fog one night. I remember watching that and thinking, “Nailed it.”