Tag Archives: 1897

Poster for Andrew Lang’s “Dreams and Ghosts,” 1897

I believe the name of the artist is lost to history — would our only clue be the initials … “RX” in the bottom right corner?

“L’Enfant Malade, Tête D’Enfant Couché,” Eugène Carrière, 1897

“Boulevard Montmartre, Spring,” Camille Pissarro, 1897

Oil on canvas.

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“At the First Touch of Winter, Summer Fades Away,” Valentine Cameron Prinsep, circa 1897

Oil on canvas.

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Eric’s Insomniac Theater: “The Invisible Man” (1933)!

I try to watch at least one Universal Pictures monster movie every year before Halloween — it’s a little tradition of mine.  This time out it was James Whale’s 1933 adaptation of H. G. Wells’ 1897 novel, The Invisible Man.  (I actually do remember seeing this movie, or part of it, on television in the early 1980’s.  Gems played like this ran on weekends all the time.)

The film is pretty cornball stuff, but I love seeing an original Universal monster movie late at night — and it’s always wild getting a glimpse into period culture.  And Claude Rains does make a nicely menacing villain, even with his voice alone.  (Because, most of the time, y’know, you can’t actually see him.)

You can find the entire film right here at the Internet Archive.

And, hey, if the kindly Dr. Cranley looks familiar to you, yes, he is indeed played by Henry Travers — the angel Clarence in 1946’s “It’s a Wonderful Life.”



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Cover for Felicie Ewart’s “Jugendschatz Deutscher Dichten,” design by Koloman Moser, 1897

Pencil, pen, ink on paper.

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A review of “Dracula” (1931)

So I finally saw the entirety of “Dracula” (1931) last night, after being alive on this planet for nearly half a century.  The iconic image of Bela Lugosi was something I’d grown up with in the 1980’s … most boys back then hadn’t actually seen the  original Universal Pictures movie from 50 years’ prior (and of course we hadn’t read Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel), but everyone knew who Dracula was.  The character still saturated popular culture via everything from toys to comic books to cartoons to breakfast cereals to countless emulations in contemporary movies.  You weren’t a boy in the 1980’s if you didn’t dress proudly as Dracula at least once for Halloween.

But … despite it being such a cultural touchstone, this 1931 film might have been overhyped.  That’s just my humble opinion, and I do realize it might get me in trouble with horror fans — or even just film buffs in general.  I personally found Lugosi’s performance underwhelming.  Look — I understand that he looked and sounded the part, especially with his height of  6’1, and his unique and intimidating stare.  But he was a pretty staid and even low-energy actor, at least here, I think.  For me, he was quickly overshadowed by the wide-eyed Dwight Frye, in his supporting role as the manic, psychopathic Renfield.  Frye was an expressive physical actor, and he looked and sounded absolutely nuts.  That man could be genuinely scary, if this story was presented in a  more natural fashion.

Which brings me to my overall concern about the movie — it has a slow pace and a stationary feel to it that are unfortunately derived from its immediate source material — the film was adapted from a 1924 stage play adaptation of Stoker’s book.  The book, in contrast, was actually an epic journey, with imperiled characters with lots of agency who reacted quite energetically against its title antagonist.

The difference here is most painfully obvious with a clipped, seemingly bowdlerized anti-climax, where Dracula is killed offscreen.  When he’s finally (SPOILER WARNING) staked through the heart, we don’t see it.  Instead, we’re treated to a clumsy reaction shot by David Manners, in his milquetoast turn as Jonathan Harker.  It’s awkwardly staged.  It even feels as though the scene could have been added in post-production, after Van Helsing’s dispatch of the monster was deemed too much for audiences.  (Van Helsing himself is played with admirable gravitas by Edward Van Sloan.)  It’s weird that so little thought appears to have gone into this denouement, given the detail that seems to have gone into things like the movie’s great sets.

If you want to see a truly impressive antique Dracula movie, I’d recommend the unauthorized (but far superior) adaptation of the famous book — F. W. Murnau’s “Nosferatu: ein Symphonie des Grauens” (1922).  Even that historic film can be divisive, though.  People like me find it delightfully creepy, while others describe it as flat-out boring.

Oh, well.  I still enjoyed “Dracula.”  It’s moody and lavish to look at, even in black and white.  You can tell that the filmmakers took it seriously — it’s nicely atmospheric, when it isn’t being pulled down by ham-handed comic relief or (sigh) terrible bat puppetry.  (They should have known even in 1931 to omit the effect altogether).  Sloan’s performance kind of redeems it as a serious horror film, and Frye really shines.  (Among other things, he’d go on to become an even more infamous horror henchman later that same year.  He was none other than Fritz, the doctor’s hunchbacked assistant, in Universal’s “Frankenstein.”)

“Dracula” can be a lot of fun.  It will help you enjoy it if you watch it after dark, if your hopes aren’t too high for being scared, and if you’re curious about what Depression-era audiences might have found frightening.  You might really find it interesting if you’re a serious fan of the genre.  What I’d suggest is a double-feature, with this movie followed by a no-holds-barred modern vampire movie like “30 Days of Night” (2007) for a point of comparison.  That could be an interesting vibe for the night.


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“Vénus Nouant Ses Cheveux,” John William Godward, 1897

“Venus Binding her Hair.”

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“Frühling,” Heinrich Vogeler, 1897

Oil on canvas.

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“La Solitude du Christ,” Alphonse Osbert, 1897

“The Solitude of Christ.”  Oil on panel.

I wish I’d known about this painting when I’d first run “prayer upon an empty hilltop” on this blog.  It would have been perfect.

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