The latest take on “Dracula” proves one thing: All icons eventually get their own perfume. In the writer-director Luc Besson’s extravagantly silly — but not silly enough — twist on the timeless monster, Dracula (Caleb Landry Jones), is deliciously operatic: less villain, more virtuoso in love. Vladimir, a 15th-century Eastern European prince, renounces God after his wife, Elisabeta, is killed during a crusade. Transformed into Dracula and wielding his own fragrance creation to lure victims, he waits more than 400 years to reunite with her reincarnated form, Mina (Zoë Bleu, in the dual role).
In past adaptations, Dracula stalked; here, he generously spritzes. He’s certain his scent will attract Mina. Watching Dracula — looking like a cross between Freddy Krueger and Edward Scissorhands — narrate his fragrance’s genesis like he’s Elizabeth Taylor in her White Diamonds perfume commercial is among the film’s greatest camp delights. And that’s before we cut to Florence, Italy, where, set to the beat of a choral chant, he dabs his signature scent and seduces swooning ballroom dancers. I immediately replayed it all.
The movie’s intermittent flippancy is its lifeblood, with Christoph Waltz’s cheeky vampire hunter delighting even when he seems to be off doing his own thing. Even the random gargoyles can’t be taken seriously — they look like someone forgot to finish rendering them. You’re never quite sure if you’re laughing with this take on Dracula or at it, though I suspect both are true.
Once Mina and Dracula reunite, the film loses momentum, collapsing into the same hollow visage as the gargoyles. Sucked dry of its nonsensical charm, “Dracula” leaves the romance feeling as long and labored as eternal love itself.
Dracula Rated R for brutal knife combat, gore, throat-biting and sexual content. Running time: 2 hours 9 minutes. In theaters.
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