THE SMILING GHOST (1941)

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *comedy*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological*

Given that director Lewis Seiler (best known for GUADALCANAL DIARY) worked for many years in B-pictures, it's odd that he directed so little of relevance to metaphenomenal cinema. In any case THE SMILING GHOST, though far from a masterpiece of the "haunted comedy" genre, is still a welcome addition.

One societal aspect that dates the film right away is that even though the slightly-dim hero Lucky Downing(Wayne Morris) is down on his luck jobwise, he still has a black valet in tow, Clarence (Willie Best), who for reasons left unclear hasn't fled for greener pastures. Clarence's loyalty to his employer is even harder to fathom when Lucky is engaged to be engaged; to pose as the fiancee of wealthy Elinor Bentley (Alexis Smith). Elinor is a bride plagued by a series of "done-away-with" grooms (three in all), having been apparently been terminated by a mysterious haunting spectre known as "the Smiling Ghost."

Lucky, somewhat besotted by the gorgeous heiress, takes the job, despite the caustic comments of lady reporter Lil (Brenda Marshall), herself more than a little interested in the handsome doofus. Soon, in addition to negotiating the hostilities or curious habits of Elinor's friends and relatives, Lucky and Clarence do indeed encounter a spectre with a hideous rictus-like grin-- an impressive makeup job, BTW, much better the one that's center-stage for William Castle's MR. SARDONICUS. Eventually it comes out that the Smiling Ghost is actually Elinor's first unfortunate fiancee, who only appeared to die (and was not offed by any ghost, smiling or otherwise). The jealous lover then sought to kill anyone who attempted to cohabit with Elinor, though as matters develop the beautiful Elinor isn't much in the "good character" department.

The most interesting psychological aspect of GHOST is a feminine one, which I term "Pretty vs. Gorgeous." In many romantic comedies, the excessively gorgeous women are often morally suspect in some way, while by contrast their merely pretty rivals are the salt of the earth. Toward the end of the picture Lucky belatedly realizes that he's really in love with pretty Lil rather than the gorgeous temptress Elinor, and makes the right choice (at least for his type of low-comic hero) in line with audience desires. My view that this "virtue vs. vice" choice has become a major U.S. archetypes may be supported by the fact that one can see representative examples that range as far apart in time as Frank Capra's 1931 PLATINUM BLONDE and Rob Reiner's 1985 THE SURE THING.

As expected, Willie Best plays the usual scaredycat black servant, though as it happens the white characters of GHOST aren't much braver in encountering the titular fiend (although support-cast Alan Hale is something of an exception as a tough butler with a "dese dem and doze" accent). In addition, Clarence has to contend with an eccentric old man living at the family mansion who likes to collect heads and suggests that he'd like to add Clarence's to his collection. And to slightly palliate the stereotype, Lucky Downing does treat Clarence more like a friend than a servant, thanks to good on-screen chemistry between Morris and Best. I've always thought the worst aspect of the "scaredycat black" routine appeared whenever it allowed the sensible white lead-hero to assume an air of superiority toward the comic black guy. Lucky, at least, doesn't do that, in contrast, say, to the heroes of KING OF THE ZOMBIES.

ZOMBIES OF MORA-TAU (1957)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *sociological*


Edward L. Cahn's first outing with the zombie genre is pretty dismal. Possibly the best one can say for it is that its lays ground for some better (and grottier) zombie-effects two years later in his INVISIBLE INVADERS, but even that is still pretty inferior to some of the better-written works he essayed, not least CURSE OF THE FACELESS MAN, reviewed here.

On one point ZOMBIES makes an interesting contrast with WHITE ZOMBIE, in that both films are almost exclusively about white characters encountering voodoo and zombie-ism, even though one film takes place in Africa and the other in Haiti. But whereas my review of WHITE ZOMBIE argued that the elison of black characters might be a strategy undertaken to avoid unpleasant real-world matters, in ZOMBIES it seems more likely that the omission came about by sheer lack of imagination.

In essence, ZOMBIES is a treasure-hunt story, in which the questers after treasure have to contend with supernatural forces called up to protect the treasure. I suspect that the only reason the script by Bernard Gordon and George Plympton even bothers to set the story in Africa was to use the "zombie" tag as a convenient buzzword. But there's nothing inherently African or even voodoo-like about the specters with which ZOMBIES' treasure-hunters contend, as they're all dead white sailors cursed to protect a treasure they once sought to steal. With little difficulty the script could have had the sailors cursed by Polynesians, or Asians, or even American Indians-- and in all likelihood, the script would have made no more of the irony of marauding white men being forced to do the will of a "nonwhite" belief-system.

Some of Cahn's features benefit from creative use of stock character-types, but ZOMBIES isn't one of them. Young Jan Peters, the audience's viewpoint character, ventures to visit her grandmother (or great-grandmother, depending on the dialogue) on an African plantation in the doubtless fictional Mora-Tau. At nearly the same time a treasure-hunting expedition arrives, seeking a lost fortune in uncut diamonds. Grandma Peters tells the expeditioners a forbidding tale about certain sailors-- including her own captain-husband-- lost their lives attempting to steal the diamonds from a local pagan temple, and that they now stand guard over the sunken gems. Naturally, no one believes her: not the expedition-leader George Harrison (!), his wife Mona (the always voluptuous Allison Hayes), Harrison's virile young trainee Jeff, or the expedition's scientific consultant Doctor Eggert-- who really doesn't do much to justify being in the story, beyond a few learned observations. The nub of the conflict among the treasure-hunters is that Mona has a thing for young Jeff, much to George's displeasure, but Jeff would rather romance Jan, much to Mona's displeasure.

Enter the zombies: slow-moving but almost invulnerable zombies. Thanks to Grandma Peters' advice the treasure-seekers soon find that they can't do much of anything to repel the revenants, though the zombies will avoid fire, as it theoretically can burn them up (though this never comes close to taking place). The only moderately tense moments in the film take place underwater, when George and Jeff dive to a sunken ship and attempt to escape with a chest of diamonds. The unbreathing zombies simply stalk along the ocean floor and attempt to destroy the two divers.

One of the more peculiar developments is that the zombies manage to kill Mona (but in such a way that she looks completely wound-less). The thick-headed George doesn't get the idea that she's actually one of the living dead, and takes her back to the plantation-house, where she soon kills one sailor and tries to kill others. It's also moderately interesting to see slim Allison Hayes portray an emotionless engine of destruction who does end up killing George.

Grandma fortunately has a prophecy to help get rid of the undead: the seekers must "destroy the diamonds." In a rather limp conclusion this is justified by having the diamonds scattered into the coastline waters, so that they're supposedly beyond recovery. Once that's done, all the zombies discorporate, though we only see Grandma's long-long captain-husband turn into an empty pile of clothes. About the only amusing moment in the dull ending is seeing Jeff try to rationalize sailing away with the diamonds and selling them in various ports, so that the zombies could never track them all down. Given recent events in Wall Street, I certainly wouldn't mind seeing a bunch of waterlogged zombies slog their way to the Diamond Exchange looking for heads to break.

WHITE ZOMBIE (1932)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological, metaphysical, sociological*
In my review of KING OF THE ZOMBIES, I wrote:

"The sociological elements of a white man enslaving black victims is not nearly as strong here as in the earlier WHITE ZOMBIE..."

A correspondent asserted that none of the living dead in Victor Halperin's seminal zombie-flick were black, as all are played by white actors and don't appear to be in blackface. This would be seem to be confirmed by the European names given to those that are billed, such as "Chauvin" and "Von Gelder." However, though a white actor portrays the "witch doctor" who teaches voodoo to the villainous Murder Legendre, and though he's given the European name "Pierre," I think it probable that scripter Garnett Weston meant him to be a black Haitian, regardless of the actor chosen for the role. Given that the script already introduces the anomaly of one European who is privy to the Haitian art of voodoo, Weston would hardly gain any narrative advantage from claiming that yet another European provided Legendre's introduction to this African-derived occult art. In addition, it seems to me that the zombified slaves of the infamous sugar-mill scene are a mixed lot, both black and white, though in this scene Halperin doesn't linger on the enslaved figures long enough to make the matter indisputable. I can't explain why WHITE ZOMBIE's makers avoided using black actors in the film to the extent that they did, but I think it's meaningful that the film's title is not "White Zombies" even though it's clear that other whites have been zombified prior to the female romantic lead Madeline (Madge Bellamy).

It's difficult to say how consciously either the filmmakers or audiences of 1932 thought about the sociological ramifications of Haiti, its religious amalgam of pagan and Christian elements, or the idea of zombies as "living dead men." But though I'm weary of Marxist platitudes about "postcolonialism" and the like, it can't be denied that to white U.S, citizens of the period, the concept of the zombie-- of a willing slave who will do anything he's commanded-- can't help but resonate on some level with the same citizens' knowledge of their country's implication in the history of black servitude. It's generally agreed that the film borrowed elements from two sources, William Seabrook's book MAGIC ISLAND and Kenneth Webb's Broadway play ZOMBIE (which was also the original working title of the Halperin film). I don't know how considerably either work uses the figure of the black zombie, but it may be that WHITE ZOMBIE'S filmmakers elided that figure merely to distance their work from their inspirations. (It's reported that Webb unsuccessfully sued the producers for copyright infringement.) One may also speculate that they felt the image of the black zombie might in some way hurt the film's chances at the box office, which, if true, might indirectly confirm the sociological influence of that image. Were that true, then the "white zombies" of the film might be deemed camoflague for the more controversial figure of the enslaved black servant.

In terms of the film's psychological components, the central figure might be deemed not romantic leads Madeline and her fiancee Neil, nor even the powerful villain Legendre (Bela Lugosi), but the weak-willed plantation owner Beaumont. Beaumont, besotted by Madeline's beauty, is on one level a Faust who calls up a demon, yet also the summoner who cannot control that demon. Legendre honors their bargain in typical Satanic fashion, making Madeline appear to have died so that the voodoo priest can resurrect her later. But as with many deals with devils, Beaumont finds that the soulless-seeming Madeline brings him no joy. His attempt to make Legendre reverse the voodoo curse merely gives Legendre an excuse to recruit Beaumont to the villain's zombie legions.

Halperin and Weston seem intentionally vague about the process of zombification. Since in the end Madeline is restored to Neil, it may be assumed that none of the zombies are technically dead. Yet there's implicitly something like real magic going on here, as opposed to the simplistic hypnotism-explanation from KING OF THE ZOMBIES. Lugosi repeats a mystic gesture throughout the film-- clasping one hand within another-- that implies that he works some telepathic will upon his slaves. There's some superficial discussion between Neil and a priest about the history of the pagan practices on the Haitian island that supports the film's claim to metaphysical symbolism, though the basic Faustian scheme is the strongest element.

Like many who have praised the film, my main affections are for Lugosi's demonic performance as Legendre and for Halperin's suggestive atmosphere, sometimes deemed like that of a "fairytale" in some reviews. Most of the other characters are far from strongly drawn, but in one sense this narrative strategy reinforces that faerie sensibility. Clearly Madeline's unearthly seduction also takes some influence from the Lugosi DRACULA, but her zombification does have its own identity apart from the vampirism of the comparable character in the earlier film.

CORRUPTION (1968)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *psychological, sociological*


By the time this Brit-horror film showed up on theater-screens, there had been a good number of films, horror and otherwise, which stressed the culture clash between "Old Blighty" and New Mod Britain. The clash even resounded in some American productions. The award for the most farcical depiction of the conflict is probably the third-season BATMAN episode entitled "The Londinium Larcenies," where it takes the shape of fusty Brit villain Lord Ffogg contending with his Carnaby Street-clad evil daughter Lady Prudence.

CORRUPTION has its own farcical moments, of course, which is a shame. The early set-up of the conflict suggests a potential depth of character that the latter half chooses not to deliver on.

The setup: Upper-class surgeon Sir John Rowan (the always excellent Peter Cushing) attends a party with his new girlfriend Lynn (Sue Lloyd). The host is Lynn's former fashion-photographer, who immediately tries to lure her back into the modeling game, getting her to pose at the party under hot spotlights. Lynn claims to be marrying Rowan for his character, not his title or money, yet it's clear by her attitude that she likes the idea of being the center of attention again. However, Rowan is irritated by her waywardness and tries to make her leave the party with him. Rowan and the photographer struggle, and both are responsible for knocking over a spotlight onto Lynn. Her face, the great source of her self-esteem, is horribly scarred.

Rowan tries to make things right, as he just happens to have a new endocrine treatment ready to test on some needy patient. To everyone's amazement, the treatment works, and Lynn's facial skin repairs itself-- for a while. When Lynn regresses, Rowan does the only thing a guilty doctor can do: he starts killing other women to derive flesh for facial grafts. One of his last victims, however, is a girl whose raffish friends invade Rowan's home looking for her. The thuggish young mods apparently plan to rob and maybe kill the older couple no matter what's happened to the girl, but they're rather comically shocked to find that the good doctor is a killer who keeps a severed head in his fridge. Chaos ensues, culminating in the film's most memorable scene, as a surgical laser on a swivel-mount goes wild and kills everybody in the house.

There was some good story-potential that might have been explored alongside all the killings and histrionics: though Rowan and the photographer are responsible for Lynn's injury it could be said that she brings her calamity about through her own ambivalence. This is supported by an interesting early scene where Lynn tries to get back into the modeling game (prior to the facial regression), only to be told she's been out of the game too long. But as the film progresses any subtlety of character depiction goes out the window, and Lloyd's performance, originally presented in naturalistic terms, becomes that of a shrieking harpy. Cushing does his best under the circumstances but he hasn't much with which to work.

Despite the amusing attempt of advertisers to make gender conflict a selling-point for the film-- as noted above in the "not a woman's picture" ad seen above-- there's really no interesting points, subtle or unsubtle, about female vanity or the like.

The film's final scene apes the "it may be all a dream, or is it?" ending of 1945's DEAD OF NIGHT. But DEAD worked to make that ending effective, while this time the same device comes off as nothing but... a corruption.

TARZAN'S THREE CHALLENGES (1963)

PHENOMENALITY: *uncanny*
MYTHICITY: *fair*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *adventure*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *sociological*


Ah, now this is the film TARZAN GOES TO INDIA should have been!

As I've read nothing about the production history of the two Jock Mahoney Tarzans, it's possible that each film's quality was determined not by the creative people, but by the degree of cooperation each production received from the place of the location shoot. INDIA, as I said before, barely takes advantage of the color and paegantry of the Indian subcontinent, but for all that I know, it may be that India didn't extend the producers much in the way of resources. Be that as it may, it looks like Thailand went all out to make their country look really cool for Tarzan's visit.

The conflict in CHALLENGES parallels many of the African-based films in which primitive tribes were torn between keeping to their ancient customs or converting to the sometimes dubious virtues of European civilization-- TARZAN'S FIGHT FOR LIFE being one of the most blatant. CHALLENGES. however, is a little more, well, challenging. Here the native way of Thai life is essentially peace-loving, as maintained by a beneficent Council of Elders, who also select a new temporal leader every time the old ones dies (which sounds more like a Tibetan than Thai custom). As the film begins, the old leader (Woody Strode) does pass away, but his warlike brother Khan (also Strode) wants to take over and institute a monarchy, in which he's groomed his young son to succeed him. One may presume, given his name alone, that Khan would probably be hostile to Western powers, but this isn't made explicit: the emphasis is upon Khan as a rogue element interfering with the normal Thai culture.

Because Khan is a danger to the Elders' selection, gradeschool-aged Prince Kashi, Tarzan (often referred to as "the African" by Thai characters) is summoned to transport the Prince to the place where he will tested to win the right of leadership. Oddly, both Tarzan and Kashi undergo the "three challenges" of the title. Tarzan's all occur toward the beginning, since he has to prove his strength to the Elders before they entrust the Prince to him. Later, Kashi must make three identifications of relics from his predecessor in order to be validated. In terms of narrative emphasis, the most important ordeal in the film is actually a fourth challenge that Khan makes to Kashi's rule: a challenge that obliges Tarzan to stand in as Kashi's proxy. This climactic battle begins with a grueling race and ends with the two combatants dueling with swords on a rope net over a series of boiling-oil vats.

Director Robert Day takes full advantage of Thailand's natural and manmade wonders, just as he did with the locations of Kenya for TARZAN THE MAGNIFICENT. Many of the characters, while far from complex, are given humanizing touches. In one brief scene Khan's young son rebels against his father's attempt to force him into the role of supreme leader. In another, Kashi's nursemaid Cho San reveals motherly feelings for the Prince, which make no sense to his childishly-logical mind because she's not his mother. Tsu Kobayashi as Cho San gets to show a surprising range of emotions for a Tarzan film, particularly in comparison to the Indian actress Simi in INDIA, who had nothing to do but stand around pontificating.

Throughout the Tarzan series, Tarzan had dozens of fights with African warriors. His duel with Woody Strode's Khan may be the first time the cinematic ape-man went mano-a-mano with a single black opponent of comparable stature. It's a curious circumstance, then, that movie-Tarzan's first significant black villain is supposed to be playing an Asian.

MY SON THE VAMPIRE (1952)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*
MYTHICITY: *poor*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *comedy*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *sociological*

I know that the above film didn't receive the American title I'm using until six years after the death of star Bela Lugosi, but since that's the name under which I've always seen the film, that's the one I'm going with.

Re: the immortal (or is that immoral?) teaming of Bela Lugosi and Britain's serial comedy-star Old Mother Riley (actor Arthur Lucan in old-lady drag)-- this film is one of the best proofs that humor often doesn't travel well from one country to another. In my teen years I saw a TV broadcast of SON, and I thought it merely stupid and unfunny. Seeing it now, it's still not funny to me, but I can distantly appreciate gleaning from the film some sense of the comic traditions of the English music-hall, which was Britain's equivalent of American vaudeville. I'm aware of a lot of vaudeville-based American comedians that I once thought were quite funny-- Red Skelton and Milton Berle, for two. It's likely that a lot of their appeal for me way back then was simply because they reflected my culture's preferences-- though, to be sure, Uncle Miltie's propensity for drag never seemed to catch fire in the U.S. the way similar routines did in Great Britain.

The function here is loosely sociological, less for the aspect of the plot involving Bela Lugosi (though anything with spies in it has some hint of matters sociological) than for Lucan's antics as a brash Irish working-class woman. "Her" best moment here is probably a song celebrating the joys of dodging bill-collectors. The scenes pairing Lugosi with Lucan aren't particularly interesting, though Lucan does have a fun scene being chased by Lugosi's huge clanking robot.

Lugosi's character Von Housen isn't a vampire, but a mad scientist out to attack the democratic world with various super-weapons-- though the robot is the only one we see. As a nod to the Dracula image, Von Housen believes that he has vampires in his pedigree, and is first seen arising from his coffin after a night's sleep, attired in the *de rigeur* evening-dress of the Universal bloodsucker. However, in one of the film's few nods to realism, Von Housen dispenses with the evening-wear afterward, and goes about clothed in an ensemble of black tunic and trousers that seems a wee bit more practical for a spy and saboteur.

Most of the plot revolves around a post-office mistake that sends Von Housen's robot to Mother Riley, followed by the attempts of the spy and his noodnik henchmen to retrieve the marauding mechanism. But in a few scenes, I was rather impressed with Lugosi's comedic work. Often in comedy-horrors, Lugosi was required to play his villainous character reasonably "straight," as seen in ZOMBIES ON BROADWAY, BELA LUGOSI MEETS A BROOKLYN GORILLA, and of course ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN. However, Van Housen is allowed to be a little nuttier, and Lugosi manages to put across that nuttiness without resorting to mugging (which he did do on occasion). Bela's best scene is the moment when he realizes that he's received the Wrong Box in the mail: the alternation of broad surprise and horror on Lugosi's face looks real, and yet is played just so that it's also pretty darn foolish-looking.

The story behind Lugosi's sojourn in Great Britain is without doubt more interesting than the movie, though had he not done the film, Americans would never have known the joys of Mother Riley-- for whatever that's worth.

BILLY THE KID VS. DRACULA; JESSE JAMES MEETS FRANKENSTEIN'S DAUGHTER (1966)

PHENOMENALITY: *marvelous*

MYTHICITY: (1) *poor,* (2) fair

FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*

CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTIONS: *sociological*

These two quickies, directed back-to-back by legendary William "One-Shot" Beaudine, ought to be pretty much the same on the quality level. Surprisingly, though they use the same formula-- combining western thrills with gothic boogeymen-- one does a much better job with the material than the other, though even the "good" one is only a little better than average.

Anyone with a nickname like "One-Shot" might be expected to appreciate westerns, in which a "fast draw" is so important. But from a glance at Beaudine's imdb credits, I'm surprised to see he has almost no "straight" westerns on his resume, though he did do a few serious (or allegedly serious) horror-films. Given that Beaudine was for many years director-in-residence for the long-running "Bowery Boys" series-franchise, perhaps BILLY and JESSE should be seen as more in the tradition of "Bowery"-style spoofs of straight genres, like Beaudine's "Bowery Buckaroos."

The two films were released back-to-back as their own internally-consistent double bill, and scripts for both were credited to a Carl Hittleman, who unlike Beaudine did have a number of "straight" westerns on his resume. Imdb credits a second writer on BILLY, so I'm tempted to wonder if the extra collaborator made a difference.

JESSE, which is listed first in imdb, is clearly the lesser effort. Prior to the introduction of the western hero, the audience meets two European fugitives who have traveled to the West to escape justice: Doctor Maria Frankenstein and her brother Rudolf. Maria, like all Frankensteins, wishes to prove she can build a better man than God could, but her experiments, culled from the local Mexican population, have all died off. Later Maria will learn that her timid brother Rudolf has been poisoning the subjects to prevent her success, but at the outset she decides she's been failing because she needs a "giant" of a man on which to experiment.

As it happens, Jesse James, on the run from the law, happens to have a really big fellow named "Hank" riding with him. Circumstances cause Hank to be wounded near the Hacienda of Frankenstein (good a name for it as any) and Jesse unwittingly lets the strange lady doctor work on his friend. However, a local Mexican girl, name of Juanita, informs Jesse that her brother mysteriously disappeared while in the good doctor's care. Before Jesse can take action, Maria "fixes" Hank by giving him a brain transplant and christening him "Igor." In time-tested tradition Igor ends up turning on his new "mom" and almost kills Jesse before Juanita shoots the not-too-super monster to death.

I tried to find something good in this farrago, but the plot crawls along like a wounded crab, and the acting and stuntwork wasn't even as competent as your basic "Roy Rogers" outing. John Lupton seems to be asleep during his performance as Jesse, though he's supposedly so attractive that both Juanita and Maria (from the Italian side of the Frankenstein family?) fall in love with him. At the climax Jesse faces off against berserk Igor, brandishing his six-gun, but not only does he not manage to shoot when Igor attacks, the actor practically tosses his gun away during the struggle, so that moments later Juanita will be able to pick it up.

I suppose the Campbellian function here has to be "sociological" in the theme both JESSE and BILLY share is "Never trust a foreigner." However, for some reason BILLY's encounter with a European vampire works better, perhaps because the vampire resembles the "dude" figure seen in many westerns.

Of course top-billed John Carradine's performance as a sagebrush Dracula most conspicuously lifts this film out of the doldrums, and even the less noteworthy performers (Chuck Courtney as Billy; Melanie Plowman as his girl Betty) are as ships lifted by a rising tide in his presence. In addition, though Carradine's look is certainly borrowed from his Universal "Dracula" appearances, BILLY takes advantage of color photography to give this Dracula a more decidedly Satanic look.

The plot is comparatively efficient. Dracula, for some reason sojourning out west, encounters a stagecoach and learns from one occupant of young Betty. From a glance at her picture he immediately wants her, so he causes the deaths of everyone in the 'coach and poses as the young woman's uncle, assuming authority on the family ranch. Fortunately Billy, not very wise in the way of Euro-vamps, receives some advice from a Middle European emigre, full of advice on wolfsbane-- and even after Dracula gets rid of the emigre, the local doctor stands in for Van Helsing, advising Billy to stake the vamp to death with a "spike"-- oddly enough, a metal scalpel. It would have been much more in the western tradition to use a railroad spike, but you can't have everything.

There's a cheap but still creepy scene of Dracula seducing Betty in the night, and a curious ending: after Dracula is spiked in a cave, a bat flies out of the cavemouth and perishes. Given that Dracula's body is still on the cave-floor, did the script conceive this as the vampire's damned soul, perishing like his body? Food for (a little) thought...