What does it mean exactly to say that Guy Maddin's Dracula: Pages from a Virgin's Diary is stylish? Movies that, conversely, have a seeming "lack" of style like a minimalist movie ala Jarmusch em to get the short end of the discussion, while Maddin tries his hardest to make his images and movements of cinematic dexterity *pop* like cracking of knuckles on a movieola. It is a crazily inspired vision, stylized with urgency and a force to be reckoned with as far as taking silent film and pushing it into a new kind of expression: the ballet. Whether or not this will please people looking for a solid Dracula movie is another matter, since it isn't much, at all, a coherent telling of the Stoker story.
And maybe rightfully so; people need to know right up front that Pages from a Virgin's Diary is one of the most unconventional vampire movies ever, and not because it changes around anything with the myth or even with many of Stoker's characters (although there is a Cowboy or other in the film that I don't remember in Stoker's story or Coppola's film). It's the expression of the story, told through the characters dancing and going through pantomime and detailed choreography that is both dazzling and frustrating. Unless you're really heavy into ballet and dance, after about half an hour some of this becomes just too much, and too much in the repetitive sense. Characters also keep popping up with title cards extended for them, but with the exception of Renfield (who's given a face by the actor that is remarkable), I couldn't entirely follow who was who, except that a Chinese guy drifted in and out and turned to be a vampire, yada-yada, etc.
I shouldn't be this dismissive of the story, or the manner in which it was told. And, besides, I didn't go into the film thinking I would get an instant classic of the most noted (maybe too noted) source of vampire lore in history. What I did get was a fever dream, nd kaleidoscope, and experiment tossed into a blender of 1920s expressionism given more freedom than ever with 21st century technology, and hints of what was to come a few years later with Sin City's attempts at giving black and white film-making some "color" from time to time. The symbols come flying out almost as much as the dizzying camera-work, sometimes going as fast as the dancers, and for someone looking for just inspired direction on a familiar theme this is definitely where to look; in fact as far as the kind of Nosferatu story goes, this is as daring as Herzog's film.
It just isn't entirely involving on an emotional level, and Maddin sets it all up and knocks it down like a very small-range technical exercise. Few exercises are this exhilarating or with such inventiveness with the process and history of film-making, but it's an exercise nonetheless. B+
And maybe rightfully so; people need to know right up front that Pages from a Virgin's Diary is one of the most unconventional vampire movies ever, and not because it changes around anything with the myth or even with many of Stoker's characters (although there is a Cowboy or other in the film that I don't remember in Stoker's story or Coppola's film). It's the expression of the story, told through the characters dancing and going through pantomime and detailed choreography that is both dazzling and frustrating. Unless you're really heavy into ballet and dance, after about half an hour some of this becomes just too much, and too much in the repetitive sense. Characters also keep popping up with title cards extended for them, but with the exception of Renfield (who's given a face by the actor that is remarkable), I couldn't entirely follow who was who, except that a Chinese guy drifted in and out and turned to be a vampire, yada-yada, etc.
I shouldn't be this dismissive of the story, or the manner in which it was told. And, besides, I didn't go into the film thinking I would get an instant classic of the most noted (maybe too noted) source of vampire lore in history. What I did get was a fever dream, nd kaleidoscope, and experiment tossed into a blender of 1920s expressionism given more freedom than ever with 21st century technology, and hints of what was to come a few years later with Sin City's attempts at giving black and white film-making some "color" from time to time. The symbols come flying out almost as much as the dizzying camera-work, sometimes going as fast as the dancers, and for someone looking for just inspired direction on a familiar theme this is definitely where to look; in fact as far as the kind of Nosferatu story goes, this is as daring as Herzog's film.
It just isn't entirely involving on an emotional level, and Maddin sets it all up and knocks it down like a very small-range technical exercise. Few exercises are this exhilarating or with such inventiveness with the process and history of film-making, but it's an exercise nonetheless. B+