Brooks Sucks!
The career of Mel Brooks continues to be a puzzle.
As a writer, he’s given us incredibly funny, and often touching material. His talent, whether acting in a dramatic role, cutting up in sketch comedy, or delivering stand-up routines, is undeniable. He’s been cited for possessing a sense of humor that is one of the sharpest on the planet.
As a producer, his Brooksfilms company has given us such classic entertainments as The Elephant Man, The Fly (1986) and Frances.
As a director, his love for film is clearly evident. He has a terrific knack for poking fun at a subject, while showing while never betraying his affection for it. In The Producers, he sent up classic show business musicals. In Blazing Saddles, he roasted the Western. In Young Frankenstein, he lampooned the classic horror films. And in High Anxiety, he needled the thrillers of Alfred Hitchcock. In all of these films, he created memorable characters, showed a deep appreciation for the history and conventions of his subject, and produced a memorable and riotously funny motion picture.
Dracula Dead and Loving It lives up to the tradition of these Brooks classics. Except for the funny part.
With all the current interest in vampires and vampire films, a proper satire of the sub-genre seems not only warranted but inevitable. Wes Craven’s Vampire in Brooklyn missed the target, but I had higher hopes for the Brooks’ project – especially considering his success with Young Frankenstein.
So what went wrong? All the proper elements seem to be in place – Brooks’ burlesque atmosphere grafted onto creepy gothic settings is a natural breeding ground for zany shenanigans. One could argue in favor of the rich black & white photography employed for Young Frankenstein, but since the more recent vampire films are included in the farce, color works just as well.
Much like that of Brooks’ previous bomb Robin Hood Men In Tights, the cast of comic veterans and fresh faces has a great time, particularly when sending up the affected British accents of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The problem is that they’re largely wasted on the skimpy script – often, they’re left to stand around the cheap sets with nothing to do. Leslie Nielson swipes Martin Landeau’s notes on playing Bela Lugosi and doodles mischievously in the margins, but isn’t given a clue as to whether his Dracula is supposed to be hyping his villainous grandeur or simply an inept clod – the script contains both elements, but it’s a mismatch.
Where are the jokes? Why not send up Coppola’s presentation of diary readings – a coach riding along the top of a page, but plunging off the edge? Dr. Seward recording his karaoke practice over his phonograph diary? Howling wolves along the Borgo Pass chasing after a miniature chuck wagon? Renfield cracking open roach motels for a snack? A cameo by Christian Slater, popping up in various scenes to ask Dracula what his favorite color is? Instead of mining the rich comic territory, Brooks gives us not one, but two long unfunny dance scenes featuring doubles of Nielson and Amy Yasbeck.
Which is not to say that this is a movie completely without laughs. Harvey Korman intoning that, “Yes, we have Nosferatu!”, a luncheon with Renfield, Dracula’s busty gliding brides, frequent mistakes made in hypnosis technique – all are worthy of a delighted groan if not always a belly laugh. And the staking scene has been rightfully cited as one of Brooks’ all-time funniest.
But it’s just not enough. Even a hilarious scene won’t pull down the reaction it should if it’s preceded by one that drags on without a payoff. The timing is all off. Scenes wander without direction. Characters such as Anne Bancroft’s gypsy are given funny voices, but nothing funny to say with them. While it’s true that great comedy can be built up out of a flimsy premise – Chaplin did it in every one of his films – it takes a great deal of time and effort. Brooks seems to have printed the first take and left bad enough alone.
The larger issue here is that a comic maestro like Brooks has to know how bad this is – or has he been living too close to the pier to smell the rotten fish?