Vampires, in literature and folklore, were much like zombies, fairies, and other monsters. They hurt people and drank blood because that’s just what they existed to do. They were creatures people should fear, not complex beings with personalities and motivations to build a story around. Bram Stoker’s Dracula (the actual character Dracula, not Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula) marked a turning point in vampire storytelling, as his Dracula is a lot like your stereotypical depiction of a callous aristocrat: entitled, selfish, prone to wrecking things just to satisfy some whim or urge. Good versions of Dracula hone in on those and other pieces of his personality, like his menace or seductiveness, and do something worthwhile with them. That includes Castlevania’s take on Dracula, which, despite being a story-light video game series, often gets the vampire villain right in ways that films struggle with.
The advantage Castlevania has over most other depictions of Dracula is that you only infrequently see the villain himself in Konami’s games. It’s a big deal when he shows up, and the impression you get of him in that moment sticks. You remember him as the formidable final boss or the multifaceted monster whose soul (or… whatever it is that animates him) has enough room to hold love for his son and dead wife and intense hatred for everyone and everything else. And since he usually dies or re-dies or flies off or whatever soon after, he doesn’t have to do much to maintain that impression. That’s where most Dracula movies suffer. You’ll get a decently scary Dracula, but one that sucks (ha) at creating a darkly seductive sense of presence or one who has the personality right, but is just too damn corny to be scary.
This Fangsgiving, we’ve pitted Castlevania’s Dracula against some of the best-known adaptations of the vampire in media, including the only other video game to feature a Dracula. We’re talking about Dracula, not Nosferatu. Yes, the eponymous 1922 movie absolutely influenced later Dracula adaptations, but he’s Count Orlok, not Dracula, and I don’t think Castlevania writer Koji Igarashi thought too deeply about the origin of his inspirations anyway.
Castlevania Dracula vs. Kid Dracula (Konami, 1990)
Look, Konami has the Dracula market cornered in video games. There’s no other Dracula in games outside of Castlevania. So yes, this is almost literally the “baby versus hydrogen bomb” meme, but it’s all I got, and the baby loses. Kid Dracula’s a rizzless little creep who rewards himself for good behavior by going to a can-can show. You kind of expect that mentality of adult Dracula. Sensuality’s always been integral to the concept of vampires and especially Dracula, even though it’d still be really tacky. For a little kid? That’s just weird.
Castlevania Dracula vs. Christopher Lee (Hammer Dracula series, 1959-1973)
The Hammer take on Dracula is probably the closest to the Castlevania ethos, with Christopher Lee springing back to unlife for various and sundry reasons to do Bad Things, just like Konami’s Dracula. There’s just so little Dracula-ness to it all, since, Hammer Films being Hammer Films, it swaps the gothic horror for shlock. Blood! Death! Big fangs! Bloodshot eyes! The uncanny, the fear of the unknown, of unholy, irresistible compulsions — all the things that make Dracula frightening are nowhere in sight.
Lee’s just a vampire, not a Dracula. Konami still manages to tap into all that gothic goodness with Dracula’s actual castle and minions in the build-up to the inevitable final confrontation, so you still get the Dracula feel, even if the Big Bad doesn’t do much himself. Lee’s Dracula is too ever-present to feel intimidating when things start to go sideways, too. It’s hard to feel frightened when the source of that fear keeps showing up all over the place. Even the pre-Symphony Draculas seemed imposing, if only because Konami holds them back until the end and makes them such a challenge.
Castlevania Dracula vs. Bela Lugosi (Dracula, 1931)
Universal’s first stab at Dracula with Bela Lugosi is uh. Well, it’s a first effort. Lugosi’s Dracula has presence — when he’s not moving. Or speaking. Basically, just when he’s standing still and the camera’s zoomed in real close. But in those moments, he’s captivating and terrifying in a way Castlevania’s Dracula never is. Lugosi’s just too campy to take seriously otherwise, like something you’d expect in a pantomime. Maybe it’s a carryover from the exaggerated performances of the silent film era (this Dracula was released in 1931, just four years after the first “talking” film), but it still ruins the effect and makes you wonder when Bugs Bunny’s gonna pop up and shout “Abracadabra.”
Castlevania Dracula vs. Frank Langella (Dracula, 1979)
The one thing that always characterizes Castlevania’s Dracula is consistency. Even in later games that try to humanize him more, his personality and actions remain aligned, and you never get some weird 180-degree turn that leaves you wondering what just happened. Frank Langella’s Dracula has the air of quiet menace and repressed fury that you usually associate with Castlevania’s villain. He’s quiet and collected, cruel and manipulative, and almost always in control of any situation.
Until the film inexplicably goes off the rails, that is. In a ridiculous confrontation between Dracula and Van Helsing, the former acts like a cartoonish caricature of himself when presented with a cross and some garlic, and he’s defeated not by Romani vampire hunters or his vampiric lover, but by a hook that hoists him into a ship’s rigging. Yes, he’s defeated by the equivalent of a Scooby-Doo trap. I’m sure there was some kind of artistic intent behind the contrast of frightening Dracula and… whatever that is, but it’s so corny. It’s imposing and cool when Castlevania’s Dracula gets mad or his minions get into a fight with you. It’s just silly when Frank Langella’s does.
Castlevania Dracula vs. Gary Oldman (Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 1992)
This is a fun one, as there’s a pretty easy argument that Symphony of the Night and Lament of Innocence are signs of Konami adapting Coppola’s film in a bid to make Castlevania a bit sexier and less Hammer Film-y. Symphony is where Dracula gets his best-known look, with the long locks, snazzy cape, and a decadent sort of Baroque-ness. It’s almost identical to the way Gary Oldman looks as a hydrated Dracula in Bram Stoker’s Dracula and a neat little parallel, since Oldman’s Wrinkled Dracula isn’t too dissimilar from Konami’s Dracula in the cover art for the first Castlevania.
Anyway, these appearances are far from the only close similarity. The Draculas share the same demeanor, the same capacity for sensuousness and violence. The concept of Castlevania Dracula mourning his dead wife and wreaking havoc on the world instead of going to therapy (the background plot for Symphony and Lament) is also a 1:1 retelling of Coppola’s film, the first to give Dracula a sympathetic human story (and a libido that matches the size of his legend).
The big divergence is the finale. Keeping Dracula back in Castlevania games where his story doesn’t matter worked just fine and maintained Dracula’s air of menace and mystery. In Symphony, it means you don’t have much reason to care about him. He’s just the well-dressed villain, someone whose grief you never see and whose atrocities happen out of sight. There’s not much reason to care when he asks for his wife’s forgiveness at the end of Symphony, a far cry from the tension and drama that bring Coppola’s film to its splendid climax where Mina (Winona Ryder) kills Dracula and reunites him with his lost love. There’s no sense of tragedy or moral conflict in Symphony. The end just is, and that’s a damn shame.
So in the end, Castlevania’s Dracula is vanquished at last: by Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder.
