NOTE: In order to avoid confusion with the 1931 Bela Lugosi movie, I’ll refer to the 1958 adaptation by its American title, Horror of Dracula. “The curse of this thing is the Technicolor blood: why need vampires be messier eaters than anybody else?” The movie in question was 1958’s Horror of Dracula and the comment was made by Audrey Field, one of the British censors of the time. She was even more right than she knew. That bright Technicolor blood turned into a river of cash for the movie’s makers, creating a new kind of horror aesthetic. Audiences were thrilled by the sight of crimson blood gushing from the bodies of the vampire’s victim. Tame by today’s standards but shocking in 1958. It seemed to make a mockery of murder, turning it into a feast for the eyes, a sensual pleasure. This new aesthetic became the hallmark of Hammer Film Productions, a British studio that would forever after be associated with colorful, elegant horror films. Horror of Dracula was not the first of Hammer’s color films; that honor belonged to The Curse of Frankenstein in 1957. But Horror of Dracula cemented the idea of Technicolor horror for good and all. The film announces its intentions from the opening credits. As blood-red letters flash across images of Gothic statues and empty halls, James Bernard’s score beats out an endless cry of “Doom, doom, doom.” We cut to Dracula’s crypt and suddenly, actual blood trickles down over the vampire’s name. Where is it coming from? Nowhere at all. It’s just the movie’s way of telling you how things are going to be. To understand how new this must have been to audiences of 1958, it’s important to think back to the old horror movies of the ‘40s and ‘50s, like Universal’s monster series and the Val Lewton films. Those movies used the black-and-white cinematography to its fullest potential. In many ways, it was their best weapon against low budgets and awkward special effects. Cheap sets were disguised with clouds of fog. Makeup jobs that might have been laughable in the harsh light of day could look shockingly sinister when that same face was dancing in and out of the dark. Hideous violence didn’t need to be shown; you could cut to a scene of two shadows fighting on the wall and audiences would get the idea. Horror of Dracula absorbs the techniques of its predecessors, but blends them with a blunter tone, faster editing, and an open appetite for shock. This movie has a way of lulling you with discreet staging that promises no lurid violence, only to deliver violence in spades a few cuts later. When Jonathan Harker stakes a female vampire, we only see his silhouette raising the stake. A Lewton film would have let the scene end there. Instead, we’re treated to the vampire woman’s every scream and groan. Later in the film, Van Helsing must stake the transformed Lucy and not only do we hear the screams, we see her face contort and her body writhing in agony. We even get to see the blood pooling around the point of penetration. The staking of Lucy in the book is usually described as a metaphor for sex, a brutally perverted wedding night for a Victorian husband and a corrupted bride. Horror of Dracula takes all that sex imagery and adds a subversive twist. Dracula’s biting of Mina is portrayed almost tenderly, Christopher Lee nuzzling her throat and brushing past her lips before he bites his willing victim. When our heroes have to stake somebody, it looks like full-on rape. Despite these brief spates of lurid violence, there’s a kind of cozy glamor to the Hammer horror films. The sets may be cheap but they’re full of vivid colors and look inviting. Horror of Dracula is not a film that invites complex theories on color symbolism, but it has a way of repeating certain tones until they become part of the film’s atmosphere. Rich blues are predominant throughout, from the blue silk shirts of the innkeeper (has any innkeeper in all of history worn a blue silk shirt?) to the unearthly blues of the nighttime scenes. The walls of the Holmwood house are an almost spectral green that manages to make Michael Gough look even craggier and casts an unhealthy light on the otherwise robust Melissa Stribling. That same green pops up in the bed sheets and the pillows and in Mina’s clothes. Rich vibrant reds, needless to say, are everywhere. The color scheme is beautiful but always unnatural, keeping this world sharply askew from reality. When you compare the 1958 Horror of Dracula to the 1931 Dracula, the most fascinating difference is not in the color but the way the movies choose to portray the lead villain. In the 1931 Dracula, Bela Lugosi was the picture of civilized elegance, the politest predator you could ever hope to meet. He was a snappy dresser, a thoughtful conversationalist, and a generous host. Like all the classic Universal monsters, he’s doomed to a life of loneliness but the movie subtly suggests that loneliness might be preferable to the pasty normality of Lugosi’s human adversaries. The 1958 movie has no time for niceties; it goes straight for the throat. We barely get two minutes of Christopher Lee’s Dracula welcoming Jonathan Harker into his castle before the monster is revealed in a shock close-up. Bright red blood trickling down his face, the veins bursting in his eyes, his face bulging with a mix of rage and glee. Once this Dracula tears off the mask of his humanity, he never puts it on back on. When you put the elements of Horror of Dracula all together (the flashy colors, the overripe sexuality, the fast pacing, the little shock scares), it almost starts to feel Dracula, the theme park ride. There’s a kind of lush indulgence underneath the fundamental dread. The movie refuses to examine the psychology of Dracula one bit; it’s far more interested in the fun of seeing him fight off the heroes. The script cuts straight to the chase, eliminating the initial mystery. Instead of being a naïve, bumbling innocent, Jonathan Harker is redesigned as a vampire hunter. Dracula’s seductive female minion does not appear in the night; she throws herself into Jonathan’s arms the first time they meet. And of course, in a move that would become hopelessly cliché in the decades to come, we get to see the metaphor of the vampire’s bite become an explicit onscreen orgasm, with Melissa Stribling’s Mina clearly experiencing sexual delight in her union with Dracula. While genre fans may quibble over which cinematic Dracula rules the night, I think there is one aspect in which Horror of Dracula makes a case for being the best of the lot. And that is the film’s climax. After Van Helsing has had to pit his formidable wits against Dracula’s time and again, we finally get to see the two foes in a physical confrontation. Dracula begins choking his nemesis and Van Helsing’s face turns pale and weak. Dracula, sensing victory, leans in for the killing bite. Suddenly, in a burst of strength that seems sent by heaven itself, Van Helsing leaps up and tears the curtains from the walls, letting the light stream down upon the monster. Dracula, twisting in torment, tearing at his own flesh, is revealed for what he truly is. A faded, crumbling corpse, collapsing in upon itself. And as Van Helsing looks down upon his enemy, tired but triumphant, the victory is complete. By tearing the curtain off the monster, they have conquered him. Let the light in. Let the colors shine. Let the world begin to right itself. Aubyn Eli blogs about color movies—and a whole of black-and-white ones—at The Girl with the White Parasol.