by Liz Wiest, Contributor

Last month, as a part of their “Unspeakable: The Films of Tod Browning series,” Film at Lincoln Center unearthed 35mm footage of Dracula (1931) and Mark of the Vampire (1935) from the Library of Congress for a classic and campy double feature experience. As a longtime horror lover, it filled my spooky heart with joy to experience the legendary movies the way they were intended to be seen. Additionally, they served as a twofold lesson and reminder of how much the genre owes to his vision. With the onslaught of recent new vampire content, especially the Dracula-adjacent ones (see: 2023’s Renfield), it’s easy to fall victim to the fallacy that there is nothing about Dracula that hasn’t already been said or reinvented a million times over. Even with the 2020 Netflix reimagining, it can feel as though every possible interpretation and angle has been dissected and thoroughly examined. Though, I realized that night–not in relation to Browning as an artist.

If one were to focus solely on the legacy of Browning as a filmmaker, pairing these two vampire-centric films next to one another in the same night was a prime visual example of the sheer dominance he managed to assert over the genre as the man who pioneered it. Among his repertoire, Dracula stands out as what critics consider to be the “only true horror film” of Browning’s works, and the first of his sound-era masterpieces (his controversial magnum opus Freaks to follow shortly after in 1932). Dracula and Mark of the Vampire mark the two milestones of Browning entering then promptly abandoning the world of horror, and examining their themes with a closer lens provides potential clues as to why.

Firstly, it should not go unnoted that necessity was the mother of invention for Browning’s horror. Though they led to remarkable successes, his obstacles paved the way for his films to take him to heights he might not have reached otherwise. If not for the tragic passing of longtime friend and collaborator Lon Chaney, the world would have never known the iconic, hypnotic legacy of Bela Lugosi’s performance as Count Dracula. (Though as a Chaney fanatic myself, it’s a fascinating fantasy to ponder how the final product would have fared otherwise). Following this, if it was not for his arduous legal battle with Universal Studios over story rights, he never would have been inspired to tailor the plot of Mark of the Vampire to follow the narrative pattern of his more successful London After Midnight. Though (I feel unfairly) far from being his most notable film, without MOTV the world would have never been granted the inspiration for Morticia, Vampira, Elvira etc. It’s not an exaggeration to consider how greatly this paved the way for women in a male-centered genre–specifically queer women. Considering the domino effect of these contributions, it provides the lesser-known MOTV with an almost as considerable weight as Dracula.

The pattern of playing his best with a terrible hand was also mirrored in Browning’s personal life at the time, the trajectory of which can be tracked through the nature of his films and his navigation straight through horror and into the melodramatic. Through tragedy and drama, Browning found new avenues of creation truer to his deepening pessimistic outlook that tapped deeper and darker into themes of conflict. This can be seen in the profounder, gut-wrenching themes of Freaks, which favors a more existential scare over Dracula’s more straightforward and classic “monster movie” one. Whether it was the impact of his tragic auto accident and injury years later, the compounding loss of George Siegmann then Chaney, or his gradual descent into becoming a recluse that inspired this decision, the world will never truly know. But in Mark of the Vampire, he took his mask off and allowed his audiences to see the man behind the mystery and allure that he had worked so hard to build. This dismissal of the spectacle and façade left many disappointed. Perhaps not too dissimilar to how the symbolism and real-life themes behind Dracula are far less appealing to mainstream audiences than a mysterious, erotic vampire.

Seemingly, Browning stayed in the horror genre for a good time, not a long time. Whether or not this was always his intent is hard to say but considering the sharp left turn in the ending of Mark of the Vampire, where any supernatural plot elements are explained and denounced- in a way mirrored his personal departure from the fictious and fantastical. Just as Bela Lugosi’s character is revealed to never have been an actual vampire, but rather a convincing performer, Browning was never really a horror director, or at least that seems like what he was trying to tell us in the end. Though that’s not to say he wasn’t still a master of the craft, even if in illusion only. Dracula was Universal’s most lucrative film during the Great Depression, and despite critique for his interpretation of Bram Stoker’s famous story and some editing by the studio, it met with enormous success. Something Browning would never achieve again. Following his horror stint, Browning went on to take daring risks in his storytelling that polarized audiences with his melodramas that followed. He continued to fixate on themes that tapped into the intricate horrors of reality, then tragically died in nearly complete obscurity (to the point where an obituary was mistakenly released because folks already assumed he had died). Many write off the final years of his career to be a satire of what he once created, which I believe is an unfair assessment.

For better or for worse, the vampire films Browning created went on to outlive him. And whether his heart was in them or not, these cinematic accomplishments and what they brought about, in the words of the infamous Count, will never really be dead. I personally feel as though this peak far outweighs his tragic ending. Without their massive successes, he would never have been granted the artistic and financial liberty to make Freaks (controversial as it was) or be able to tell the stories that were important to him as an aging performer and self-identified “freak” himself. The vampire genre allowed Browning to flourish into a man, a myth, and a legend even greater than any protagonist in any of his films could have produced.