Frank Langella’s portrayal of Dracula in the 1979 film adaptation remains one of the most divisive and fascinating interpretations of the character. Campy and dated as the film may be, Langella’s performance transforms Dracula from a one-note villain into a tragic, sensual anti-hero whose motives are left deliberately ambiguous. Through his romantic gravitas and emotional nuance, the film invites viewers to question whether Dracula is a chauvinistic predator or a misunderstood immortal longing for connection.

Incurable romantics walk the earth, a wellspring from which forms poetry, idealistic sensationalism, and the reinterpretation of literary and symbolic themes. Frank Langella is one such actor, who approaches each role with natural sensuality and emotional nuance. From his flirtatious, emotional Diego de la Vega, to the tortured anti-hero of Sphinx, to his Sherlock Holmes (who winds up falling in love), Langella’s pursuit of emotional dynamics lends depth to superficial roles. Never is this plainer than in Dracula, an adaptation of the Broadway production that made him famous. It has a cult following for one reason: Langella’s performance. This Dracula is as much a tragic anti-hero as a monster, leaving the audience to interpret his actions.

If you take a cynical view, and ignore Langella’s seduction of the audience, Dracula is a sinister figure preying on lesser minds. He victimizes Mina, preying on her weak constitution because he “despises women with no blood in them… no life.” Dracula manipulates and controls Renfield, takes pleasure in tormenting Jonathan Harker, and enchants Lucy to his will. He uses a similar force on Mina (“When I tell you to do a thing, it shall be done”). A level of animosity and chilling implications linger under the romantic veneer. The spirited, feminist icon Lucy objects to this mesmerizing of Mina (Dracula performs the trick in public, concealing his evil intentions behind parlor games—proving a belief he is a superior race, a god among men). “[Mina will have] no will of her own, either,” Lucy hints, unearthing Dracula’s intentions.

Dracula is a symbol of chauvinism and force; his removal of will and suppression of female minds is a controlling masculine figure and suggests the susceptibility of women to external (and sexual) influences. The original author, Bram Stoker, used the book’s themes to condemn and promote feminism. In all incarnations, Mina and Lucy become sexual beings around Dracula, implying sensuality is liberated through subjection to a dark, powerful force that twists and maligns beauty while displaying it.

Here, Lucy is a liberated feminist icon from the offset, a liberal mind who sees no impropriety in dining alone with a man, or in spending the night with Jonathan Harker. Only when Dracula enters the picture does Lucy become sexually feminine. Is it a regression that she uses female wiles and seduction to destroy Jonathan’s barriers, or has Dracula stripped away her false liberation to show her true power in rediscovering her female instincts? Is it an act of feminism, or the lack of it?

Dracula removes all of her modern ideals and thoughts, introducing her to an older, traditional way of life. The honky-tonk dance with Jonathan does little for her romantic nature; a waltz with Dracula is powerful. Jonathan scaring her in the middle of the night is nothing compared to Dracula appearing in the mist. Lucy intends to become a lawyer and join a London firm (“Oh, Lucy,” Mina gushes, “you’re so brave to take on all those men like that!”). Dacula’s intentions for her includes “making more of our kind” by returning Lucy to “motherhood” over a career. Dracula is a chauvinist… but the film leaves it unclear whether Lucy chooses this life out of genuine desire or is under his “thrall.”

Add this to the other sinister events in the film, and Dracula emerges as one of the most seductive, compelling monsters of the age: a callous, selfish, wrathful, violent, controlling monster, which Van Helsing has every right to destroy.

Yet… Langella’s romanticism runs throughout, which offers the audience a different interpretation. His Dracula is a romantic anti-hero, a tortured soul alone in the world. At hearing wolves howl, Dracula laments, “The children of the night… what sad music they make.” Immortality is his plight, to face eternal solitude. Only in Lucy does Dracula find a soulmate and perfect match (“She is not like other women, is she?”). Did he take Mina’s life to spare her pain ? Did Van Helsing’s pollution of the grave with garlic prevent his returning for her? Did he envision Mina and Lucy’s friendship transcending death into eternity, at his side?

Seen through this lens, Dracula’s actions take on new meaning: a romantic, tragic, forlorn figure, in love with Lucy and empathetic toward Mina, who is acting in self-defense. He liberates Mina from illness, offering her a new life where she is powerful. He unleashes Lucy’s sensuality and intends to make her a queen. Jonathan, Dr. Seward, and Van Helsing stand in the way, and attack him. To protect himself and Lucy, Dracula must stop them.

Langella sells this version with such quiet confidence it’s impossible to resist. He sees Dracula as less a monster and more as misunderstood… and that is why, though the film deviates from the source material, it resonates with audiences.

Written for the Frank Langella Celebration.

About the Author: Charity Bishop writes historical fiction, historical fantasy, and suspense novels that explores the darkness in human hearts, and the light that refuses to be extinguished. Discover her books.