(89) Coppola’s Dracula can scarcely match his finest works, but it’s nonetheless a visual feast. A colorful mash-up of old and new, its look mixes the flickering daydreams of Dreyer, the whiplash movements of Raimi, and the psychedelic hues of Argento. It’s a dizzying parade of peaks and valleys – awful performances intertwined with rapturous scene-chewing and a soaring soundtrack that pulls the viewer along into a carousel of half-acknowledged themes and emotional threads. Despite drawing epistolary narration from the novel, this vision of Dracula is certainly more Coppola than Stoker.
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