Jude's 'dracula' bites back: a romanian rhapsody of chaos and satire

Radu Jude isn’t just making films; he's conducting an elaborate, chaotic experiment. His latest, 'Dracula,' currently playing at the ICA in London, isn’t a traditional adaptation of Bram Stoker’s classic. It’s a sprawling, three-hour odyssey that interrogates Romanian history, cultural anxieties, and the very nature of artistic creation—all through a lens of gleefully absurd theatricality.

A film about a film, and everything in between

The narrative, or rather, the series of narratives, revolves around Adonis Tanta, a director attempting to cobble together a low-budget Dracula film using questionable AI and a troupe of actors whose commitment to the performance borders on the delirious. We witness Tanta’s iPad-based production, interspersed with the actors’ increasingly bizarre floor-show routine, a spectacle that actively encourages audience participation—from awkward flirtations to impromptu games of hide-and-seek with the vampire performers. Jude’s signature style, reminiscent of Brecht and Fassbinder, is on full display: a jagged, improvisational aesthetic that feels as if it's been constructed on the spot from whatever materials are at hand. Bits of television commercials, amateur dramatics, and even moments of what Jude has previously termed “loony porn” find their way into the mix.

But 'Dracula' isn't just a meta-commentary on filmmaking. It’s a scathing satire of Romania’s recent past, specifically targeting a disastrous late-1990s scheme to build a Dracula theme park that swindled thousands of citizens out of their savings. This financial debacle becomes a potent symbol of the country’s enduring legacy of corruption, antisemitism, and a predatory service economy. Gabriel Spahiu, as an aging, delusional thesp who truly believes he is Dracula, delivers a particularly memorable performance, embodying the country’s persistent grappling with its own mythology and dark history.

The film’s episodic structure and considerable length—it’s a significant commitment—can test the viewer’s patience. While the communist-era vignette about a truck driver and a fatal confession stands out as a poignant highlight, other segments feel less fully realized. Compared to the laser-like focus of Jude’s previous works, 'Kontinental ’25' and 'Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World,' 'Dracula' sometimes feels scattered, its energy diluted by its own ambition. Perhaps it's a deliberate choice, mirroring the fractured nature of the subject matter itself. However, it is undeniable that the overexposure of the Dracula mythos, even in Jude’s hands, verges on cliché.

One can only hope that Jude’s next project will turn its sardonic gaze towards the Ceaușescus. Until then, 'Dracula' remains a challenging, often exhilarating, and undeniably singular cinematic experience—one that demands attention, even if you might not be entirely sure what to make of it afterwards.