Abraham's Boys: A Dracula Story

Abraham’s Boys: A Dracula Story is not the horror film one might expect from its disturbing subtitle. Rather than reveling in the fangs and fog traditionally associated with Dracula, the film dares to reinterpret one of horror literature's most iconic characters through a disturbing and introspective lens. Directed with meticulous restraint by Natasha Kermani, based on a short story by Joe Hill, the film strips away the supernatural to reveal the real monsters, those spawned by trauma, isolation, and a misguided legacy. Carried by Titus Welliver's frightening and understated performance as legendary vampire hunter Abraham Van Helsing, the film paints a slow and moving portrait of a family on the brink of implosion. This isn't just a genre film, it's a ghost story without ghosts, a vampire tale where the most terrifying thing is what remains after the last stake has been driven home.

Set in 1915, nearly two decades after the fall of Count Dracula, Abraham's Boys: A Dracula Story picks up the story of the Van Helsing family, now living in seclusion in the arid isolation of rural California. The once-revered vampire hunter is now a reclusive and unstable patriarch, haunted not only by what he has done, but also by what he believes still lurks in the shadows. Titus Welliver, known for his imposing screen presence, delivers a haunting performance as a man whose obsession with past battles has turned to paranoia and emotional violence. His performance relies not on flashes of intensity, but on the weight of silence and tightly controlled dialogue. When he raises his voice, it is as sharp as a sharpened cross. There is no respite in his home, only a persistent fear passed down from parent to child like a hereditary curse.

This atmosphere of slow-burning psychological horror is both the strength and the gamble of the film. Director Natasha Kermani prioritizes atmosphere over pacing, a choice that will undoubtedly divide audiences expecting fangs and gore. Instead, we get a family drama steeped in existential terror. The fear here doesn't come from vampires crawling through windows, but from what happens when the home, traditionally a place of safety, becomes the very place of indoctrination and control. Through the eyes of the two sons, Max (played with credible sensitivity by Brady Hepner) and Rudy (Judah Mackey), we witness a childhood poisoned by fear disguised as protection. These boys live under the thumb of their father, whose mythologized past prevents them from distinguishing reality from inherited illusions. As they begin to question the legitimacy of Abraham's claims and the morality of his methods, the film transforms into a deeply disturbing parable about generational trauma.

At the heart of this domestic horror is Jocelin Donahue's nuanced performance as Mina, the sick mother whose descent into illness—whether supernatural or psychological—remains deliciously ambiguous. Her performance evokes the great gothic heroines of cinema past: both haunted and haunting. There is a disturbing fragility to her presence, a sense that she is already halfway between life and death, but no longer quite of this world. Her dynamic with Titus Welliver resembles a slow-motion collision between love and control, especially as her illness awakens both his protective instincts and his deepest, darkest fears. In many ways, Mina is the emotional barometer of the film, reflecting the invisible forces, both literal and metaphorical, that torment this fractured family.

Visually, Julia Swain's cinematography is a masterclass in using light and landscape to evoke inner turmoil. Shot in a 4:3 aspect ratio, the film feels claustrophobic despite the wide-open California setting. The sun-bleached fields and dusty roads suggest a dying frontier, where civilization may be expanding, but the horrors of the past continue to thrive in silence. The daytime scenes are particularly effective, filled with a ghostly luminosity that contrasts with the darkness that pervades the characters' hearts. The use of shadows, perspective, and restrained movement suggests a filmmaker who dares to let silence speak. When the nighttime sequences arrive, fleeting as they are, they strike with unsettling precision, like the whispers of a half-forgotten nightmare.

However, despite its elegance and rich theme, the film does not entirely escape the pitfalls of its minimalist ambition. The pace is often glacial, particularly in the first two acts, where long silences or character repetitions threaten to erode the tension rather than reinforce it. There are moments when Natasha Kermani seems more interested in suggestion than revelation, leaving the audience in the dark. While this may be compelling in theory, in practice it sometimes risks leading to stagnation. Those hoping for a thrilling sequel to Bram Stoker's classic may feel cheated, especially given the marketing's emphasis on its connection to Dracula. In reality, this film is much less interested in vampires than in the damage caused by those who claim to fight them.

This disconnect between expectations and execution is perhaps the film's greatest irony, and its most brilliant twist. What if Abraham Van Helsing wasn't a hero, but a man so broken by trauma that he turned his family into prisoners of his own myth? That's the question posed by Joe Hill's short story, and Natasha Kermani's film expands on this theme to create a profound, if at times uneven, reflection on legacy, beliefs, and the dangers of living in the past. The horror here is not supernatural, but very human: gaslighting disguised as advice, paranoia masked as protection, and a family torn apart by the weight of an oversized ego.

In many ways, Abraham's Boys: A Dracula Story feels like an anti-Dracula movie. It eschews spectacle in favor of lingering on the uncomfortable repercussions of horror long after the monster has been defeated. It dares to question the heroism of our genre legends, scrutinizing the moral gray areas they leave behind. It's a profound and devastating work, built on rich performances, a subtle script, and visual poetry. It may not be the loudest horror movie of the year, but it's one of the most unsettling, and its images—and its implications—linger long after the credits roll. In a cinematic landscape awash with nostalgia, Natasha Kermani offers us something refreshing and original: not a Dracula story, but a ghost story about the man who claimed to have killed him.

Abraham’s Boys: A Dracula Story
Written and directed by Natasha Kermani
Produced by Tim Wu, James Howard Herron, James Harris, Leonora Darby
From the Joe Hill’s original short story
Starring Titus Welliver, Brady Hepner, Judah Mackey, Jocelin Donahue, Aurora Perrineau
Music : Brittany Allen
Cinematography: Julia Swain
Edited by: Gabriel de Urioste
Production companies: Illium Pictures / Tea Shop Productions
Distributed by RLJE Films, Shudder (United States)
Release date: July 12, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 89 minutes

Seen on June 25, 2025 (press screener)

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