Dracula: A Love Tale

Dracula: A Love Tale stands out as an ambitious and ambivalent project in Luc Besson's filmography, oscillating between baroque flamboyance and nostalgic recycling of a universal myth. Revisiting Bram Stoker's iconic work with the clear intention of stripping it of its strictly horrific dimension and recontextualizing it in a romantic fresco, the director offers a visually sumptuous adaptation, but one that is sometimes uneven in tone. Teaming up once again with actor Caleb Landry Jones, after Dogman, Luc Besson transforms Dracula: A Love Tale into a tragic, ethereal dandy, a damned aesthete condemned to wander through the centuries in the sole hope of finding his lost love. The starting point is familiar: a 15th-century prince betrayed by God and condemned to eternity. But it is the form, aesthetics, and emotion that Luc Besson draws from this story that give Dracula: A Love Tale its unique identity—a vision where religious symbols, gothic settings, and impossible loves dance in a sensory whirlwind.

From the very first scenes, Luc Besson places his story at the crossroads of genres: historical film and esoteric romance. He conjures up the splendor of the late 19th century, between Paris, Baghdad, and India, in a succession of tableaux that evoke both opera and Francis Ford Coppola's frescoes. But unlike the American filmmaker, who made Bram Stoker's Dracula: A Love Tale a sensual and baroque masterpiece, Luc Besson takes a more refined approach in terms of content, even if the form is remarkably opulent. Hugues Tissandier's art direction offers sets that are sometimes grandiose, sometimes dreamlike, such as the baroque castle in Dracula: A Love Tale, or the scenes shot at the Hôtel de la Marine, reconstructed with impressive attention to detail. The film even allows itself a studio reconstruction of a Parisian funfair after outdoor filming was compromised by rain, an anecdote revealed by Caleb Landry Jones that testifies to the director's absolute mastery of his setting, even in adversity.

The choice of Caleb Landry Jones for the role of Dracula: A Love Tale is undoubtedly one of the most decisive decisions of the project. The actor, physically transformed—with heavy makeup, exaggeratedly high heels, and a flamboyant purple costume—delivers a haunting, almost reptilian performance that dispels any primitive monstrosity in favor of a wounded interiority. His deep, drawling voice, worked on with a Romanian coach, gives the character a gentle, fascinating strangeness that perfectly suits this vampire in love, torn between eternal passion and infinite loneliness. The film relies heavily on his magnetic presence, his princely bearing and his restrained, almost choreographed gestures, evoking more a decadent poet than a predator. Luc Besson's acknowledged influence from figures such as William Randolph Hearst, rather than Nosferatu, underscores his desire to make Dracula: A Love Tale a man broken by love rather than a bloodthirsty monster. The blood is there, of course, but it is secondary; it is the wound in the heart, not the wound in the throat, that is of interest here.

In this romantic and twilight fresco, the other actors are not to be outdone. Zoë Bleu, who made her debut in the role of Mina, manages to infuse the character with a troubled innocence and convincing dramatic intensity, despite a difficult role and her first experience on the big screen. The young actress is undoubtedly one of the film's surprises, so accurately does she embody this woman torn between reminiscence and incarnation. Matilda De Angelis, as Maria, a flamboyant vampire, commands a stage presence full of fever and contrasts, particularly in a carnival scene of rare energy. Alongside them, Christoph Waltz, in the role of the vampire-hunting priest, injects an ironic gravity into the narrative. His face-to-face with Caleb Landry Jones, reserved for the end of the film, works as an expected and masterful climax, served by two actors at the top of their game, whose opposition is based on the precision of their acting, silent tension, and a shared nobility in combat.

Luc Besson's direction draws on all the tools of lyrical cinema: sweeping camera movements, mesmerizing sequence shots, stylized choreography, theatrical fights, and breathtaking sets. He also relies on meticulous art direction, the result of collaboration with Corinne Bruand, a costume designer who created more than 2,000 outfits for the film, whose sophistication and chromatic symbolism reinforce the themes of the story. Purple for Dracula: A Love Tale, pale blue for Mina, burgundy for Maria—each color tells an emotional journey, each fabric a story. Adding to this visual richness is the haunting music of Danny Elfman, who delivers one of his finest recent works here. An iconic composer long associated with Tim Burton's gothic imagination, he finds ideal material in Dracula: A Love Tale, infusing it with a sublime melancholy. The main theme, composed at the beginning of the editing process, evoked an immediate emotion in the team—a sign that the composer was in perfect harmony with the vision of the film.

However, not everything flows perfectly in this work, which at times becomes weighed down by its own intentions. The film could be seen as a nostalgic rehash, a dusty return to past archetypes, a lack of dialogue with contemporary issues—notably critical readings of the Dracula: A Love Tale myth through the prism of #MeToo. The representation of the vampire as a romantic figure can indeed raise questions in a context where predation, however aestheticized, can no longer be represented without a counterpoint. While Luc Besson takes on the vampire's point of view, he does not fundamentally renew the myth—he revisits it with sincerity, passion, and craftsmanship, but without any real upheaval. His Dracula: A Love Tale, despite its nobility, remains rooted in a masculine vision of romantic sacrifice, a virile melancholy that sometimes lacks a critical view of its own implications.

Nevertheless, with Dracula: A Love Tale, Luc Besson offers a dense, spectacular and highly personal cinematic work. Driven by extraordinary formal ambition, an intense cast, a spellbinding soundtrack and sumptuous art direction, the film stands as a declaration of love for the cinema of yesteryear, tragic romanticism and the art of total mise-en-scène. Whether you see it as a masterpiece of aesthetics or a patchwork of overly cautious references, there is no denying that this version of Dracula: A Love Tale, transposed to a Paris of 1889 in the throes of revolutionary turmoil, imposes a rare visual signature and an unapologetic auteur vision. By rejecting the clichés of pure horror, Luc Besson transforms the vampire into a symbol of eternal love, as magnificent as it is impossible. And that, in itself, is enough to make the heart of this revisited legend beat.

Dracula: A Love Tale
Written and directed by Luc Besson
Based on Dracula: A Love Tale by Bram Stoker
Produced by Virginie Besson-Silla
Starring Caleb Landry Jones, Christoph Waltz, Zoë Bleu, Matilda De Angelis, Ewens Abid, David Shields, Guillaume de Tonquédec
Cinematography: Colin Wandersman
Edited by Lucas “Kub” Fabiani
Music by Danny Elfman
Production companies: Luc Besson Production, EuropaCorp, TF1 Films Production, SND
Distributed by SND (France)
Release date: July 30, 2025 (France)
Running time: 129 minutes

Seen on August 5, 2025 at Gaumont Disney Village, Theater 10, seat C19

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