The Death of Dracula: A Deftly Structured Play Whose Virtues are Often Evident in Phoenix Players’ Production

The best known stage version of Bram Stoker’s Dracula was the one originally written in 1924 by Irish actor and playwright Hamilton Deane and later revised by John Balderston. It has enjoyed a long and productive life and, as recently as 1977, received a successful New York revival starring Frank Langella as Western culture’s most famous vampire.

Even so, one can still make a case for a made-in-Canada version. The Death of Dracula, by the late Edmonton playwright, Warren Graves, is a deftly structured piece of theatre and in some ways more lively and less creaky than the Deane-Balderston adaptation. And its considerable virtues are often evident in Jo-Ann McCabe’s production for Ottawa’s Phoenix Players.

To be sure, both versions lack the demonic power of the Stoker novel with its early terrifying chapters dealing with the hapless Jonathan Harker’s journey to Transylvania and the horrors of Dracula’s castle. Instead, when they begin, the Count has already arrived in England where he is intent on more mayhem and is determined to sink his fangs into the inviting neck of his next victim, the vulnerable Lucy.

Still, this new production does deliver an arresting opening which sees the story’s aging vampire-hunting protagonist, Dr. Van Helsing, trying to make sense out of the demented ravings of Renfield, the young man who loves to eat flies.

The scene, powerful enough to seize your attention and smother your disbelief, succeeds because of the key performances. As the crazed Renfield, Ron Langton could have gone completely over the top (witness the 1931 film version and a performance from Dwight Frye which now seems like a classic example of high camp) but here he shows a psychological command over the role which is often unsettling. As for the Van Helsing of Andre Dimitrijevic, this is an excellent performance, showing both gravitas and a commanding urgency as he tries to convince those about him that a vampire is in their midst.

The remaining performances, are generally serviceable but don’t always rise to the peculiar demands of the material. William Morrison’s Doctor Seward leans to blandness as does Brigitte Aube-Harrison as his daughter, Mina. Aaron Lajeunesse can’t do much more than be frantic in the role of Lucy’s fiance. Then there’s Jonathan Harker (still alive and well in this stage version) who’s portrayed adroitly by Jake William Smith.

Tina Prudhomme’s Lucy is suitably vulnerable and susceptible, but she has one explosive moment in the second act which seems rushed and unconvincing as she emerges on stage ready to commit carnage against those who love her. On the other hand, there’s also that memorable moment when she and Bill Brown’s Dracula sink their fangs into each other’s neck; McCabe’s direction of this scene fully communicates the underlying eroticism: their infernal embrace is undeniably orgasmic.

Brown makes for a suave but somewhat mannered Count. There’s presence but not enough command or charisma except for that one big moment. And those scenes leading up to his final demise seem rushed and perfunctory — a pity considering that so much of the production does show an attentiveness to visual and dramatic atmosphere.