At some point in the past, Thomas Pynchon expressed his desire to write a story that was centered on the insurance brokers sent to Tokyo to assess the damage caused by Godzilla after one of his many rampages. As a culture, we have a tendency to latch onto certain stories, repeating them time and again, without sparing a thought to what events likely transpired afterwards, which is precisely why this idea was so brilliant. Yet, the concept of taking a well-regarded piece of media and exploring the aftermath in an entirely original story is hardly unique, as we can see it in several revisionist or experimental texts over the years. One of the most notable examples came nearly ninety years ago in the form of Dracula’s Daughter, which was designed to be a direct sequel to Tod Browning’s landmark adaptation of the Bram Stoker novel, even falsely being advertised as being based on a supposedly lost chapter of that iconic book, when in reality it not only bears no resemblance to anything Stoker himself wrote, but instead had its origins very likely in several other texts. Telling the story of the immediate aftermath of the end of Stoker’s story, where suddenly Professor Von Helsing is accused of murder (since not everyone realized that his clear attempts to spare humanity from the terror that was Count Dracula), which also coincides with the emergence of the deceased menace’s offspring, a woman so deeply invested in emancipating herself from her father’s bloodthirsty legacy, but who soon realizes it is much more difficult to accomplish this than she initially imagined. A brilliantly subversive and oddly quite engrossing horror film that captures all the intricacies of the original while also elevating certain aspects to become definitive of this version, director Lambert Hillyer (who takes over from Browning, who was surprisingly never attached to direct this sequel) makes a tremendously entertaining and engaging film that pays attention to every detail and emerges as one of the most unexpectedly brilliant horror films of this era, where the genre was perhaps at its most inventive and defining.

Making any kind of sequel is always a challenging endeavour, especially to a film that was considered a major success at the time. Dracula had its fair share of detractors, and this was before Universal horror films were viewed as masterful expressions of artistic freedom, and instead merely considered marginally entertaining B-movies, rather than prestige films. Yet, the effort that went into these films is unmatched, and each one was a labour of love. Hillyer had quite an intimidating task ahead of him when he was enlisted to follow Browning in helming the second entry into what the executives were hoping to make into a series, as part of an ongoing number of films based around these iconic literary monsters. From its first moments, Dracula’s Daughter makes sure that it honours the legacy of the original – setting aside the blatant inaccuracy that claims that this film was based on an unpublished chapter from Stoker’s novel, we find that this is a well-constructed, complex examination of the aftermath of Dracula’s reign of terror, a 500-year period that saw many lives lost, and which came to an end solely because of the ingenuity of the one person who believed he could destroy this terrifying entity. This film is oddly a lot more grounded, and the way it tells a story designed specifically to critically comment on the legacy of not only the previous film, but the entire concept as a whole, is profoundly interesting and allows us to see it as something much more complex than just a run-of-the-mill horror film. It also helps that it is superbly well-made, with the director managing to very easily align with the vision established in the original film, creating a stunningly gorgeous film composed of countless striking images that are surprisingly absent when discussing some of the more memorable moments from this generation of horror cinema. A few frames stand out, but it’s the more simple compositions that leave the most significant impression, in the same way that the best parts of the narrative are those which are supposedly much more straightforward.

One subject that has become more popular in recent years has been looking at these older horror films, particularly those produced by Universal during the 1930s and 1940s, and focusing on the underlying commentary, since we often find that these films contain subversive messages that were radically ahead of their time. This applies to Dracula’s Daughter more than most – firstly, this is a film that intends to build on the legacy of the original, which was already a film filled to the brim with meaning that only truly came to be understood in later years. Many theorists have found this film in particular to be amongst the most queer of the Universal films, joining The Bride of Frankenstein and Cat People as being films not only appropriated by the queer community for their underlying messages, but actively viewed as subversive films focused on using the genre of horror as a shroud for these challenging and unconventional messages that relate directly to queerness, a subject that was not seen as appropriate for mainstream films, even those produced as B-movies, since society was not quite ready to embrace a film with such explicitly queer subject matter. The nature of this film does not leave a lot to the imagination, and we struggle to envision that some of the content was not placed here to explicitly refer to subjects such as queer desire. The landmark scene is one where the titular character is seduced by a young woman who is brought in to be her model, but who is so irresistible in her youthful sexuality, the Countess immediately succumbs to her desire and “consumes” her, leaving the young woman in a catatonic state. How audiences reacted to this at the time is not well-documented, but this is one of several moments in Dracula’s Daughter that lead us to view this as one of the most overtly queer horror films of this era, with its clear sapphic references and unquestionably subversive overtones making it impossible to overlook these elements as anything but intentional.

Despite being viewed as merely a supplementary department aimed to provide additional entertainment while the majority of resources were placed on the more mainstream productions, Universal horror films tended to be a breeding ground for some of the greatest actors in the history of the medium. Without these films, we’d not have experienced the pleasure of the likes of Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff, who were working actors before their film debuts with the studio, but made stars through their iconic portrayals of Count Dracula and Frankenstein’s Monster respectively. Dracula’s Daughter doesn’t contain any actor necessarily defined by their participation in these films, but it still features several impressive performances. Chiefly amongst them is Gloria Holden as the titular offspring, who is here named Countess Marya Zaleska, which was chosen to prevent any potential litigation from Stoker’s estate, who were still quite cagey about allowing the use of certain titles and names, even with a studio that had elevated this novel to a new level of success. Holden is exquisite in the part – her unique features indicate a sense of timeless beauty, one that is not tied to a particular time or place, allowing the film to take advantage of her ambigious heritage in creating this memorable villain. She is joined by Irving Pichel, who is equally as good as her dedicated manservant who pledges his life to serving her, only to realize that he has been taken advantage of, leading to a lot of tension. Like with many horror films, the villains themselves are the main attraction, but we’d be remiss to not mention the wonderful work being done by Otto Kruger and Marguerite Churchill as the protagonists, who battle against these forces of evil and prove to be the beacons of light this film needed to achieve the positive ending that it was required to have. The performances are unique, and they all contribute to the tone that drives the film and makes it so incredibly memorable.

Much like The Bride of Frankenstein, another follow-up to an iconic Universal production that proved to be even better than the original, Dracula’s Daughter is one of the most fascinating horror films of the 1930s, a layered and eccentric blend of dark comedy and horror that is far more complex once we allow ourselves to peer beneath the surface. Despite the very short running time (which was expected from horror films at the time, where anything over 70 minutes was considered too long), there are many fascinating themes explored throughout this film, many of them leading to spirited conversation in the aftermath, when we look at what seems to be quite a straightforward narrative and decide to peer beneath the surface at its layers of complex ideas. Queer theorists have found a lot of value in this film, which contains many fascinating insights into psychology and sexuality, concealed under the thinnest narrative layers – it almost feels as if Hillyer and the team of writers were relishing in the knowledge that some people would understand the queerness of this film, while others would be hopelessly oblivious. Yet, even if we look at it purely as a horror film, Dracula’s Daughter is an exquisite piece of filmmaking – the design is impeccable, transporting the viewer back into the 19th century, where we are witness to this incredibly strange and delightfully perverse story of desire and violence. It pays sufficient tribute to the foundation laid by Stoker when he wrote that groundbreaking novel, and while it bears no resemblance to anything he wrote, its a suitable tribute that pays close attention to the mythology he created, offering a unique and insightful theory into what the aftermath of those events may have been, which kickstarts a daring a provocative horror that is filled to the brim with complex ideas and fascinating ideas that make it one of the best horror films of the era.