Dracula 2026 Review

Luc Besson’s interpretation of the world’s most famous vampire arrives in theaters with considerable baggage: centuries of literary adaptation, countless cinematic predecessors, and the recent shadow of Robert Eggers’ acclaimed Nosferatu remake. Rather than retreating from these comparisons, Besson’s Dracula embraces its heritage while attempting distinctive flourishes that ultimately yield mixed results. The film represents neither the disaster some feared nor the reinvention horror enthusiasts might have hoped for—instead occupying an uncertain middle ground where moments of genuine vision coexist with bewildering creative choices.

A Familiar Narrative Foundation

The screenplay adheres more closely to Bram Stoker’s original novel than many contemporary adaptations, following Vlad Țepeș’s transformation from 15th-century prince to immortal vampire following his wife’s death. Condemned to wander centuries with an eternal curse, the count pursues his relentless obsession with reuniting with his lost love, even as a dedicated priest hunts him across generations. This framework provides sturdy structural support for the film’s more eccentric embellishments.

Besson’s innovation arrives through unexpected subplot diversions. A peculiar fascination with fragrance permeates the narrative—Dracula develops intoxicating perfumes using French lavender in Renaissance Florence, testing these potions on pre-Revolutionary socialites sporting elaborate powdered wigs. This aromatic obsession adds surreal texture to the gothic proceedings, though whether it meaningfully enriches the vampire mythology remains debatable.

Caleb Landry Jones: The Film’s Secret Weapon

If Dracula achieves any lasting impact, credit belongs primarily to Caleb Landry Jones’s performance as the titular count. Jones approaches the role with fey, androgynous intensity that recalls Gary Oldman’s iconic 1992 interpretation while establishing distinct contemporary identity. His physicality—angular, predatory, yet oddly vulnerable—creates a vampire simultaneously menacing and pitiable.

The actor commits fully to Besson’s heightened aesthetic, delivering even the script’s most absurd lines with conviction that nearly sells their preposterousness. In sequences where the film threatens to collapse under its own eccentricities, Jones’s presence provides ballast. His Dracula registers as genuinely ancient—world-weary yet still capable of obsessive passion, monstrous yet weirdly sympathetic.

Unfortunately, the performance exists within a film that cannot consistently match its star’s commitment. Jones creates compelling character work that the surrounding production sometimes seems determined to undermine through tonal inconsistency and visual excess.

Christoph Waltz and the Supporting Ensemble

Christoph Waltz occupies the Van Helsing analogue role as an unnamed priest dedicated to destroying Dracula and breaking his vampiric curse. Waltz delivers the film’s more restrained performance—a choice that seems almost perverse given the surrounding chaos. His scenes operate in different register from the main narrative, as if the actor arrived from adjacent, more serious production.

This disconnect exemplifies Dracula’s fundamental struggles. The film cannot decide whether it wants to be grand romantic tragedy, campy horror exercise, or surreal dark comedy. Waltz’s straight-faced dedication to vampire hunting contrasts jarringly with sequences featuring gargoyles coming to life or Dracula’s perfume experiments. Neither approach invalidates the other, but the oscillation between them prevents cohesive tonal identity.

Zoë Bleu appears as Dracula’s reincarnated love interest, bringing ethereal presence to underwritten role. The supporting cast—including various victims, assistants, and historical figures—serve functional purposes without leaving lasting impressions.

Visual Excess and CGI Overindulgence

Besson’s visual sensibility has always leaned toward ornate excess, and Dracula provides ample canvas for these tendencies. Production design creates genuinely impressive environments—Dracula’s castle, Renaissance Florence, 19th-century Paris—all rendered with lavish attention to detail. When practical effects and physical sets dominate, the film achieves immersive gothic atmosphere.

However, the reliance on computer-generated imagery frequently undermines these achievements. The living gargoyles mentioned in the film’s final act look embarrassingly unfinished, as if someone forgot to complete rendering passes. Action sequences suffer from weightless physics that disconnect viewers from onscreen stakes. For a director who once staged kinetic practical stunts with visceral impact, Besson’s current dependence on digital enhancement represents creative regression.

The cinematography captures appropriate shadow-drenched atmosphere, though occasional modern visual flourishes—speed ramps, digital blood effects—feel incongruous with the classical setting. The film looks expensive without looking carefully considered.

Thematic Ambitions and Shortfalls

Besson clearly intends Dracula as romantic tragedy exploring obsessive love transcending mortality. The centuries-spanning narrative should emphasize the horror of eternal existence without genuine connection. Yet the film’s relentless quirkiness—cartoonish gargoyles, perfume experiments, anachronistic humor—constantly undercuts emotional investment.

The director doesn’t build romantic emotion so much as assume it through narrative familiarity. We understand Dracula loves his deceased wife because the plot requires this motivation, not because the film earns emotional resonance. Besson’s conviction matches his star’s, but conviction alone cannot substitute for genuine romantic development.

The theological elements—Waltz’s priest representing faith against monstrous corruption—never develop beyond functional plot mechanics. Opportunities for meaningful engagement with redemption, damnation, or the soul’s nature pass unexplored in favor of moving between set pieces.

Final Assessment

Dracula (2026) frustrates because glimpses of potential excellence emerge throughout its runtime. Caleb Landry Jones deserves recognition for creating memorable vampire characterization worthy of better surroundings. Individual sequences—particularly those emphasizing practical atmosphere over digital augmentation—demonstrate what the film might have achieved with more disciplined execution.

Ultimately, however, the production cannot overcome its fundamental incoherence. The tonal whiplash between sincere romance, absurdist comedy, and horror spectacle leaves viewers uncertain how to engage. The visual effects vary wildly in quality, dragging expensive sequences into amateurish territory. Subplots like the perfume obsession suggest creative priorities misaligned with audience expectations.

For dedicated vampire enthusiasts or Besson completists, Dracula offers enough distinctive elements to justify viewing. The film will likely develop cult following among those appreciating its eccentricities rather than forgiving them. Mainstream audiences seeking cohesive horror entertainment should adjust expectations accordingly—this Dracula bites with crooked fangs that occasionally draw blood but often merely gum their targets.

The spell, as Waltz’s priest might observe, remains decidedly unbroken.

What’s your favorite Dracula adaptation? Share your thoughts on vampire cinema in the comments below.