The Living Sun: Dispatching The Undead

Final title card of Nosferatu (1922)
Final title card of Nosferatu (1922)

The final scene of F.W. Murnau’s silent masterpiece NOSFERATU (1922), showing Count Orlok being destroyed by the rising sun, may very well be the first time in the history of the vampire — folkloric, literary, or cinematic — that any of the undead (at least in Western culture *) was dispatched by sunlight. His fading away and disappearance into a puff of smoke leads to the film’s final title card, where it is made it clear that “…the shadow of death was gone… as if obliterated by the triumphant rays of the living sun.”

No vampire before Count Orlok expired from exposure to the sun. Lord Ruthven. Varney the Vampire. Carmilla. Even Dracula himself could move about by day. So how did sunlight as a means of dispensing with vampires come to be? Why would NOSFERATU be the first?

The vampire of folklore — particularly during the wave of suspected vampires in Europe in the eighteenth century — always attacked at night. It, and its literary offspring, had to return to their coffins during the day. But death by ultraviolet light? Not part of the mythology. It was most certainly not started by Stoker. His Dracula may be exposed to the rising sun by novel’s end, but his demise is not due to sunlight. He is instead stabbed, and has his throat slit. So the most plausible answer as to why the makers of NOSFERATU introduced death by daylight may be as simple as this: they were looking for a way to clearly finish their film with a scene as far from the ending of the novel as as possible.

Count Orlok hovers over Ellen Hutter in Nosferatu (1922)
Count Orlok hovers over Ellen Hutter in Nosferatu (1922)

In order to avoid copyright infringement, scriptwriter Henrik Galeen (who later wrote THE STUDENT OF PRAGUE), and director Murnau, veiled their adaptation of Stoker. In their retelling, Count Orlok’s fate would be the direct result of a sacrifice made by the female lead. Ellen Hutter (their Mina Harker) reads from a book that her husband, Thomas (Jonathan Harker), had explicitly told her not to. She learns from it that in order to get rid of the Count, she has to keep him, um, occupied until the cock crows. In the end, it is beauty that kills the beast. Not a cadre of suitors with knives, as in Stoker’s novel.

Stoker’s widow, Florence, still sued, and all prints of the film were ordered to be destroyed (with the final ruling on the case happening in 1925). The filmmakers didn’t have a leg to stand on. Producer Albin Grau had previously applied for a license to film the novel, but had been refused by Florence. So he went ahead and made the film anyway. This was on record, and it lost them the case (i.e., they couldn’t feign ignorance). Fortunately, for film enthusiasts, it is believed that one copy survived, and duplicates were secretly made in the years that followed.

It is in those years that followed that we don’t know much of anything about how widely the film was seen, by whom, and what impression it had upon future filmmakers.

What we do know is that in the almost 20 years following NOSFERATU, no vampire films found their fiends reduced to ash in the morning sun. Not Lugosi’s Dracula (impaled off screen). Not Dreyer’s vampyr (run through with an iron rod). Not even Dracula’s daughter (felled by an arrow).

HERE COMES THE SON
Son of Dracula (1943)
Son of Dracula (1943)

Then comes SON OF DRACULA, Universal’s third movie to feature Dracula, released on November 5, 1943. Starring Lon Chaney, Jr. as the titular Count, SON OF DRACULA has the distinction of being not only the first vampire film to show the bat-to-man transformation of a vampire on-screen, AND the first to show a vampire turning to mist and back again, it is also the first to have a vampire die by exposure to the rays of the sun.

Though the screenplay is credited to Eric Taylor, SON OF DRACULA is from a story first conceived by Curt Siodmak — he of WOLF MAN fame (1941). In it, Dracula’s portly “son” (spoiler: it’s actually Dracula) goes by the name Alucard (which, with its simple reversal of letters, surprisingly seems to confuse the cast of characters until well into the film). He seduces a southern belle, and takes possesion of a Lousiana plantation before being exposed — figuratively as a vampire, and literally to the rising sun.

Just how much of the story is Curt Siodmak’s is unknown. His brother, Robert, who directed, hated the script, and reputedly fired his brother. Eric Taylor was ultimately credited with the screenplay, and Siodmak with the story. So who actually came up with the idea to have the Alucard killed by the sun?

Evidence would suggest it was Siodmak’s. After all, Siodmak was adept at dreaming up supernatural lore where none eisted before; it was he who introduced much of the werewolf lore we accept as canon today. More importantly, Siodmak grew up in Germany, and was active in the arts. He could very well have seen NOSFERATU when it premiered in March of 1922.

Born Kurt Siodmak in Dresden, in 1902, Curt worked an engineer early in his career, having had a doctorate in mathematics. But his interests, it seemed, were in the arts. He wrote novels, and used his connections in artistic circles to become involved in German cinema of the nineteen twenties. First, he and his wife-to-be Henrietta de Perrot signed on as extras in Fritz Lang’s METROPOLIS (1926). He wrote a number of screenplays in 1929, and even invested royalties from his early novels in the 1930 movie MENSCHEN AM SONNTAG, directed by his brother. His 1931 novel F.P.1 Antwortet Nicht was adapted to film in 1932 (starring Peter Lorre). The list goes on.

Would it be too much of a stretch, then, to believe Siodmak — whose social circles would have included filmmakers — was quite familiar with Murnau’s NOSFERATU? Seeing the vampire killed by sunlight, Siodmak could have taken that idea and banked it for a future where it just might come in handy.

In 1937, Siodmak emigrated to the U.S. for fear of the growing tide of anti-semitism in his homeland. In 1941, he was given his big break in Hollywood, penning the screenplay for THE WOLF MAN. He would go on after SON OF DRACULA to write the screenplay for HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1944), where Dracula (this time played by John Carradine) also dies in sunlight.

THE RETURN OF THE VAMPIRE

Of course, like most Hollywood stories, this one has a twist. Seven years after its German release and subsequent destruction courtesy of Florence Stoker’s lawsuit, a surviving / duplicated print of NOSFERATU was shown to American audiences on June 3, 1929.

Return of the Vampire (1943)
Return of the Vampire (1943)

It is quite possible that a veteran screenwriter named Randall Faye or the younger Griffin Jay (who would go on to write a handful of horror movies, including THE MUMMY’S HAND (1940) and THE MUMMY’S TOMB (1942)) were in the audience for that showing of NOSFERATU. Both are credited with writing THE RETURN OF THE VAMPIRE. In that film, released November 11, 1943, Bela Lugosi’s Armand Tesla is destroyed when a bomb strikes a cemetery, and the rays of the rising sun reduce the vampire to bones.

Armand Tesla Melts in the sun (from Return of the Vampire)
Armand Tesla Melts in the sun (from Return of the Vampire)

That SON OF DRACULA and RETURN OF THE VAMPIRE were released only six days apart casts some doubt as to whether Siodmak was the first to ressurect the idea of dispatching the undead with the light of the morning sun. Perhaps Faye or Jaye can be given the credit.

Not knowing whose idea came first, it’s difficult to determine whether it was Alucard or Tesla who was the first of Hollywood vampires to get crispy by light of day. We might never know.

Christopher Lee's Dracula done in by sunlight at the end of HOROR OF DRACULA (1958)
Christopher Lee’s Dracula done in by sunlight at the end of HOROR OF DRACULA (1958)

But what we’re left with in the seventy-five plus years since is a legacy of vampires who die by rays of the sun. From the dramatic death of the Count in Hammer‘s HORROR OF DRACULA, to Anne Rice’s literary dandies, to the ravenous monsters of FROM DUSK TIL DAWN (who actually explode), death by daylight is now permanently part of vampire lore.

You can watch NOSFERATU in full HD quality below.

* There are stories of the Jiangshi from the Qing dynasty in China where this pseudo-vampire / zombie withdraws when the cock crows, but it’s not clear whether sunlight kills them. I suppose one could argue that sunlight didn’t kill Count Orlok either, and that the cock crow at dawn just made him turn to a mist and go away. To live to drink another day.

On Television: Under a Marquee Moon

Of all the bands that made CBGB the legend that it is today, Television just doesn’t fit the proverbial bill. Unlike other genre-defining CBGB alums of the mid to late seventies — the punk rock that was the Ramones, the pop rock that was Blondie, or art pop that was Talking Heads — Television was, and still is, a tough band to categorize. With chromatic rock guitars, a tinge of jazz, avant-garde approach to arrangements, a bit of late sixties pop, and sometimes surreal lyrics, Television never approached the level of success of many of their peers. Still, their influence is undeniable.

THE BAND
Tom Verlaine with Patti Smith, 1975 by Anton Perich
Tom Verlaine with Patti Smith at CBGB in 1975 (photo by Anton Perich)

Founded in late 1973 by Tom Verlaine (vocalist and guitarist) and Richard Hell (vocalist and bassist), with Richard Lloyd (as second guitarist), and Billy Ficca (on drums), they performed their first gig in March, 1974. Soon thereafter, they became regulars at CBGB. Arguably, they were the club’s first “rock” band. By 1975, they had developed a cult following. Richard Hell (he of punk anthem “Blank Generation” fame) left, and Fred Smith, briefly of Blondie, joined.

THE ALBUM

In early 1977, they released their first album, Marquee Moon. The critics loved it. Bands that came after them (most notably, R.E.M) were heavily influenced by it. And many a list compiled by magazines includes it among the best albums of all time.

In a review in April 1977’s Rolling Stone, critic Ken Tucker — comparing Marquee Moon to the Ramones’ second album and Blondie’s self-titled debut — called it the “most interesting and audacious of [the three], and the most unsettling.” Indeed a bit unsettling, Verlaine’s voice is distinctly angular. The lyrics are oblique. And the interlocking guitar stylings are at once captivating and jarring. But it all works to serve a sound that is unlike any other.

Standout tracks include the opening “See No Evil,” “Friction,” and the titular “Marquee Moon.”

Anyone unaware or not convinced of Tom Verlaine’s gift for lyricism need only look at these scant few lines from “Friction” to appreciate his knack for catchy, cryptic, and sometimes outright crazy lyrics:

My eyes are like telescopes
I see it all backwards: but who wants hope?
If I ever catch that ventriloquist
I’ll squeeze his head right into my fist.

And then there are lines so poetic — like the end of the titular track — that they stick with you long after they’re sung.

I remember
How the darkness doubled
I recall
Lightning struck itself
I was listening
Listening to the rain
I was hearing
Hearing something else

“They are one in a million,” wrote British music journalist Nick Kent in NME (New Musical Express) [excerpted from the 2003 Rhino re-release of the album]. “The songs are some of the greatest ever. The album is Marquee Moon.”

Television would break up in 1978 after only producing one more album. Although they would reform in 1992 and release an eponymous LP, the band never again attained the level of innovation that is Marquee Moon.

By Christopher Michael Davis