In this current climate of post Harvey Weinstein real-life #metoo horrors, FROM DUSK TIL DAWN could easily be construed as terribly misogynistic. Distributed by Mirimax (a company co-founded, coincidentally, by Weinstein), directed by Robert Rodriguez, and written by Quentin Tarantino, it stars George Clooney (in his first film role), Tarantino, Harvey Keitel and a very young Juliette Lewis. Oh, and Salma Hayek as the most seductive of vampires — one who dances on top of a table in a skimpy bikini.
It was the 1990s, after all.
From Dusk Tile Dawn (1996)
During a decade that saw undead bloodsuckers that ran the gamut from far too serious ( 1994’s Interview with the Vampire), to incredibly funny (Mel Brooks’ amusing Dracula: Dead and Loving It (1995), FROM DUSK TIL DAWN (1996) was actually a fresh take on the vampire mythos, combining elements of the heist thriller with a healthy dose of grindhouse gore. It had humor, blood (albeit green to avoid an NC-17 rating), and a biker bar.
It is the latter — the seedy south-of-the-border “Titty Twister” strip club — that sets the stage, literally, for the di rigueur overt display of partial nudity that is to be expected of late twentieth-century vampire films. Movies like Night Shade (1996), Bordello of Blood (1996) and Club Vampire (1998) come to mind (there are many others). But FROM DUSK TIL DAWN is decidedly different. Its vampires — best portrayed by Hayek as the Queen bloodsucker Santanico Pandemonium — are true monsters. Though bikini-clad, Hayek is no caricature of the femme fatale.
Salma Hayek as Satánico pandemonium
Moving like a serpent — with a serpent (despite the actress’ fear of snakes) — Hayek is every bit the object of desire, especially for foot fetishist Tarantino. As she pours alcohol down her leg into his waiting mouth, other men watch. But their gaze is not returned by the vampire queen.
It is telling that in a recent interview, Salma Hayek was quoted as saying: “[Quentin] makes me dance only for him. George Clooney was like, ‘How come she doesn’t look at us?’ [Quentin said], ‘Because I’m the writer.’”
So unlike the iconic vampire brides of Dracula, the undead things of FROM DUSK TIL DAWN become not only non-sexual, but non-human. Hellish demons more than inviting vamps. As throats are ripped open, and decapitated heads fly about the room, eroticism and vampirism do not converge as they do so often in this genre.
What little seduction there is quickly becomes rampant cannibalism.
The true face of Satanmodicum Pandemonium
When Hayek’s head turns reptilian and strippers’ skin becomes sickly grey, few audience members can still feel attraction toward these vampires. There is only repulsion.
Misogynistic? Maybe. Women are still made to be objects — first of lust, then disgust. But there is an inversion, even perversion at play here — disrupting typical male erotic fantasy.
It is what sets FROM DUSK TIL DAWN apart from other vampire films of its day.
From 14th century Europe to 21st century Philadelphia, mummers have long been associated with colorful costumes, fun and frolic, music, and merrymaking. Their history, however, has not always been one of light-hearted holiday entertainment. Violence. Murder. Mayhem. As much as they are celebrated, many a mummer has been feared over the last 700 years.
When exactly the tradition of dressing up in costumes and traveling house to house to bother the neighbors began, no one is quite sure. They can at least be traced back to the end of the thirteenth century when Edward I (aka Edward Longshanks) held a wedding for his daughter at Christmas that included mummers. And a 14th century manuscript clearly shows such revelers in costume.
Mummers in 14th c. Illuminated Manuscript
The name itself finds its origins in the Old French “momeur” — from momer which can be translated as “to act in a mime.”
Performing “mummer’s plays” at Christmas (or Plough Monday, which came a bit later in January), mummers — or guisers as they were sometimes called (for the disguises they wore) — would usually engage in mock combat, parading about in animal masks. The practice was popular enough of a tradition to spread beyond the British Isles to other English-speaking parts of the globe — including the new world, as far north as Newfoundland, and as far south as St. Kitts and Nevis in the Caribbean. Newfoundland, especially, had a rich tradition of mummery, brought by Norweigians and Swedes across the Atlantic in the early nineteenth century.
Over the years, characters like Father Christmas (who may have come into English tradition because of mummers), dragons, and the Devil began to take center stage in mummer’s plays — all performed in good fun. One mummer’s verse captures well their intentions.
“Here we stand before your door, As we stood the year before; Give us whisky, give us gin, Open the door and let us in.”
As years pass, mummers as colorful quasi-minstrels and oft-drunken merrymakers became part of British Christmas tradition. But by the middle of the 19th century, they begin to be thought of as more of a nuisance. And in one particular case, as murderers.
The alleged murder of a fisherman named Isaac Mercer by a group of men disguised as mummers in 1860 is one of the most notorious crimes in Newfoundland history. So heinous was the crime that packs of mummers began to be feared. A legislative ban on mummers was even issued. It remained in place for over a century.
Mummers’ celebrations in America, however — which date back to colonial times — thrived. And it is here that the tradition of mummery in the city of Philadelphia may find its origins. Philadelphia was the nation’s capital in 1790, and a large Swedish population — previously mentioned as a country rich in mummer tradition — lived in the city. President George Washington was even known to have initiated a tradition of receiving calls from mummers at his home. In the early nineteenth century, celebrations were lavish, but some became so raucous with drunkenness and the discharge of firearms in the streets that the city passed an act which declared that “masquerades, masquerade balls, and masked processions” were prohibited.
It didn’t work, and the law — never strictly enforced — was abolished in the 1850s. Celebrations continued in Philadelphia, pretty much uninterupted.
Still, by the end of the 19th century, mummers outside of the United States began to fall out of favor. After the first World War, most British mummers’ groups (known as “sides”) disbanded.
But in Philadelphia, the tradition not only survived, it flourished. The city’s first official parade was on New Year’s Day in 1901. It continues to this day, and is now the oldest, continuous folk parade in the United States.
A few members of the Aqua String Band in the 2005 parade presenting their theme “Just Plain Dead” (taken from Wikipedia)
Still, these mummers in Philadelphia are a far cry from the medieval revelers of old. Made up of various groups — comics, fancies, string bands and fancy brigades — Philadelphia mummers do not go door to door now begging for whiskey. Instead, they perform music and acts of comedy along Broad Street with ever more elaborate themes, costumes and productions as the years go by. It’s a proud tradition of community pride and charity for many, and one of embarrassment to some.
Is there a direct line — and link — between the medieval mummer and his 21st century Philadelphia counter-part? Insofar as the mummer represents joyous abandon and holiday celebration with elaborate costumes and behavior not otherwise so socially acceptable outside of the holidays, then yes. There is something in the human condition that wants to put on makeup or a mask and become someone different — all within the accepted social convention of a holiday and/or party.
To badly paraphrase Carl Jung, and force an analogous relationship between the wearing of a physical disguise and the mask that is our persona — “designed on the one hand to make a definite impression upon others, and on the other to conceal the true nature of the individual” (from his Two Essays on Analytical Psychology, 1953) — perhaps the (dis)guise of the mummer is an attempt to show others someone or something we can only be once a year. Most individuals conform — go to work, consume, go to be bed, wake up, start again. The mummer, however, can be anything he or she wants: comical, colorful, musical, mischievous — jovial, yes, but even a bit menacing, depending on theme.
If for only one day out of the (new) year, the Philadelphia Mummer’s parade — for mummers at least, but for its spectators, too — is a vacation from convention and day-to-day norms.
In many ways, it is a holiday from one’s self. And we could all use that from time to time.
