By Andrew Montiveo.

A hauntingly unique addition to the vampire canon, much like the story that inspired it.”

When discussing vampiric cinema, Robert Eggers’s Nosferatu inevitably comes to mind. Ironically, the “original” Nosferatu was truly original – a German knockoff of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Stoker’s 1897 novel remains the definitive vampire tale, often considered the sub-genre’s origin.

Decades before Dracula, Aleksey Tolstoy – Leo’s lesser-known cousin – penned The Family of the Vourdalak. Despite its rich, eerie narrative, Tolstoy’s work remains obscure in modern pop culture, much like its cinematic adaptation.

Adrien Beau’s The Vourdalak, a French film based on Tolstoy’s novella, mirrors its source material’s relative anonymity. Marking Beau’s feature film debut, the project draws on his eclectic background as a designer for fashion giants like John Galliano and Christian Dior and his experience directing stage and short films. The result is a hauntingly unique addition to the vampire canon, much like the story that inspired it.

The Vourdalak follows the ill-fated journey of Marquis Jacques du Antoine (Kacey Mottet Klein), a French emissary from Versailles who is stranded in Eastern Europe. Seeking shelter, Jacques stumbles upon a rural family willing to take him in. However, his refuge quickly spirals into a nightmare when the family’s aging patriarch, Gorcha, returns from hunting a notorious bandit – transformed into something only vaguely human.

The Vourdalak is not the first adaptation of Tolstoy’s novella. In 1963, Mario Bava included the story in his horror anthology Black Sabbath, casting the legendary Boris Karloff as Gorcha. Beau takes a bold artistic departure, portraying Gorcha as a marionette rather than a living actor. Resembling a bat-eared, decaying corpse, Beau’s Gorcha – voiced by the director himself – glides spectrally, exuding an eerie, otherworldly presence.

While most of the family recognizes the unnatural being before them, Gorcha’s devoted son, Jegor (Grégoire Colin), dismisses the warnings as mere superstition. Jegor even confides to Jacques his admiration for the French court’s embrace of Enlightenment ideals, contrasting it with the “backward” traditions of his homeland. Gorcha, for his part, projects humility and intelligence, apologizing for his family’s rustic ways while speaking with the measured refinement of high nobility – adding yet another unsettling layer to the creature’s character.

Jacques is forced to confront a harrowing choice: Which poses the greater danger – the alien wilderness that surrounds him or the sinister menace within Gorcha’s home?”

Heightening the tension is Jacques’s stark displacement: a powdered, extravagantly dressed, wig-wearing dilettante thrust into an unfamiliar and untamed land. As the horrors around him escalate, Jacques is forced to confront a harrowing choice: Which poses the greater danger – the alien wilderness that surrounds him or the sinister menace within Gorcha’s home?

Further complicating Jacques’s dilemma are his growing feelings for Gorcha’s daughter, Sdenka (Ariane Labed). Far from the archetype of a simple country maiden, Sdenka is an enigma. Socially ostracized after being “defiled,” she has embraced a natural mysticism that defies Jacques’s rational understanding. While the marquis stumbles clumsily through the forest, Sdenka moves through it as if she were part of its very essence, intuitively attuned to every hidden path and shadowed glen. When the opportunity arises for Jacques to leave the Gorcha home on horseback, he instead chooses to return – facing the unspeakable horror head-on in a desperate attempt to save Sdenka.

The Vourdalak employs soft focus and dim lighting to enhance its ethereal, dreamlike quality. A lingering haze envelops the lush greenery and damp earth of the exteriors, immersing the viewer in a disorienting dreamscape that mirrors Jacques’s own sense of alienation. Despite its modest production, Beau’s film masterfully crafts a foreboding atmosphere, achieving far more than the bloated spectacles churned out by Hollywood’s big studios. Tinseltown would do well to take note of such humble yet resourceful filmmaking efforts.

Then again, The Vourdalak’s slow, deliberate pacing – with its lingering shots, sparse dialogue, and gradual unfolding – is a stark contrast to the quick cuts, jump scares, and gratuitous gore that dominate modern horror. This divergence might explain the film’s staggered release: after premiering in Venice in 2023, it has only recently begun to see wider distribution across the Atlantic. Much like its source material, The Vourdalak seems fated to remain an underappreciated gem within the horror genre.

Andrew Montiveo is a Los Angeles-based writer. He has contributed to Bright Lights Film Journal and Cineaste

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