Dracula

I had the best of intentions (that is, not B-list tastes): I first became interested in reading this book because I saw a part of the movie adaptation that Coppola made. It's no secret that I'm not the biggest Coppola fan; I don't really "get" the Godfathers, Apocalypse Now was okay, and then of course there's Life without Zoe (New York Stories), which was the big flatulant joke that overwhelmed everything else!

But Coppola's rendition of the Dracula was extraordinary. It was the first time I saw his work and saw that same genius that everyone else was talking about (though not necessarily about THIS piece). The visual scheme was so magnificent and well-orchestrated - the surrealistic weaving of dreaming and waking, its depiction of monsters that is both beautiful and horrible (which I've read before, eg Paradise lost, but never actually seen) - that it seriously defied the bounds of my imagination.

I thought, if the movie is so compelling, the book must be worth reading, because as a rule the book is always better than the movie. But this may be another first: in the case of Dracula, it doesn't seem to hold true. I haven't finished reading the book, but I did that thing I do, which is to skip to the end. I gotta say, compared to Coppola's ending, Stoker's was a veritable whimper, a moralizing letdown, and not at all romantic. Double applause for Coppola: a truly excellent achievement.

FYI:
Remember a few months ago when I mentioned that Martin Scorsese started off his career discovered by B-list director Roger Corman? Get this: Corman launched another illustrious career when he first hired this future legend to be his ASSISTANT (translation: latte boy?). This legend is...drum roll...Francis Ford Coppola.

God bless the B-list.