As the story goes, in 1913, Igor Stravinsky composed two different pieces: one based on a pagan ritual and another on a folk song. He was not satisfied with either of them. Instead of completing either one, he combined the two pieces into what became The Rite of Spring.
It was with a similar, albeit less capacious, approach that writers Ryan Ridley and Robert Kirkman amassed the screenplay for their latest picture, Renfield.
BEEF: A DARKLY COMEDIC FEAST OF VENGEANCE AND VULNERABILITY
On the one hand, Renfield is a modern adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, viewed through the lens of Dracula's assistant, Renfield (Nicholas Hoult), and construed into a broader allegory for toxic and abusive relationships. At the same time, shoehorned into the plot is another, entirely unrelated, movie in which Awkwafina plays a New Orleans police officer, Rebecca Quincy, who vies to avenge her father’s murder at the hands of the local mob while navigating corruption in law enforcement. The juxtaposition of these disparate stories results in a narrative dissonance that exceeds even that of Stravinsky’s cathartic composition.
From his incipient years on Skins to more recent roles in The Great or The Menu, Hoult has honed the craft of comedic subtlety. With Renfield, Hoult imbues the demure servant with an awkward charm that perfectly complements his wry comedic style.
Hoult's understated allure serves as the perfect counterpoint to the flamboyant dynamism of Nicolas Cage's Dracula. While Hoult's deadpan delivery is a study in restraint, Cage is a whirlwind of wild-eyed intensity and theatrical flamboyance, devouring every scene with a vibrancy that far surpasses Christopher Lee's austere portrayal in the 1958 gothic classic.
The result is a masterclass in contrast: Hoult's quiet comedy against Cage's controlled chaos, an awkward servant and his extravagant master. It is this antithetical relationship that serves as the film’s backbone. Dracula relies on Renfield for sustenance and strength, all while keeping him subservient.
Driven by a morality starkly absent in his boss, Renfield turns to spousal abuse victims' support groups, not for solace, but to find his master's next meal. In a dark twist tantamount to Dexter, he deliberately seeks out abusive partners as victims, ensuring that Dracula's insatiable hunger is not fed with the innocent but with deserving delinquents. It is also here that Renfield realizes he is being manipulated and controlled by Dracula — in a toxic relationship he assures his support group peers they cannot exactly identify with.
Renfield is a comedic horror that's as entertaining as it is unnerving. As Quincy’s storyline intersects with Renfield’s, a burgeoning affection leads to him severing Dracula’s hold on his life. This rebellion sets the stage for a showdown between Dracula, the mob, and Renfield, awash in campy gore. The film revels in its macabre exuberance, exaggerating the carnage to the point of absurdity. Limbs and heads are torn clean off, with geysers of blood shooting out in an oddly entertaining spectacle. In one scene, Renfield tears a belligerent’s arms clean off, repurposing them as spears and launching them through the torsos of two other adversaries.
Renfield yields great dividends in entertainment. But despite being premised on a clever conceit — Stoker’s Dracula from the perspective of his servant, as a metaphor for abusive relationships — the execution feels haphazard and incongruent. It juggles two different plots without committing to either, leaving little time to develop its bevy of characters or their motivations. Yet, much to its credit, the film never meanders during its brisk 90-minute run time. In a similar fashion to Stravinsky, if you can look beyond the dissonance, there isn’t a dull note.
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Harry Khachatrian (@Harry1T6) is a film critic for the Washington Examiner's Beltway Confidential blog and a computer engineer in Toronto pursuing his MBA.