We watched the Svengoolie show movie, “Return of the Vampire.” I should say Sena watched about 10 minutes of it on the Internet Archive and said it was pretty good. The film was directed by Lew Landers. The writers were Randall Faye, Kurt Neumann (The Fly 1958), and Griffin Jay (Cry of the Werewolf 1944).
The movie was produced by Columbia and released in 1943. Bela Lugosi stars as the vampire Armand Tesla (no relation to Nikola Tesla) and never once says “Bluh, bluh!” This distinguishes him from Dracula, which you can’t even whisper by mistake without being ensnared in a net by lawyers who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at bleeding you dry of all your assets, so wear a garlic necklace.
He couldn’t be called Dracula in this production by Columbia because Universal had already made a few dollars on the Dracula name in their production and threatened Columbia to a thumb-wrestling match between top executives if they plagiarized the name Dracula. Soreheads!
You can’t miss Lugosi’s clawlike hands and the cobra-like sinuosity of his fingers as he mesmerizes his victims. If I tried to imitate that, I’d get cramps. Armand Tesla has all the customary power of vampires, and at least in this film, the producers get it right when we see he casts no reflection in a mirror. But he needs a valet named Andreas who is always bringing him a parcel, presumably with fresh capes from the dry cleaners.
The story spans two world wars; in WWI, Tesla gets bumped off with a spike; in WWII, he gets a new lease on undead life from the Nazi bombing and bungling civil servants (see below), regaining control over Andreas which he lost in WWI when he got spiked. Tesla’s new goal is to recruit a fresh vampire and try the new Wendy’s Frosty flavor, the Bloody Nicki.
Matt Willis plays Andreas Obry, the vampire’s hairy butler, a talking werewolf whose diction doesn’t fumble over his fangs. He’s pretty sharp in a suit but why he doesn’t complete the ensemble with a smart pair of oxfords is puzzling. He prowls barefoot across the graveyards, gardens, and sidewalk cafes (he ignores the signs “No shirt, no shoes, no service”). Watch for his pro wrestling moves in an alley with a couple of hapless detectives who can barely lay a glove on him.
Comedy bits are spaced at tolerable intervals, like the two civil servants in the graveyard who fumble about and do something with the spike that, without their scene, would make the film pretty short. That’s “spike,” not “stake.” They’re in England, after all.
Probably the peak moment in the film is when Andreas unexpectedly makes a different kind of transformation.
The little quarrels between Lady Jane Ainsley and Scotland Yard detective Sir Frederick Fleet (no relation to enemas) highlight the dumb male and smart female dynamic, a thread which runs throughout the movie.
Lady Ainsley: Sir Frederick, I declare I can’t abide it any longer; mud tracked all over the carpet, wolf hair on the toothbrush, and dust on the crucifix!
Sir Frederick: My dear Lady Ainsley, there is no such thing as dirt!
And how is all that fog getting into the house? You can barely see the walls—except for the fourth one.
We think the movie is pretty good!
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