Countess Dracula
Contents
First Reel: The Thieving Magpie
Second Reel: The Brightest Star
About the Book
You can do anything in Hollywood and be forgiven, anything except grow old…
It’s 1930 and cinema stands at the dawn of a new age, the silent era is all but dead, talkies are here and Technicolor is on its way.
The whole world loves movie icons Frank Nayland and Elizabeth Sasdy, lapping up each new picture and following their romantic life story both on and off the screen. But all is not as perfect as it appears.
Not only has the advent of talkies meant torturous sessions with a vocal coach to try and remove Sasdy’s Hungarian accent but she’s starting to spot the first few grey hairs, and the lines on her face are getting deeper every day. If she loses her looks she’ll lose everything, but even a woman as powerful as Elizabeth Sasdy can’t fight nature. Can she?
But just how far is the Queen of Hollywood prepared to go to stay beautiful for ever?
About the Author
The author of the novels
The World House
and its sequel
Restoration
, Guy Adams gave up acting six years ago to become a full-time writer. This was silly, but thankfully he’s kept busy, writing bestselling humour titles based on TV show
Life on Mars
and
Torchwood
novels
The House That Jack Built
and
The Men Who Sold The World
.
He has also written a pair of original Sherlock Holmes novels,
The Breath of God
and
The Army of Doctor Moreau
, as well as a biography of actor Leonard Rossiter and an updated version of Neil Gaiman’s
Don’t Panic: Douglas Adams & The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
. He has also adapted three classic Hammer Horror movies,
Kronos
,
Hands of the Ripper
and
Countess Dracula
.
His website is:
www.guyadamsauthor.com
Foreword
ON AN EARLY
summer Saturday in 1970 I had a call from Alexander Paal, a fellow Hungarian, asking me to read that morning’s
Times
as there was a well-researched article by another Hungarian on the life of Countess Elisabeth Bathory. I remembered the name from my school days; a powerful member of a great aristocratic family, who was famed for her cruelty. Once I read the piece it all came back: the gruesome story of a historical figure from the 16th century. According to the article, legend has it that Bathory hit a chambermaid so hard that blood from the girl’s nose spurted onto her face. When Bathory washed the blood off and looked in the mirror her face appeared more beautiful and her skin whiter. She then began to bathe regularly in virgins’ blood and is credited with the murder of over 600 peasant girls for cosmetic purposes.
I had arrived in London as a student following the Hungarian uprising in 1956, and promised myself I would not take on Hungarian subjects as a director in the UK. However, this was such a strong story I couldn’t let it go. Having directed a number of costume dramas for BBC Television (
Wuthering Heights
,
The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall
and Henry James’
The Spoils Of Poynton
) I felt I’d done enough to prove that I could deal with non-Hungarian subjects. Especially since I had just directed my first Hammer feature film,
Taste The Blood Of Dracula
, which was very well received. The top critic of the day, the
Sunday Times
’ Dilys Powell, called it ‘a surprise from Hammer … pretty good; well played and directed with a straight face by a newcomer, Peter Sasdy: a nice feeling for the Victorian setting.’
Together with Alexander Paal I located the journalist behind the story and took an option on it during the same weekend. By Sunday evening we had a one-page outline for a film based on the life of Countess Elisabeth Bathory.
Following the success of
Taste The Blood Of Dracula
I was in favour because of the old principal that you’re only as good as your last film and I still had my office in Hammer House on Wardour Street. It was decided that on Monday morning I would approach my big boss, Sir James Carreras, with our idea for my next film. It was about 11 o’clock when I got to see him. He read the page, asked a few questions about the way I saw the story developing, then looked at his watch and said: ‘Come back at 12.45 with a coloured poster with a title on it. I’ll take it with me to Genero’s where I’m having lunch with the managing director of the Rank Organisation. Let’s have another chat after lunch at about 3 o’clock. OK?’
We had our own graphics department on the top floor. I rushed up and explained Sir Jimmy’s order, and while talking to the graphic artist about the story of the Countess and how she needed the continuous supply of blood – just like Dracula – the obvious choice for a title suddenly hit me:
Countess Dracula
!
At 12.45 the poster of a beautiful blonde, partially covered in blood with the title across her body, was on the desk of Sir James. After lunch I was summoned and with a huge smile on his face Sir James said: ‘You’ll start shooting
Countess Dracula
six weeks from today at Pinewood. I’ll need a script in two weeks, a cast in three weeks – same budget as your last one with a 30 day schedule. OK?’
The rest is history. We started and finished the picture on time and I enjoyed the freedom Hammer gave me once they knew I’d deliver what they required. Hammer were always very good at choosing their subjects. Some thought audience identification with a 16th century blood-sucker might seem far-fetched, but in the 21st century women (and some men) spend thousands on modern cosmetics and face-lifts motivated by the same desire to look younger. At least they won’t end up in a dungeon, as Countess Dracula did …
Peter Sasdy, Director
November 2012
PRE-CREDITS
ONSCREEN CAPTION: 12 August 1971
THE CAMERA PANS FROM THE TRAFFIC WORKING ITS WAY ALONG HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD. WE FIND A SMALL PARKING LOT, TWO OR THREE STORES AND AN OPEN-TOPPED MINIBUS.
Hollywood eats. A fat beast of concrete, neon and dust, jaws open, ever-hungry. And wherever a behemoth eats, scavengers like Leo Hogarth follow.
Stranded in the late sun of summer he broiled in his black T-shirt and jeans, the official uniform of The Golden Hollywood Tour, its logo screen-printed across his chest like a rancher’s branding mark. As Leo was the managing director, guide and creator of the tour he had only himself to blame.
‘Should have gone with white,’ he moaned. ‘But black just looks classier.’
‘You got that right,’ said Roland, his African-American driver. ‘I’ve been telling people that for years.’
Roland didn’t live up to his own claim, rammed into a chauffeur’s suit that was two sizes too small for him. ‘Quit your moaning,’ Leo had told him when he’d found it at a closing-down party store. ‘People only see you from the waist up.’ Which was true, and a reason to be thankful, because Roland had to keep the trousers unfastened in order to still breathe while manoeuvring the open-top bus around Hollywood Hills.
‘At least people can’t see the sweat patches,’ Roland added. ‘In white, you’d look like a Holstein by noon.’
‘I wouldn’t care so much if we were getting the numbers in,’ said Leo, looking around the corner at the short queue that was beginning to form for the three-o’clock tour. ‘I mean, look at it: I’d make more money cleaning buses than driving around in them.’
‘It’s a quiet year,’ said Roland, lighting a stubby joint and settling back into his usual attitude of casual apathy. ‘There’s a recession.’
‘There’s always a fucking recession.’
The queue was only five people long: two fat couples and an old guy. ‘They’re not even a good audience,’ sighed Leo, reaching over and taking a drag on the joint. ‘One of ’em looks like he’ll be lucky to last the trip.’
‘As long as he pays he can die whenever he likes.’
‘Yeah, senior rate. That’s two bucks blown before I even leave the kerb.’
‘Better than nothing.’
‘Says you. I pay you a wage – what do you care if I lose my shirt?’
Roland shrugged. He knew better than to get into an argument. Leo was blowing off steam: it didn’t mean a thing.
‘Wait a minute.’ Leo perked up suddenly. ‘All is not lost!’
A pair of girls were ambling over to the queue. Both of them were blonde and were wearing bikini tops and denim shorts, the uniform of the college student on holiday.
‘You may be poor but your dick still works.’ Roland found this incredibly funny but that was just an effect of the dope.
‘Let’s get over there before they change their minds.’
Leo checked his reflection quickly in a shop window, just to make sure his T-shirt was tucked in.
‘Black is class,’ Roland assured him, pinching out his joint and slipping it into his shirt pocket for later.
‘Good afternoon, everybody!’ Leo announced, arms spread Christ-wide, ever the showman when he was on display.
Roland hung back as always, waiting for the audience’s attention to be fully on Leo so that he could sneak into the driver’s seat without them seeing the top of his trousers gaping open.
‘Thank you for joining us here on The Golden Hollywood Tour,’ Leo said, ‘where we bring the history of Tinseltown to life before your very eyes! Every star, every story, every scandal – all from the comfort of our open-topped tour vehicle.’
‘Must be a long tour,’ the old guy mumbled. But Leo chose to ignore the implied criticism; the oldster was far from the first customer to make the comment.
‘You’ll certainly get your money’s worth,’ he replied, deciding to stick to the subject and sell the small group their tickets before anyone changed their mind.
As they filed onto the bus, Leo tried hard to fix things so that the girls would sit up front with him. For the life of him he couldn’t distinguish between them, so typical of their type was each one.
‘My name’s Brandi!’ announced one of them. ‘And this is my friend Cheryl.’
‘We’re here for five days!’ announced Cheryl, though Leo hadn’t asked how long they were staying. ‘Brandi’s dad paid for it because he thinks she’s going to be a star.’
Leo could think of only one branch of the movie industry in which they would excel. ‘That’s just great,’ he said. ‘The dream starts right here, huh?’
‘Yeah,’ said Brandi, only too happy to believe him. ‘We’re going to see my future house!’
‘
Our
future house,’ Cheryl laughed. ‘Wherever you go you’ll need your manager with you.’
‘Yeah,’ chirped Brandi again. But the sentiment didn’t reach her eyes. She held up a fat paperback book. Leo looked at the title:
The Hit List: 1000 Stars of Hollywood
. ‘I’m going to be in this one day,’ she said, and hugged it to her like a child with a teddy bear.
‘Believe it,’ Leo replied – unnecessarily, because she so clearly did.
He sat them down on the seat next to him before reminding himself to pay attention to the rest of the party.
The first of the two couples looked like they had come on holiday by mistake. The wife’s expression was one of sour disapproval as she glanced cautiously at her seat before sitting down on it. She gazed at Leo with clear scepticism. Her husband simply stared out at the road, a thick white line of sunblock painted down his nose like tribal warpaint.
‘I always think it’s nice if we each introduce ourselves,’ said Leo, looking towards them. ‘My name’s Leo and, as well as being your guide today, I’m the author of the best-selling book
Hollywood Glitter
.’ It was certainly the best-selling book to be offered on the tour and that was enough for him. ‘At the end of the tour you’ll have an opportunity to buy a signed copy as a souvenir.’ He looked at the disapproving wife. ‘Would you like to tell us all who you are?’
