Dracula has returned to the silver screen yet again, but this time, the infamous vampire is less interested in terrorizing mortals and more concerned with matters of the heart. Luc Besson’s latest film, simply titled "Dracula," opened in theaters on February 6, 2026, and has already sparked a lively debate among critics and moviegoers alike. With a legacy stretching back more than a century, Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel has inspired countless adaptations, but Besson’s take leans further into romance and kitsch than most, offering a version of the Count that is as lovesick as he is bloodthirsty.
For audiences familiar with the endless parade of Dracula films—ranging from the gothic horror of Robert Eggers’ recent "Nosferatu" to the comedic chaos of "Renfield"—the question is inevitable: what new ground can possibly be covered? According to Variety, Besson’s answer is to double down on melodrama, borrowing liberally from Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 adaptation, which was the first to introduce the notion of Dracula’s lost love being reincarnated through the ages. In Besson’s hands, this subplot becomes the film’s emotional core, transforming Dracula from a monster into a tragic romantic hero.
The film opens in the mid-15th century, where Prince Vlad the Impaler—played by Caleb Landry Jones—celebrates his marriage to Elisabeta (Zoë Bleu). Their happiness is short-lived, as the Ottomans invade and kill Elisabeta, shattering Vlad’s faith in God. In a fit of rage and heartbreak, Vlad renounces his creator, an act that somehow grants him immortality. As Variety notes, Jones’ portrayal of Dracula is heavily inspired by Gary Oldman’s iconic performance in Coppola’s film, right down to the elaborate white hair and pale, parchment-like skin. The transformation is uncanny, and the visual homage is impossible to miss.
From there, the story leaps forward four centuries. Dracula, now a haunted and ageless figure, has devoted his immortal existence to searching for Elisabeta’s reincarnation. This quest leads him to Paris in the late 1800s, where he discovers Mina (also played by Zoë Bleu), the fiancée of estate agent Jonathan Harker (Ewens Abid). Gone are the days of Dracula’s mind control powers; instead, Besson’s Count concocts an irresistible perfume that entrances women, a bizarre but oddly comedic twist. However, when he finally finds Mina, he refuses to use the perfume, determined to win her love honestly—a detail that underscores the film’s romantic ambitions.
As The Guardian observes, Besson’s direction is marked by ambition and panache, with a willingness to embrace both the operatic and the absurd. The film’s tone veers wildly between gothic melodrama, slapstick humor, and outright kitsch. There are scenes of dancing aristocrats, horny nuns, and even a sequence where Dracula, in deep despair, repeatedly attempts to end his own life after Elisabeta’s death—moments that recall the farcical spirit of Mel Brooks more than the somber horror of Stoker’s original novel.
Caleb Landry Jones’s performance has been widely praised, with The Hollywood Reporter calling him the film’s “secret weapon.” His Dracula is “the most sympathetic version of the character ever put to screen,” bringing a surprising depth and earnestness to a role often played for menace or camp. Even when surrounded by “goofy CG gargoyles, dancing aristocrats, [and] horny nuns,” Jones remains compelling, anchoring the film in a kind of emotional reality that stands in stark contrast to the chaos swirling around him.
Not everyone is sold on Besson’s vision, however. Critics have pointed out glaring plot holes and inconsistencies, particularly regarding the rules of vampirism. As Collider notes, “An early scene in the movie quickly shows off vampires’ famous phobia of sunlight on a particular character... before seemingly completely forgetting about that altogether when every vampire in the movie (including the character it was tested on) is suddenly unaffected by it.” Such lapses in logic are emblematic of the film’s willingness to sacrifice coherence for spectacle.
The supporting cast adds further intrigue. Two-time Oscar winner Christoph Waltz takes on the role of a priest obsessed with ending Dracula’s reign, serving as both vampire hunter and pseudo-narrator. His character, a clear nod to Van Helsing, delivers a “fortune-cookie theological lecture” near the film’s climax, declaring, “The spell is broken.” According to Variety, Waltz’s understated scenery-chewing provides a welcome counterpoint to Jones’s earnestness, even if the stakes of the vampire hunt feel oddly diminished.
Visually, the film is a mixed bag. While Danny Elfman’s atmospheric score adds a touch of grandeur, the special effects often leave much to be desired. Critics have singled out the low-quality CGI gargoyles as a particular eyesore, with The Hollywood Reporter describing the film as “cheese and kitsch, with smatterings of blood and decapitated heads.” There is at least one genuinely gory sequence, in which Maria (Matilda De Angelis), Dracula’s first disciple, is decapitated and staked, but for the most part, the film’s horror elements take a back seat to romance and comedy.
Despite its flaws, "Dracula" is undeniably watchable, if only for the sheer audacity of its vision. As The Guardian puts it, Besson “structures Dracula’s second-act backstory of global roaming in various outrageous costumes with a sure hand,” and is “not above giving us some comedy moments with a distinctly Mel Brooks flavour.” The film’s willingness to embrace the ridiculous is, for some viewers, its greatest strength.
Ultimately, Besson’s "Dracula" may not be the definitive adaptation of Stoker’s classic, but it offers a fresh—if sometimes bewildering—take on a story that has been told and retold for generations. Whether you come for the fangs or stay for the swoons, there’s no denying that this latest incarnation bites off more than most, even if it doesn’t always land its mark.
"Dracula" is now playing in theaters, inviting audiences to experience a tale as old as time, reimagined with operatic flair, romantic longing, and a healthy dose of absurdity. For those willing to embrace its eccentricities, it’s a wild ride through the heart—and veins—of one of literature’s most enduring legends.