This is an amusingly awful feature for fans of so-bad-it's-good cinema. You could surely guess that from the title alone, though: "Dracula's Dog," or better yet, as it's also known as, "Zoltan, Hound of Dracula," or better still, its German title is supposedly, "Zoltan, Draculas Bluthund," the translation of which is self-explanatory. As the title suggests, the film is about a vampire pooch. Perhaps, unexpectedly, however, the technical values of this are those of an average film. There's no lousy ADR (as in "Count Yorga, Vampire" (1970)), footage cannibalized from fellow schlock ("Blacula" (1972) reuses a scene from "Yorga," e.g.), boring expository shots to pad the runtime (e.g. "Vampyros Lesbos" (1971)), or strange storylines and narrative detours that make no sense to the plot (such as, say, "Frankenstein Island" (1981). For anyone who prefers a ridiculous premise executed efficiently and with basic technical competency, then I heartily recommend this one.
The set-up involves soldiers discovering a subterranean crypt of the Dracula family in Romania. After being kept up through the night by recurring earthquakes, the lone guard of the tomb opens one of the coffins and pulls a wooden stake out of the body. (Word to the wise, don't do that.) Out jumps vampire's best friend to bite the flesh of the guard until he's half undead. The dog, then, manages to remove the stake from his master--but not Dracula. Pooch also has a flashback vision of how Dracula transformed him into a canine vamp, though; see, he interrupted the grand vampire's feasting one night with his barking, so Dracula turned into a bat and bit the dog. Dracula, then, employed his mesmerizing powers to make the dog's master serve him, as well. Basically, what we have here is a reworking of Bram Stoker's book from the "what if" perspective of if Renfield were not only Dracula's slave but also the master of his own creature whom he could speak to telepathically. Turns out, he and his companion spend the rest of the picture tracking down the last descendant of the Dracula clan to turn him so as to make him their new vampire master. They even travel by sea to find the last Dracula in America, which is similar to Dracula's travels to England in the novel and screen adaptations such as the 1931 Universal ones.
From there, we're served a dichotomy of harsh montages of dogs supposedly biting up other dogs as well as humans next to serene images as the last of the Draculas (besides his kids, I guess) takes his family on a vacation in the middle-class tradition of what they consider getting away from it all and roughing it in nature--camper style (essentially, they drove a small house to park in a bigger back yard). Meanwhile, the Renfield type super-inconspicuously drives around in a hearse and unleashes Zoltan at nights to raise his army of vampire pups. There's also a Van Helsing type (portrayed by Oscar-winner (yes, Oscar-winner, but not for this film, obviously) José Ferrer) who takes his sweet time getting over to the states to help out and explain everything. Technically, the supposed horror of canid bloodsuckers is also well supported by the ridiculously constant folly work of barking and snarling dogs--regardless of whether the pup actors always play along visually or not in appearing menacing instead of looking for a key grip to scratch their ears). An appropriate score also helps.
(Mirror Note: No reflections in this Dracula film, but there is an old photograph of Dracula posing with Zoltan, which goes against some cinematic tradition of vampires not being able to be captured photographically, although this was never addressed in publication by Stoker. The myth of vampires being allergic to sunlight may also be a film invention by the 1922 "Nosferatu," whereas Stoker's Dracula was only made weaker during daytime.)
The set-up involves soldiers discovering a subterranean crypt of the Dracula family in Romania. After being kept up through the night by recurring earthquakes, the lone guard of the tomb opens one of the coffins and pulls a wooden stake out of the body. (Word to the wise, don't do that.) Out jumps vampire's best friend to bite the flesh of the guard until he's half undead. The dog, then, manages to remove the stake from his master--but not Dracula. Pooch also has a flashback vision of how Dracula transformed him into a canine vamp, though; see, he interrupted the grand vampire's feasting one night with his barking, so Dracula turned into a bat and bit the dog. Dracula, then, employed his mesmerizing powers to make the dog's master serve him, as well. Basically, what we have here is a reworking of Bram Stoker's book from the "what if" perspective of if Renfield were not only Dracula's slave but also the master of his own creature whom he could speak to telepathically. Turns out, he and his companion spend the rest of the picture tracking down the last descendant of the Dracula clan to turn him so as to make him their new vampire master. They even travel by sea to find the last Dracula in America, which is similar to Dracula's travels to England in the novel and screen adaptations such as the 1931 Universal ones.
From there, we're served a dichotomy of harsh montages of dogs supposedly biting up other dogs as well as humans next to serene images as the last of the Draculas (besides his kids, I guess) takes his family on a vacation in the middle-class tradition of what they consider getting away from it all and roughing it in nature--camper style (essentially, they drove a small house to park in a bigger back yard). Meanwhile, the Renfield type super-inconspicuously drives around in a hearse and unleashes Zoltan at nights to raise his army of vampire pups. There's also a Van Helsing type (portrayed by Oscar-winner (yes, Oscar-winner, but not for this film, obviously) José Ferrer) who takes his sweet time getting over to the states to help out and explain everything. Technically, the supposed horror of canid bloodsuckers is also well supported by the ridiculously constant folly work of barking and snarling dogs--regardless of whether the pup actors always play along visually or not in appearing menacing instead of looking for a key grip to scratch their ears). An appropriate score also helps.
(Mirror Note: No reflections in this Dracula film, but there is an old photograph of Dracula posing with Zoltan, which goes against some cinematic tradition of vampires not being able to be captured photographically, although this was never addressed in publication by Stoker. The myth of vampires being allergic to sunlight may also be a film invention by the 1922 "Nosferatu," whereas Stoker's Dracula was only made weaker during daytime.)