The Vourdalak

Almost sixty years before the publication of Dracula, Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy (second cousin to Leo Tolstoy) wrote a novella entitled The Family of the Vourdalak. The story concerned a specific vampire variant from Eastern European folklore which preferred to dine upon its family or its beloved in general. The most famous adaptation of this tale until now was as a segment in Mario Bava’s 1963 anthology film, Black Sabbath, in which Boris Karloff had one of his greatest late career roles as “The Wurdulak.” Now French director/co-writer Adrien Beau has expanded the story into an admirable and stylish feature film, The Vourdalak.

In 18^th-century Eastern Europe, Marquis Jacques Antoine Saturnin d’Urfé (Kacey Mottet Klein), an envoy from the King of France, has been beset by robbers in the forest and needs to find a place to shelter for the night. He is directed to the Gorcha household. Along the way he sees Gorcha’s adult daughter, the ethereal-looking Sdenka (Ariane Labed), arrayed in a long white flowing gown, ornamental headdress and necklaces and singing, but she flees at his approach. Shortly thereafter, he encounters Gorcha’s youngest son, Piotr (Vassili Schneider), who brings him to the house.

Upon arriving he meets eldest son Jegor (Grégoire Colin), who informs Jacques that his father is missing, having left to fight Turks that had recently attacked their village. Jegor offers to find a horse for Jacques, if he can wait a day. Sdenka tells Jacques that her father said that he should be back within six days, and if he comes back after that, he’d be a vourdalak and that they shouldn’t let him into the house. Jegor dismisses this as nonsense, but the sixth day passes and then Gorcha (voiced by Beau) returns, clearly a malignant undead creature, the severed head of the Turkish chieftain brought along to hang over the family entryway. Gorcha wheedles and flatters, and Jegor, refusing to believe it isn’t his live father, lets him in the home. Jacques is highly unsettled by all of this but is stuck there until he gets a horse. And that night, having been welcomed in by his family, the vourdalak begins to feed.

Klein initially portrays Jacques as a hapless fop, garishly arrayed in his tricorne hat, blue waistcoat and frilly white shirt, bewigged, face powdered unnaturally white and completed by a beauty mark (Anne Blanchard’s costume design is spot-on throughout). He’s somewhat timid but also not a saint (he rudely presumes that Sdenka will want to have sex with him). But as the story progresses into a nightmare, the powder comes off and his courage emerges. Klein does a nice job showing how a self-centered courtier finds his humanity. Labed’s performance displays a fine combination of power and vulnerability and makes a credible character out of what could have been a bit of a cliché. She emanates strength (her rebuff to Jacques’ blunt overture is definitive), which makes her frightened reaction to the return of her father more impactful – if Sdenka is this on-edge, things are bad. Trivia: Labed is director Yorgos Lanthimos’ wife.

Colin is memorably good as the gruff but mainly well-meaning Jegor, delineating a tragedy as the character’s refusal to accept that his father has become a monster actively puts his family in harm’s way. Schneider does subtle and affecting work as Piotr, openly confronting his brother about the dreadful situation, but a subplot concerning the character’s cross-dressing and possible homosexuality seems like it’s not given enough screen time to be fully explored. Claire Duburcq is very affecting as Jegor’s wife, Anja, vividly depicting how grief can utterly unmoor someone.

I imagine that the decision to use a life-size puppet as the vourdalak will be the most controversial element for audiences about this movie. I thought it mostly worked very well. The fact that the filmmakers are using a lifeless object to play an undead creature adds a certain resonance – a spooky sojourn to the uncanny valley. There were moments where I found the method to be less effective, but it didn’t affect my enjoyment of the film. Beau is credited as creator of the puppet (Franck Limon-Duparcmeur is in the credits for puppet special effects), and he delivers a terrific vocal performance as the sneering, malicious Gorcha.

The Vourdalak is a very assured piece of moviemaking, and so it’s surprising to discover that this is Beau’s debut film. Shot on Super 16mm (David Chizallet is credited with the lovely cinematography), the picture has the look of a 1970s indie horror feature such as Messiah of Evil or Let’s Scare Jessica to Death. Beau’s use of very low light to create unease is quite successful. Centering the vourdalak’s victims before a background of black, highlighting their isolation, is an elegant and creative choice. Martin Le Nouvel and Maïa Xifaras’ string-heavy score (did I detect harpsichord in there?) creates an appropriately doom-laden mood, and whomever came up with the squelchy sound effect of the creature chewing on its funeral shroud (and it’s way up in the sound mix) deserves kudos for that shudder-worthy contribution. A sequence in which the vourdalak scuttles across the ceiling of a dark bedroom shows off the well-chosen use of special effects.

The script by Beau and co-writer Hadrien Bouvier is intelligent and full of dry humor (when Jacques points out that his apple has a worm in it, Sdenka removes the worm and eats it, handing him back the apple). The story seems convincingly grounded in its historical era, and despite its presumably low budget it lacks nothing important. The horror of the vourdalak, unlike the more familiar vampire, is that it feeds upon its family, who are vulnerable due to trust. Love is the engine of destruction.

The Vourdalak, a French period piece character-driven horror film, may not be to the taste of mainstream Hollywood horror fans, but those looking for something different and beautifully crafted should give this dark little gem a chance.

The Vourdalak is streaming and available for VOD.