If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Phantom of the Opera was remade by a high school drama club armed with cheap torches, jitterbug records, and half a can of Aqua Net, look no further than Renato Polselli’s The Vampire of the Opera. It’s not so much a horror film as it is a confused fever dream where Dracula meets West Side Story and loses both the fight and the choreography.
Phantom of the Footlights
The premise should be simple: a vampire haunts an old theater, seduces the lead dancer, and chaos ensues. Instead, Polselli delivers a film where the vampire looks less like a lord of darkness and more like a tuxedo salesman who wandered in from the wrong set. The theater troupe, rather than being frightened by the supernatural, seem far more concerned with modern dance routines that look like they were choreographed by someone on a three-day espresso bender.
The so-called “frightening” scenes usually end with someone rolling on the ground, flailing jazz hands, or performing what appears to be an exorcism through interpretive dance. The result is less Nosferatu and more So You Think You Can Stake Me.
Bouffant Brides of Boredom
At one point, the vampire brings poor Julia down to his crypt, where his vampire brides stand chained to a wall like they’re waiting for their number to be called at a particularly bleak DMV. They hiss, they giggle, they toss their hair—imagine a shampoo commercial directed by Bela Lugosi’s tax accountant. You half expect one of them to break character and complain about union breaks.
Love, Revenge, and More Flashbacks than Sense
We’re treated to a flashback where we learn Julia is the reincarnation of Laura, the vampire’s ex-lover who betrayed him. This revelation is supposed to add tragic weight. Instead, it’s like finding out your landlord used to date your roommate—it explains some of the tension, but nobody cares.
The vampire vows to kill Julia for revenge but then, in a whiplash-inducing turn, lets her go because he loves her. This isn’t gothic torment; it’s a breakup text disguised as a screenplay.
The Climax: Dance ‘Til You Drop (Dead)
When the troupe once again tries to escape the theater, the lights flicker, and a jazz record starts spinning. Naturally, they respond by breaking into a manic, ground-rolling, hair-tossing dance number that looks like the aftermath of a shampoo recall. Just as you’re wondering if this entire film is an elaborate PSA about the dangers of jazz, the vampire reappears. He’s promptly defeated not by a stake, not by holy water, but by the troupe surrounding him with torches. Apparently, the centuries-old lord of darkness can be bested by community theater’s fire safety demonstration.
Production Woes, Onscreen Woes
Shot between 1961 and 1964, the film had the kind of production troubles that show up in the final cut like unpaid debts. Sets look unfinished, performances are phoned in (collect, from a payphone), and the vampire himself radiates all the menace of a maître d’ who forgot your reservation.
It was supposed to be a sequel to The Vampire and the Ballerina, but by the time it limped across the finish line, audiences had already grown bored of vampire films. The producers wisely renamed it The Monster of the Opera. Less wise: still releasing it.
Verdict
The Vampire of the Opera is what happens when horror, romance, and musical theater get together and immediately file for divorce. It’s not scary, it’s not sexy, and it’s not even unintentionally funny enough to qualify as camp—though the manic jazz dancing does come close.
If you’ve ever wanted to see Dracula defeated by a Charleston and a record player, this is the film for you. For everyone else: consider yourself spared.
Half a star out of four. Not so much “opera” as off-key karaoke with fangs.
