Movie Night: The Vourdalak (2024)

Wildly imaginative and exceedingly original, “The Vourdalak” is a macabre masterpiece—a bold, daring vision not to be missed.

The Vourdalak is a seduction from the very first frame.

The story begins, steeped in gothic familiarity, on a dark and stormy night. There’s a frantic knock at the door of an isolated manor. The proprietor dares not open to strangers at this unholy hour despite the fear and desperation of the man begging for sanctuary. He speaks to the uninvited visitor through the sliding peephole. Our mysterious guest is unseen, save for the eerie casting of his shadowed profile whenever lightning intermittingly lights up the sky.

The man seeking refuge is Marquis Jacques Antoine Saturnin d’Urfé (Kacey Mottet Klein), a noble emissary of the King of France.

He’s been attacked by bandits, losing his luggage, his companion, and his horse. He’s instructed to make his way hastily through the dangerous woods to the home of old Gorcha, where he can hope to find a new horse to carry him home.

When he arrives at his destination, under the foggy morning light, he first encounters the beguiling Sdenka (Ariane Labed), who is communing with nature. When she sees him, she hastily runs away. He continues on until he discovers Piotr (Vassili Schneider), a young man dressed as a woman.

Jacques explains that he is seeking help from Gorcha, and Piotr escorts him to the humble abode, where the Marquis learns Piotr and Sdenka are Gorcha’s children. He also meets Gorcha’s gruff and commanding eldest son Jegor (Grégoire Colin), his dutiful wife Anja (Claire Duburcq), and their sweet young son Vlad (Gabriel Pavie).

Jacques learns that Gorcha has been absent for days, seeking to avenge the Turks’ attack on their village.

He has requested that his family wait six days for his return.

If he returns after six days, he instructs them not to welcome him home, as that means he will have become a Vourdalak, a vampiric creature of Serbian lore who loves to feast on the ones nearest and dearest to it.

With the window of Gorcha’s potentially safe return rapidly closing, Jacques becomes entranced by Sdenka but remains a stranger in a strange land. Though grateful for the shelter, despite the chilly reception he initially receives, he’s a member of the pampered elite who can’t help but shudder at the harsh and meager lifestyle of this provincial family.

His unease is greatly exacerbated when the head of the household finally returns one minute past his stated deadline. It’s clear to everyone except the stubborn Jegor—who refuses to give in to superstitions—that Gorcha has indeed returned as a Vourdalak.

By clear, I mean comically clear.

In his now-monstrous state, Gorcha is a decrepit skeleton; Gollum meets Nosferatu, brought to gruesome life by the masterful puppeteering work of writer-director Adrian Beau. He’s a sight to behold, ludicrously nonsensical but still menacing, made more chilling by Beau’s excellent voice work.

The puppet work feels a bit jarring at first, even silly to the point of absurdity,

However, The Vourdalak quickly glamours audiences with its endless charms, exquisite visuals, and captivating creativity.

When it comes to vampires, surely, we must have seen it all by now.

But adapting an ancient tale half a century older than Dracula, Beau (with the help of co-writer Hadrien Bouvier) gives us a genre-bending reimagining of eternal damnation that harkens back to the elegance of classic horror but remains impressively modern and innovative.

Inspired by Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy’s 1839 gothic novella La Famille du Vourdalak (The Family of Vourdalak), Beau makes a jaw-dropping directorial debut with a wonderfully weird but monumentally gorgeous gothic folk horror tale about the ties that bind and the binds that suffocate.

In this subversion of the now-ubiquitous vampire lore, vampires are not the aristocratic elite but rather roam among the commoners, feeding not on strangers but on loved ones, making this dark fairytale infinitely more tragic and emotionally gripping.

Replete with aching ruminations on the human condition, The Vourdalak waltzes gracefully between comedy and drama, creeping suspense and outright horror.

It’s a delicately woven balance of disparate tones, with every note pitch-perfect.

Shot on dazzling Super 16 and backed by an ethereal score, The Vourdalak is a sumptuous visual treat full of hazy, atmospheric beauty, impeccable costuming and makeup, and superb production values that belie the film’s scant budget.

It’s a film that makes you feel like you’re being transported back in time. That’s not just because of the technical proficiency that makes it feel every bit the period piece but because of the evocative charm and moviemaking magic that harkens back to the classic monster movies from the heyday of Universal Monsters and Hammer Horror.

Shot on location, the film is a work of sublime natural beauty that stands in stark contrast to its haunting supernatural aspects and very human horror—from the ravaging nightmare of outside invaders to the devastating impact of internal, familial strife.

The performances are uniformly exceptional, adding pathos and gravitas to a film that could easily devolve into pure camp but remains elevated and undeniably cinematic.

The Vourdalak is witty and dripping in humor and storybook whimsy. Yet, it’s also deliciously chilling, with some scenes standing out among the most provocative and memorable in decades. There’s also a surprising depth to the film, questioning ideas of blind devotion and generational intolerance, but the entertainment value is never sacrificed for the sake of the message.

It’s impossible to imagine lovers of classic genre cinema and arthouse horror not falling completely under The Vourdalak’s spell.

However, even those who prefer more mainstream fare are urged to give this a chance. At the very least, watching something so captivatingly unique is a thrill. It’s a film that deserves as much applause for effort as execution.

The Vourdalak is an intelligently crafted work of visionary style and sophisticated social commentary destined for cult status.