#bram-stoker — Public Fediverse posts

https://www.europesays.com/ie/719481/ The tale behind the Irish translation of Dracula is something to really get your teeth into #BramStoker #Calling353 #drac #dracula #Éire #Entertainment #IE #Ireland #Nosferatu

“He is finite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do. But we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strong together. Take heart afresh… This battle is but begun, and in the end we shall win—“
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

“He is finite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do. But we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strong together. Take heart afresh… This battle is but begun, and in the end we shall win—“
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

“He is finite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do. But we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strong together. Take heart afresh… This battle is but begun, and in the end we shall win—“
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

“He is finite, though he is powerful to do much harm and suffers not as we do. But we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strong together. Take heart afresh… This battle is but begun, and in the end we shall win—“
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

Old Blood, Still Warm: On John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla

There are books I associate with a season so completely that reading them outside it feels almost indecent. October belongs to horror, to Gothic fiction. My Penguin Speculative Fiction Special containing John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla had been sitting on my shelves since I bought it at Fully Booked last year, and this seemed the proper month to take it down again. I have decided, rather arbitrarily but with conviction, that until November I shall read (and reread) horror: Poe, Lovecraft, Stoker, Anne Rice, Mary Shelley, Shirley Jackson, Adam Nevill, Stephen King. A month of bad houses, old graves, and people who should know better than to investigate noises after midnight.

I had read The Vampyre ages ago. Encountering Polidori again as an adult was strangely humbling because I still struggled with him. The prose has that Gothic-Romantic density in which a sentence sometimes seems to have wandered in from another century wearing a black coat and refusing to explain itself. More than once I had to recite passages aloud, slowly, simply to hear where the thought was going. Oddly, this made me enjoy the language more. I take pleasure in prose that resists being skimmed. Modern reading trains the eye to consume; Polidori occasionally forces the mouth to participate.

The story itself is skeletal by later standards. Aubrey, a wealthy young Englishman, becomes fascinated by the mysterious Lord Ruthven, an aristocrat whose cold presence brings ruin wherever he goes. They travel together until Aubrey, repelled by Ruthven, leaves him. In Greece, Aubrey falls in love with Ianthe, who tells him tales of vampires, and soon she is murdered. Ruthven later reappears, is apparently killed by bandits, and extracts an oath from Aubrey that his death will remain secret for a year and a day. Then Ruthven turns up alive in London and courts Aubrey’s sister. Bound by his promise and increasingly thought mad, Aubrey can do almost nothing. The machinery is crude in places, the characters thin, the ending brutally abrupt. Yet the idea has teeth.

What fascinates me now is the kind of vampire Polidori created. Ruthven is not a rotting peasant corpse crawling out of folkloric soil. He is an aristocrat. He enters drawing rooms. He possesses money, breeding, composure, sexual magnetism. Predation has learned manners. The vampire becomes social rather than merely supernatural. Ruthven feeds upon trust before he feeds upon blood. Evil has discovered that elegance is excellent camouflage.

Behind this small story stands one of literary history’s absurdly productive evenings. At Lake Geneva in 1816, Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Shelley, Claire Clairmont, and Byron’s young physician John Polidori entertained themselves with ghost stories during that famously dismal summer. Byron proposed that each attempt one. Mary’s nightmare grew into Frankenstein. Byron produced a vampire fragment. Polidori took the germ of that idea and made something of his own from it, creating Lord Ruthven, whose aristocratic menace was unmistakably “Byronic.” When The Vampyre appeared in 1819, it was initially tangled up with Byron’s name, an irony almost too perfect: the literary vampire was born partly from the glamour of a living celebrity who already seemed to society half damned.

Then there is Carmilla, altogether richer to me, and far more enduring as fiction. I have read it several times, most recently last year. I know its movements almost by heart: Laura’s isolated life in a Styrian castle, the strange carriage accident, the arrival of the languid Carmilla, their growing intimacy, Laura’s weakening health, the portrait of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and the recognition that the beloved guest and the ancient dead woman are the same creature. None of this can surprise me anymore. It does not need to.

That may be the clearest sign that a Gothic story has survived its own plot. Once the scare is gone, atmosphere remains. Le Fanu’s prose is more supple than Polidori’s, and Laura’s retrospective narration gives the story the texture of a memory that was never successfully buried. Carmilla loves Laura, or claims to, and the story refuses to make that love simple. Her tenderness has possession inside it. Her erotic language can sound devotional and then suddenly annihilating. Laura is repelled and attracted, frightened yet fascinated. Le Fanu understood that intimacy can be terrifying because it dissolves boundaries. To be loved completely can carry a fantasy of being consumed completely. Vampire fiction makes that metaphor embarrassingly literal.

Published twenty-five years before Dracula, Carmilla already contains much of the later vampire grammar, but its peculiar power belongs to its ambiguity. There is something sad about Carmilla that adaptations often descend into lesbian-vampire spectacle. She is monstrous, certainly, but she is also old, repetitive, trapped in appetite. Immortality has not enlarged her existence. She performs the same seduction, the same feeding, the same return to the grave. The vampire promises escape from death and delivers another kind of prison. Perhaps that is why old vampire fiction interests me more than stories in which immortality becomes a glamorous superpower. Eternal life ought to be psychologically expensive.

Le Fanu and Bram Stoker were among my introductions to this world when I was a teenager, back when I was a Goth and took the whole aesthetic with suitable seriousness: the literature, the music, the clothes, the delicious morbidity of it all. I can smile at that former version of me without disowning it. Taste changes, but some early fascinations sink deeper than taste. I still love old castles, doomed aristocrats, candlelit corridors, decaying families, impossible women returning from the dead, the Byronic anti-hero. Apparently some things survive adolescence.

Reading Polidori and Le Fanu together made me think about how much vampire fiction has changed while its central anxiety has remained stable. The vampire is death with personality. It speaks. It courts. It asks to be invited closer. Perhaps that is why I keep returning to these stories. Death in ordinary life is mute and impersonal. Gothic fiction gives it a face beautiful enough to look at, then makes the mistake of letting it smile.

Old Blood, Still Warm: On John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla

There are books I associate with a season so completely that reading them outside it feels almost indecent. October belongs to horror, to Gothic fiction. My Penguin Speculative Fiction Special containing John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla had been sitting on my shelves since I bought it at Fully Booked last year, and this seemed the proper month to take it down again. I have decided, rather arbitrarily but with conviction, that until November I shall read (and reread) horror: Poe, Lovecraft, Stoker, Anne Rice, Mary Shelley, Shirley Jackson, Adam Nevill, Stephen King. A month of bad houses, old graves, and people who should know better than to investigate noises after midnight.

I had read The Vampyre ages ago. Encountering Polidori again as an adult was strangely humbling because I still struggled with him. The prose has that Gothic-Romantic density in which a sentence sometimes seems to have wandered in from another century wearing a black coat and refusing to explain itself. More than once I had to recite passages aloud, slowly, simply to hear where the thought was going. Oddly, this made me enjoy the language more. I take pleasure in prose that resists being skimmed. Modern reading trains the eye to consume; Polidori occasionally forces the mouth to participate.

The story itself is skeletal by later standards. Aubrey, a wealthy young Englishman, becomes fascinated by the mysterious Lord Ruthven, an aristocrat whose cold presence brings ruin wherever he goes. They travel together until Aubrey, repelled by Ruthven, leaves him. In Greece, Aubrey falls in love with Ianthe, who tells him tales of vampires, and soon she is murdered. Ruthven later reappears, is apparently killed by bandits, and extracts an oath from Aubrey that his death will remain secret for a year and a day. Then Ruthven turns up alive in London and courts Aubrey’s sister. Bound by his promise and increasingly thought mad, Aubrey can do almost nothing. The machinery is crude in places, the characters thin, the ending brutally abrupt. Yet the idea has teeth.

What fascinates me now is the kind of vampire Polidori created. Ruthven is not a rotting peasant corpse crawling out of folkloric soil. He is an aristocrat. He enters drawing rooms. He possesses money, breeding, composure, sexual magnetism. Predation has learned manners. The vampire becomes social rather than merely supernatural. Ruthven feeds upon trust before he feeds upon blood. Evil has discovered that elegance is excellent camouflage.

Behind this small story stands one of literary history’s absurdly productive evenings. At Lake Geneva in 1816, Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Shelley, Claire Clairmont, and Byron’s young physician John Polidori entertained themselves with ghost stories during that famously dismal summer. Byron proposed that each attempt one. Mary’s nightmare grew into Frankenstein. Byron produced a vampire fragment. Polidori took the germ of that idea and made something of his own from it, creating Lord Ruthven, whose aristocratic menace was unmistakably “Byronic.” When The Vampyre appeared in 1819, it was initially tangled up with Byron’s name, an irony almost too perfect: the literary vampire was born partly from the glamour of a living celebrity who already seemed to society half damned.

Then there is Carmilla, altogether richer to me, and far more enduring as fiction. I have read it several times, most recently last year. I know its movements almost by heart: Laura’s isolated life in a Styrian castle, the strange carriage accident, the arrival of the languid Carmilla, their growing intimacy, Laura’s weakening health, the portrait of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and the recognition that the beloved guest and the ancient dead woman are the same creature. None of this can surprise me anymore. It does not need to.

That may be the clearest sign that a Gothic story has survived its own plot. Once the scare is gone, atmosphere remains. Le Fanu’s prose is more supple than Polidori’s, and Laura’s retrospective narration gives the story the texture of a memory that was never successfully buried. Carmilla loves Laura, or claims to, and the story refuses to make that love simple. Her tenderness has possession inside it. Her erotic language can sound devotional and then suddenly annihilating. Laura is repelled and attracted, frightened yet fascinated. Le Fanu understood that intimacy can be terrifying because it dissolves boundaries. To be loved completely can carry a fantasy of being consumed completely. Vampire fiction makes that metaphor embarrassingly literal.

Published twenty-five years before Dracula, Carmilla already contains much of the later vampire grammar, but its peculiar power belongs to its ambiguity. There is something sad about Carmilla that adaptations often descend into lesbian-vampire spectacle. She is monstrous, certainly, but she is also old, repetitive, trapped in appetite. Immortality has not enlarged her existence. She performs the same seduction, the same feeding, the same return to the grave. The vampire promises escape from death and delivers another kind of prison. Perhaps that is why old vampire fiction interests me more than stories in which immortality becomes a glamorous superpower. Eternal life ought to be psychologically expensive.

Le Fanu and Bram Stoker were among my introductions to this world when I was a teenager, back when I was a Goth and took the whole aesthetic with suitable seriousness: the literature, the music, the clothes, the delicious morbidity of it all. I can smile at that former version of me without disowning it. Taste changes, but some early fascinations sink deeper than taste. I still love old castles, doomed aristocrats, candlelit corridors, decaying families, impossible women returning from the dead, the Byronic anti-hero. Apparently some things survive adolescence.

Reading Polidori and Le Fanu together made me think about how much vampire fiction has changed while its central anxiety has remained stable. The vampire is death with personality. It speaks. It courts. It asks to be invited closer. Perhaps that is why I keep returning to these stories. Death in ordinary life is mute and impersonal. Gothic fiction gives it a face beautiful enough to look at, then makes the mistake of letting it smile.

Old Blood, Still Warm: On John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla

There are books I associate with a season so completely that reading them outside it feels almost indecent. October belongs to horror, to Gothic fiction. My Penguin Speculative Fiction Special containing John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla had been sitting on my shelves since I bought it at Fully Booked last year, and this seemed the proper month to take it down again. I have decided, rather arbitrarily but with conviction, that until November I shall read (and reread) horror: Poe, Lovecraft, Stoker, Anne Rice, Mary Shelley, Shirley Jackson, Adam Nevill, Stephen King. A month of bad houses, old graves, and people who should know better than to investigate noises after midnight.

I had read The Vampyre ages ago. Encountering Polidori again as an adult was strangely humbling because I still struggled with him. The prose has that Gothic-Romantic density in which a sentence sometimes seems to have wandered in from another century wearing a black coat and refusing to explain itself. More than once I had to recite passages aloud, slowly, simply to hear where the thought was going. Oddly, this made me enjoy the language more. I take pleasure in prose that resists being skimmed. Modern reading trains the eye to consume; Polidori occasionally forces the mouth to participate.

The story itself is skeletal by later standards. Aubrey, a wealthy young Englishman, becomes fascinated by the mysterious Lord Ruthven, an aristocrat whose cold presence brings ruin wherever he goes. They travel together until Aubrey, repelled by Ruthven, leaves him. In Greece, Aubrey falls in love with Ianthe, who tells him tales of vampires, and soon she is murdered. Ruthven later reappears, is apparently killed by bandits, and extracts an oath from Aubrey that his death will remain secret for a year and a day. Then Ruthven turns up alive in London and courts Aubrey’s sister. Bound by his promise and increasingly thought mad, Aubrey can do almost nothing. The machinery is crude in places, the characters thin, the ending brutally abrupt. Yet the idea has teeth.

What fascinates me now is the kind of vampire Polidori created. Ruthven is not a rotting peasant corpse crawling out of folkloric soil. He is an aristocrat. He enters drawing rooms. He possesses money, breeding, composure, sexual magnetism. Predation has learned manners. The vampire becomes social rather than merely supernatural. Ruthven feeds upon trust before he feeds upon blood. Evil has discovered that elegance is excellent camouflage.

Behind this small story stands one of literary history’s absurdly productive evenings. At Lake Geneva in 1816, Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Shelley, Claire Clairmont, and Byron’s young physician John Polidori entertained themselves with ghost stories during that famously dismal summer. Byron proposed that each attempt one. Mary’s nightmare grew into Frankenstein. Byron produced a vampire fragment. Polidori took the germ of that idea and made something of his own from it, creating Lord Ruthven, whose aristocratic menace was unmistakably “Byronic.” When The Vampyre appeared in 1819, it was initially tangled up with Byron’s name, an irony almost too perfect: the literary vampire was born partly from the glamour of a living celebrity who already seemed to society half damned.

Then there is Carmilla, altogether richer to me, and far more enduring as fiction. I have read it several times, most recently last year. I know its movements almost by heart: Laura’s isolated life in a Styrian castle, the strange carriage accident, the arrival of the languid Carmilla, their growing intimacy, Laura’s weakening health, the portrait of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and the recognition that the beloved guest and the ancient dead woman are the same creature. None of this can surprise me anymore. It does not need to.

That may be the clearest sign that a Gothic story has survived its own plot. Once the scare is gone, atmosphere remains. Le Fanu’s prose is more supple than Polidori’s, and Laura’s retrospective narration gives the story the texture of a memory that was never successfully buried. Carmilla loves Laura, or claims to, and the story refuses to make that love simple. Her tenderness has possession inside it. Her erotic language can sound devotional and then suddenly annihilating. Laura is repelled and attracted, frightened yet fascinated. Le Fanu understood that intimacy can be terrifying because it dissolves boundaries. To be loved completely can carry a fantasy of being consumed completely. Vampire fiction makes that metaphor embarrassingly literal.

Published twenty-five years before Dracula, Carmilla already contains much of the later vampire grammar, but its peculiar power belongs to its ambiguity. There is something sad about Carmilla that adaptations often descend into lesbian-vampire spectacle. She is monstrous, certainly, but she is also old, repetitive, trapped in appetite. Immortality has not enlarged her existence. She performs the same seduction, the same feeding, the same return to the grave. The vampire promises escape from death and delivers another kind of prison. Perhaps that is why old vampire fiction interests me more than stories in which immortality becomes a glamorous superpower. Eternal life ought to be psychologically expensive.

Le Fanu and Bram Stoker were among my introductions to this world when I was a teenager, back when I was a Goth and took the whole aesthetic with suitable seriousness: the literature, the music, the clothes, the delicious morbidity of it all. I can smile at that former version of me without disowning it. Taste changes, but some early fascinations sink deeper than taste. I still love old castles, doomed aristocrats, candlelit corridors, decaying families, impossible women returning from the dead, the Byronic anti-hero. Apparently some things survive adolescence.

Reading Polidori and Le Fanu together made me think about how much vampire fiction has changed while its central anxiety has remained stable. The vampire is death with personality. It speaks. It courts. It asks to be invited closer. Perhaps that is why I keep returning to these stories. Death in ordinary life is mute and impersonal. Gothic fiction gives it a face beautiful enough to look at, then makes the mistake of letting it smile.

Old Blood, Still Warm: On John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla

There are books I associate with a season so completely that reading them outside it feels almost indecent. October belongs to horror, to Gothic fiction. My Penguin Speculative Fiction Special containing John Polidori’s The Vampyre and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla had been sitting on my shelves since I bought it at Fully Booked last year, and this seemed the proper month to take it down again. I have decided, rather arbitrarily but with conviction, that until November I shall read (and reread) horror: Poe, Lovecraft, Stoker, Anne Rice, Mary Shelley, Shirley Jackson, Adam Nevill, Stephen King. A month of bad houses, old graves, and people who should know better than to investigate noises after midnight.

I had read The Vampyre ages ago. Encountering Polidori again as an adult was strangely humbling because I still struggled with him. The prose has that Gothic-Romantic density in which a sentence sometimes seems to have wandered in from another century wearing a black coat and refusing to explain itself. More than once I had to recite passages aloud, slowly, simply to hear where the thought was going. Oddly, this made me enjoy the language more. I take pleasure in prose that resists being skimmed. Modern reading trains the eye to consume; Polidori occasionally forces the mouth to participate.

The story itself is skeletal by later standards. Aubrey, a wealthy young Englishman, becomes fascinated by the mysterious Lord Ruthven, an aristocrat whose cold presence brings ruin wherever he goes. They travel together until Aubrey, repelled by Ruthven, leaves him. In Greece, Aubrey falls in love with Ianthe, who tells him tales of vampires, and soon she is murdered. Ruthven later reappears, is apparently killed by bandits, and extracts an oath from Aubrey that his death will remain secret for a year and a day. Then Ruthven turns up alive in London and courts Aubrey’s sister. Bound by his promise and increasingly thought mad, Aubrey can do almost nothing. The machinery is crude in places, the characters thin, the ending brutally abrupt. Yet the idea has teeth.

What fascinates me now is the kind of vampire Polidori created. Ruthven is not a rotting peasant corpse crawling out of folkloric soil. He is an aristocrat. He enters drawing rooms. He possesses money, breeding, composure, sexual magnetism. Predation has learned manners. The vampire becomes social rather than merely supernatural. Ruthven feeds upon trust before he feeds upon blood. Evil has discovered that elegance is excellent camouflage.

Behind this small story stands one of literary history’s absurdly productive evenings. At Lake Geneva in 1816, Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Shelley, Claire Clairmont, and Byron’s young physician John Polidori entertained themselves with ghost stories during that famously dismal summer. Byron proposed that each attempt one. Mary’s nightmare grew into Frankenstein. Byron produced a vampire fragment. Polidori took the germ of that idea and made something of his own from it, creating Lord Ruthven, whose aristocratic menace was unmistakably “Byronic.” When The Vampyre appeared in 1819, it was initially tangled up with Byron’s name, an irony almost too perfect: the literary vampire was born partly from the glamour of a living celebrity who already seemed to society half damned.

Then there is Carmilla, altogether richer to me, and far more enduring as fiction. I have read it several times, most recently last year. I know its movements almost by heart: Laura’s isolated life in a Styrian castle, the strange carriage accident, the arrival of the languid Carmilla, their growing intimacy, Laura’s weakening health, the portrait of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and the recognition that the beloved guest and the ancient dead woman are the same creature. None of this can surprise me anymore. It does not need to.

That may be the clearest sign that a Gothic story has survived its own plot. Once the scare is gone, atmosphere remains. Le Fanu’s prose is more supple than Polidori’s, and Laura’s retrospective narration gives the story the texture of a memory that was never successfully buried. Carmilla loves Laura, or claims to, and the story refuses to make that love simple. Her tenderness has possession inside it. Her erotic language can sound devotional and then suddenly annihilating. Laura is repelled and attracted, frightened yet fascinated. Le Fanu understood that intimacy can be terrifying because it dissolves boundaries. To be loved completely can carry a fantasy of being consumed completely. Vampire fiction makes that metaphor embarrassingly literal.

Published twenty-five years before Dracula, Carmilla already contains much of the later vampire grammar, but its peculiar power belongs to its ambiguity. There is something sad about Carmilla that adaptations often descend into lesbian-vampire spectacle. She is monstrous, certainly, but she is also old, repetitive, trapped in appetite. Immortality has not enlarged her existence. She performs the same seduction, the same feeding, the same return to the grave. The vampire promises escape from death and delivers another kind of prison. Perhaps that is why old vampire fiction interests me more than stories in which immortality becomes a glamorous superpower. Eternal life ought to be psychologically expensive.

Le Fanu and Bram Stoker were among my introductions to this world when I was a teenager, back when I was a Goth and took the whole aesthetic with suitable seriousness: the literature, the music, the clothes, the delicious morbidity of it all. I can smile at that former version of me without disowning it. Taste changes, but some early fascinations sink deeper than taste. I still love old castles, doomed aristocrats, candlelit corridors, decaying families, impossible women returning from the dead, the Byronic anti-hero. Apparently some things survive adolescence.

Reading Polidori and Le Fanu together made me think about how much vampire fiction has changed while its central anxiety has remained stable. The vampire is death with personality. It speaks. It courts. It asks to be invited closer. Perhaps that is why I keep returning to these stories. Death in ordinary life is mute and impersonal. Gothic fiction gives it a face beautiful enough to look at, then makes the mistake of letting it smile.

“…have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad and terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity of the good God?”
#DraculaDaily #Dracula #ReDracula #BramStoker

“…have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad and terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity of the good God?”
#DraculaDaily #Dracula #ReDracula #BramStoker

“…have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad and terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity of the good God?”
#DraculaDaily #Dracula #ReDracula #BramStoker

“…have no fear. We are trying to do our duty in a very sad and terrible case; we can only do as we deem best. What else have we to hope for, except the pity of the good God?”
#DraculaDaily #Dracula #ReDracula #BramStoker

What To Watch On YouTube Right Now – Part 154

Welcome back my readers, YouTube viewers and all others who followed this series of articles focused on YouTube videos worth watching.

Have you been searching for something fun or interesting to watch on YouTube? Do you feel bored right now and you crave for something to see on the world’s most popular online video destination?

I recommend you check out the following videos I found.

#1 Ashleigh Burton reacts to A View to a Kill – It has been over a year since Asheigh Burton made a Roger Moore-led James Bond movie reaction video. That said, she recently posted her reaction video of A View to a Kill and that film happens to be Moore’s final movie as Agent 007. In my honest opinion, Roger Moore was at his best as Bond in 1981’s For Your Eyes Only before everything went downhill with his last two 007 flicks. As such, I can say that Ashleigh Burton enjoyed A View to a Kill more than I did and her reaction video is fun to watch. Go watch her reaction video now!

https://youtu.be/L_S9L1BMURs?si=3Bu9pFgY4xLreEE5

#2 Sega Lord X examines Bram Stoker’s Dracula on Sega CD – When Bram Stoker’s Dracula (directed by Francis Ford Coppola) was released in cinemas worldwide in 1992, there was a lot of marketing for it and its presence through local media was felt. The same cannot be said about the official video game adaptations which was limited to video game-related publications. Among those video games was the Sega CD game of Bram Stoker’s Dracula which was somewhat ambitious in design connected with its use of full-motion video and digitized elements for the 2D side-scrolling gameplay. In his retrospective video, Sega Lord X offers viewers a close look at Bram Stoker’s Dracula on Sega CD which is engaging to watch.

https://youtu.be/IvIrJ4dCAZI?si=MDRCl3UE686KhP1a

#3 When Michael Jordan taught the Orlando Magic a big lesson – Remember back in 1995 when Michael Jordan came out of retirement to significantly boost the Chicago Bulls? The Bulls won 13 of the 17 remaining regular season games with Jordan and they reached as far as the Eastern Conference Semifinals against the 1st-seeded Orlando Magic. While the Bulls got stronger with their NBA legend, the fact was Michael Jordan was still far from recovering 100% of the basketball greatness he had in 1993 (the year he had a sudden retirement after winning another NBA championship and losing his beloved father). The series with the Orlando Magic has always been remembered for Nick Anderson’s remarks of “45 is not 23” which eventually led to a huge consequence later. This is about trash talk that compelled Jordan to react with action not only within the 1995 series against the Orlando Magic but also beyond it. Watch and learn from the video below.

https://youtu.be/PLjdszK87iY?si=tIc2WGVx0TOdaL14

#4 A look at Hong Kong – Have you ever visited Hong Kong? There is this YouTube video about the city and there are many real-life elements and locations that are unique to see. Back in the 1990s, Hong Kong was also known for its neon lights shown during nights and the city itself became the visual inspiration for the fictional New Port City in the Ghost in the Shell anime feature film of 1995. There is a lot to learn about Hong Kong in the video below.

https://youtu.be/FnPo0eTIRJQ?si=wSEtKYGm6NCd6dvu

#5 Nuclear Fusion in Japan – What is nuclear fusion? It is the reaction in which two or more light atomic nuclei combine to form a single heavier nucleus, releasing a massive amount of energy in the process. As of now, nuclear fusion is being developed in Japan and the Japanese are investing a massive amount of over three trillion Yen on it. With said investment, the government of Japan aims to achieve fusion power generation in the 2030s and capture 30% of the global market. Watch and learn from the Nippon TV video below.

https://youtu.be/KFO8DG0rzfc?si=cW9cRuJgzeHeSrb0

#6 You, Me and the Movies react to Hudson Hawk – If you enjoyed watching Bruce Willis in Die Hard films, do you enjoy watching him in action-comedy movies? Way back in 1991, Willis starred in Hudson Hawk which was an expensive action-comedy film that ended up as a huge critical and commercial failure in America. Even though it flopped big-time, it did not n necessarily destroy Willis’ career and the film somehow gained a cult following. There are also some film buffs online who admitted even enjoying it. Perhaps there is something within Hudson Hawk that was good and misunderstood. To learn more about the movie, watch the reaction video of You, Me and the Movies below.

https://youtu.be/3dX2JtqppeY?si=oM6XD4SFlOp0UVoc

#7 Totally Whatever reacts to Predator and Predator 2 – I enjoy watching the reaction videos posted by Totally Whatever. I took time to watch their reaction videos of 1987’s Predator (a true action classic which has Arnold Schwarzenegger and a memorable cast) and the 1990 sequel Predator 2 (which starred Danny Glover). Considering how different each movie was and how unique the presentations and characters were, the reaction videos to the Predator films are fun to watch. I encourage you watch the videos below.

https://youtu.be/hzhDSHGZ-_k?si=v9qrhTeoulxUKSPG

https://youtu.be/XgihD-5VNm4?si=Tk9noLZ6N5Ah6bNu

+++++

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“Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!” Suddenly he jumped to his feet. “Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same.”
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

“Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!” Suddenly he jumped to his feet. “Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same.”
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

“Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!” Suddenly he jumped to his feet. “Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same.”
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

“Oh, how we are beset! How are all the powers of the devils against us!” Suddenly he jumped to his feet. “Come,” he said, “come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same.”
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

Had no idea that my favorite Doctor, Peter Capaldi spent some time in a Ken Russell film, "Lair of the White Work" (based on the Bram Stoker story).

#LairOfTheWhiteWorm #KenRussell #PeterCapaldi #BramStoker

Had no idea that my favorite Doctor, Peter Capaldi spent some time in a Ken Russell film, "Lair of the White Work" (based on the Bram Stoker story).

#LairOfTheWhiteWorm #KenRussell #PeterCapaldi #BramStoker

Had no idea that my favorite Doctor, Peter Capaldi spent some time in a Ken Russell film, "Lair of the White Work" (based on the Bram Stoker story).

#LairOfTheWhiteWorm #KenRussell #PeterCapaldi #BramStoker

Had no idea that my favorite Doctor, Peter Capaldi spent some time in a Ken Russell film, "Lair of the White Work" (based on the Bram Stoker story).

#LairOfTheWhiteWorm #KenRussell #PeterCapaldi #BramStoker

He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two nights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror. It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two nights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror. It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two nights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror. It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

He seemed so confident that I, remembering my own confidence two nights before and with the baneful result, felt awe and vague terror. It must have been my weakness that made me hesitate to tell it to my friend, but I felt it all the more, like unshed tears.
#Dracula #DraculaDaily #ReDracula #BramStoker

We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God, we shall come through them all right.
#Dracula #BramStoker #ReDracula #DraculaDaily

We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God, we shall come through them all right.
#Dracula #BramStoker #ReDracula #DraculaDaily

We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God, we shall come through them all right.
#Dracula #BramStoker #ReDracula #DraculaDaily

We are hedged in with difficulties, all of us, my poor old fellow; but, please God, we shall come through them all right.
#Dracula #BramStoker #ReDracula #DraculaDaily

It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all.
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all.
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all.
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all.
#Dracula #BramStoker #DraculaDaily #ReDracula

Slow Horses' Gary Oldman opens up on his lifelong anxiety and why it disappeared 6 years ago

https://fed.brid.gy/r/https://www.mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-news/jackson-lamb-gary-oldman-horses-37596600

16.3.1. Estereótipo e representação cultural do Outro

https://gabinetedecuriosidadescom.wordpress.com/2026/08/23/entropa/

Podcast Episode: ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/podcast-episode-rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey/

Podcast Episode: ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/podcast-episode-rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey/

Podcast Episode: ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/podcast-episode-rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey/

Podcast Episode: ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/podcast-episode-rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey/

ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY JAMES LEBLANC, SR.)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey-james-leblanc-sr/

ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY JAMES LEBLANC, SR.)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey-james-leblanc-sr/

ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY JAMES LEBLANC, SR.)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey-james-leblanc-sr/

ROCK DEDICATION: He Never Died (Dedicated to JEFFREY JAMES LEBLANC, SR.)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/08/08/rock-dedication-he-never-died-dedicated-to-jeffrey-james-leblanc-sr/

We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom.
#Dracula #ReDracula #DraculaDaily #BramStoker

We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom.
#Dracula #ReDracula #DraculaDaily #BramStoker

We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom.
#Dracula #ReDracula #DraculaDaily #BramStoker

We seem to be drifting to some terrible doom.
#Dracula #ReDracula #DraculaDaily #BramStoker

🎞️ CINE 🎞️
Lo bueno de ver las películas a mi ritmo, es que me abstraigo de todo el ruido mediático de las redes y me centro en disfrutar con la mente abierta.
Visto el #Drácula de Luc Besson, y decir que ME HA ENCANTADO.
La comparación con la de Coppola es inevitable, y Besson (sabedor de su vigencia tres décadas después) no oculta su influencia en momentos puntuales, pero en vez de repetirla, opta por llevar la obra a su propio terreno, exacerbar el romanticismo y darle una visión mucho más “europea”.
Aquí las referencias son, sobre todo, los cuentos de hadas de su tierra natal, tanto en sus versiones literarias como en las filmadas: “Piel de asno”, “La bella y la bestia”, “El jorobado de Notre Dame” (tanto la original de Victor Hugo como, incluso, la versión Disney)… Pero también se permite acudir a obras foráneas como “El perfume” de Süskind y el cine fantástico-folclórico de la Europa del Este de los 60 (con el clásico de culto “Viy” de 1967 a la cabeza).
Si tiene sentido seguir adaptando la obra de Stoker tras cientos de versiones, es para aportar cosas nuevas, frescas, arriesgadas… y en eso nadie puede negar que Besson cumple con creces.
Sobra decir que el apartado visual es tan potente como cabría esperar, sin desmerecer tampoco al interpretativo.
9/10
.
#cine #movies #películas #dracula #vampiros #vampires #books #libros #france #french #bramstoker #literature

🎞️ CINE 🎞️
Lo bueno de ver las películas a mi ritmo, es que me abstraigo de todo el ruido mediático de las redes y me centro en disfrutar con la mente abierta.
Visto el #Drácula de Luc Besson, y decir que ME HA ENCANTADO.
La comparación con la de Coppola es inevitable, y Besson (sabedor de su vigencia tres décadas después) no oculta su influencia en momentos puntuales, pero en vez de repetirla, opta por llevar la obra a su propio terreno, exacerbar el romanticismo y darle una visión mucho más “europea”.
Aquí las referencias son, sobre todo, los cuentos de hadas de su tierra natal, tanto en sus versiones literarias como en las filmadas: “Piel de asno”, “La bella y la bestia”, “El jorobado de Notre Dame” (tanto la original de Victor Hugo como, incluso, la versión Disney)… Pero también se permite acudir a obras foráneas como “El perfume” de Süskind y el cine fantástico-folclórico de la Europa del Este de los 60 (con el clásico de culto “Viy” de 1967 a la cabeza).
Si tiene sentido seguir adaptando la obra de Stoker tras cientos de versiones, es para aportar cosas nuevas, frescas, arriesgadas… y en eso nadie puede negar que Besson cumple con creces.
Sobra decir que el apartado visual es tan potente como cabría esperar, sin desmerecer tampoco al interpretativo.
9/10
.
#cine #movies #películas #dracula #vampiros #vampires #books #libros #france #french #bramstoker #literature

🎞️ CINE 🎞️
Lo bueno de ver las películas a mi ritmo, es que me abstraigo de todo el ruido mediático de las redes y me centro en disfrutar con la mente abierta.
Visto el #Drácula de Luc Besson, y decir que ME HA ENCANTADO.
La comparación con la de Coppola es inevitable, y Besson (sabedor de su vigencia tres décadas después) no oculta su influencia en momentos puntuales, pero en vez de repetirla, opta por llevar la obra a su propio terreno, exacerbar el romanticismo y darle una visión mucho más “europea”.
Aquí las referencias son, sobre todo, los cuentos de hadas de su tierra natal, tanto en sus versiones literarias como en las filmadas: “Piel de asno”, “La bella y la bestia”, “El jorobado de Notre Dame” (tanto la original de Victor Hugo como, incluso, la versión Disney)… Pero también se permite acudir a obras foráneas como “El perfume” de Süskind y el cine fantástico-folclórico de la Europa del Este de los 60 (con el clásico de culto “Viy” de 1967 a la cabeza).
Si tiene sentido seguir adaptando la obra de Stoker tras cientos de versiones, es para aportar cosas nuevas, frescas, arriesgadas… y en eso nadie puede negar que Besson cumple con creces.
Sobra decir que el apartado visual es tan potente como cabría esperar, sin desmerecer tampoco al interpretativo.
9/10
.
#cine #movies #películas #dracula #vampiros #vampires #books #libros #france #french #bramstoker #literature

🎞️ CINE 🎞️
Lo bueno de ver las películas a mi ritmo, es que me abstraigo de todo el ruido mediático de las redes y me centro en disfrutar con la mente abierta.
Visto el #Drácula de Luc Besson, y decir que ME HA ENCANTADO.
La comparación con la de Coppola es inevitable, y Besson (sabedor de su vigencia tres décadas después) no oculta su influencia en momentos puntuales, pero en vez de repetirla, opta por llevar la obra a su propio terreno, exacerbar el romanticismo y darle una visión mucho más “europea”.
Aquí las referencias son, sobre todo, los cuentos de hadas de su tierra natal, tanto en sus versiones literarias como en las filmadas: “Piel de asno”, “La bella y la bestia”, “El jorobado de Notre Dame” (tanto la original de Victor Hugo como, incluso, la versión Disney)… Pero también se permite acudir a obras foráneas como “El perfume” de Süskind y el cine fantástico-folclórico de la Europa del Este de los 60 (con el clásico de culto “Viy” de 1967 a la cabeza).
Si tiene sentido seguir adaptando la obra de Stoker tras cientos de versiones, es para aportar cosas nuevas, frescas, arriesgadas… y en eso nadie puede negar que Besson cumple con creces.
Sobra decir que el apartado visual es tan potente como cabría esperar, sin desmerecer tampoco al interpretativo.
9/10
.
#cine #movies #películas #dracula #vampiros #vampires #books #libros #france #french #bramstoker #literature

MYTHOS MAYHEM: ‘Nyarlathotep’ by H.P. Lovecraft (Featuring ‘Nyarlathotep the Yellow King’)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/mythos-mayhem-nyarlathotep-by-h-p-lovecraft-featuring-nyarlathotep-the-yellow-king/

MYTHOS MAYHEM: ‘Nyarlathotep’ by H.P. Lovecraft (Featuring ‘Nyarlathotep the Yellow King’)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/mythos-mayhem-nyarlathotep-by-h-p-lovecraft-featuring-nyarlathotep-the-yellow-king/

MYTHOS MAYHEM: ‘Nyarlathotep’ by H.P. Lovecraft (Featuring ‘Nyarlathotep the Yellow King’)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/mythos-mayhem-nyarlathotep-by-h-p-lovecraft-featuring-nyarlathotep-the-yellow-king/

MYTHOS MAYHEM: ‘Nyarlathotep’ by H.P. Lovecraft (Featuring ‘Nyarlathotep the Yellow King’)

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/mythos-mayhem-nyarlathotep-by-h-p-lovecraft-featuring-nyarlathotep-the-yellow-king/

VAMPIRE HORROR: ‘The Strigae’ by Marcel Schwob

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/vampire-horror-the-strigae-by-marcel-schwob/

VAMPIRE HORROR: ‘The Strigae’ by Marcel Schwob

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/vampire-horror-the-strigae-by-marcel-schwob/

VAMPIRE HORROR: ‘The Strigae’ by Marcel Schwob

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/vampire-horror-the-strigae-by-marcel-schwob/

VAMPIRE HORROR: ‘The Strigae’ by Marcel Schwob

https://dwellerofthedark.com/2026/07/13/vampire-horror-the-strigae-by-marcel-schwob/