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In The Shadow of Dracula

           by
    Damian Stevenson




                           11/12/08 DRAFT
BLACK SCREEN

The grating SOUND of a knife flint dragged across a
whetstone comes over, like nails scraping chalk, as we

FADE IN:

On a close-up of a blade being sharpened. An ornate
Victorian hunting knife. Manicured HANDS clasping it.

The SOUND of CLATTERING HOOVES comes over.


EXT. LONDON STREETS - NIGHT

A herky-jerky POV atop a horse-drawn hansom thundering
down a crowded London thoroughfare, scattering
PICKPOCKETS, PROSTITUTES, PORTERS and THIEVES.

A cloaked FIGURE stands in the middle of the muddy road,
remaining stationary, oblivious to his imminent demise.

The CABMAN sees him and cries out.

                        CABMAN
           Hey-oh! Out of the way! Ho!

At the last possible moment, the figure deftly side-
steps, swinging his arm in an elegant, arcing motion.

A FLASH of steel. The sharpened flint finds flesh.

The horse stumbles, its neck slashed, bringing everything
to a violent, CRASHING HALT. The Cabman is thrown. His
cab topples over and skids spectacularly across the road.
A wheel goes flying, spins through the air whip-saw fast,
blurring past a frozen GREENGROCER. His neatly severed
head bounces down the filthy gutter. Someone SCREAMS.

The screeching, sparking heap comes to a rest in a flower
stand where the entangled horse bucks wildly, blood
spurting from its neck onto people’s faces and clothes.

An oncoming cab veers to avoid the debris and plows into
a restaurant. A terrific EXPLOSION of glass shards.

DINERS and elegantly-dressed WAITERS mowed down. Carnage.


ANGLE ON

The wreck still shuddering and splintering, surrounded by
flowers, like an impromptu funeral arrangement.
2.


The Cabman cuts loose his horse and SHOOTS it. He tries
to pry open the doors while CHILDREN attack his vehicle.

                        CABMAN
           Clear off! Thieves!

Their small grubby hands snap loose metal edgings and
knobs, seats and precious swatches of leather and cloth.

A MAN squeezes out of the shattered carriage, staggers
about, stupefied, trying to get his bearings, while
onlookers gawp at him like they just witnessed a miracle.

He is tall, good-looking, about thirty. He has blood
matted down the side of his face. He is holding a pistol.
His dazed eyes sweep the area, trying to locate the
shrouded figure. His eyes strain. Everything is spinning.

                                                 FADE OUT.

FADE IN:


EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS - DAY

A black Dodge taxicab trundles up a steep scrubby slope.

An OLD WOMAN sits in the back of the taxi, clad in a
black Victorian dress, her face obscured by a silk veil.

Slanting shafts of dusty sunlight stream into the cab.

SUPER: HOLLYWOOD, 1930

EXT. UNIVERSAL PICTURES - DAY

The taxi backfires as it departs, having dispensed the
Old Woman who shuffles to the Universal SECURITY GUARD.

                        OLD WOMAN
           Florence Stoker to see Mr. Carl Laemmle.

The Guard looks her up and down.


INT. EXECUTIVE BUILDING, FIRST FLOOR - DAY

A platinum-blonde RECEPTIONIST graces the art deco foyer.

                        FLORENCE
           Florence Stoker to see Mr. Carl Laemmle.
3.


INT. EXECUTIVE BUILDING, UPPER FLOOR - DAY

Florence is led along by a bespectacled male SECRETARY.

                       SECRETARY
          This way, please, Mrs. Stoker.

He ushers her down a hallway decked with framed stills
and posters from Universal’s horror hits of the 1920s
like ”Phantom of the Opera” and “The Cat and the Canary.”


INT. CARL LAEMMLE JR.’S OFFICE - DAY

Doors push open to reveal CARL LAEMMLE JR., 23, ensconced
behind his desk reading Variety, the cover of which says
“LITTLE CAESAR GUNS DOWN BOX OFFICE! MGM NO. 1 AGAIN!”

Disgruntled, obsessed, he doesn’t notice that his meeting
has arrived. His Secretary coughs, snapping him out of
it. Laemmle forces a smile, stands up to greet Florence.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          This is truly an honor. To think when I
          was a small boy growing up in Hoboken
          that I would one day meet the wife of...

                       FLORENCE
                 (cuts him off, exasperated)
          Just how many lapdogs does this jerk
          Laemmle have? Anyone would think I was
          meeting the President! Where is he?

Laemmle is speechless, his Secretary appalled.

                       SECRETARY
          Mrs. Stoker, this is Mr. Laemmle!

Florence squints her eyes at the baby-faced Laemmle.

                       FLORENCE
          You! How old are you?!

There suddenly comes a loud ruckus from outside, CLANGING
METAL with what sounds like a full ORCHESTRA tuning up.


EXT. UNIVERSAL BACKLOT - DAY

A big, bloated MGM-style musical is rehearsing on the
backlot with a swirl of frenetic activity surrounding it.

DANCING GIRLS kick, MAKE-UP CREWS flutter about and, sure
enough, a full orchestra provides musical accompaniment.
4.


PULLING BACK we realize we are watching from Laemmle and
Florence’s POV as they look down from Laemmle’s balcony.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Pretty amazing, huh?

                       FLORENCE
          Opening night at The Lyceum, that was
          amazing. But you wouldn’t know anything
          about that, seeing as how you’re twelve.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          The Lyceum Theatre in London, where your
          husband was codirector with Henry Irving
          during its heyday in the 1880s and 90s.
Florence is non plussed.

                       FLORENCE
          My compliments to your research
          department.

Laemmle pauses, studying the shrewd old bird. He smiles.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Tea, Mrs. Stoker?

He gestures to a tea-wagon laden with yummy refreshments.

                       FLORENCE
          I’d prefer something stronger.

Laemmle flips a switch, causing a bulky radio consul to
swivel around revealing a hidden wet bar. The device jams
with just half the bar exposed, forcing Laemmle to kneel
down and squeeze his hand in to reach a bottle of booze.
                       FLORENCE (CONT’D)
                 (peers outside)
          Might I ask what you’re photographing
          down there?

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
                 (straining to reach inside)
          Nothing. That’s actually a rehearsal for
          “King of Jazz.” No cameras rolling yet.

                       FLORENCE
          “King of Jazz?” Wasn’t your last picture
          “Broadway” also a musical? Perhaps I
          should be talking to Mr. Mayer over at
          MGM?

This hits a nerve.
5.


                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Things are going to be different around
          here now that my father has officially
          retired. I intend to restore Universal to
          her former position as the pre-eminent
          purveyor of terror and suspense.

He floods two highballs with gin, shovels in some ice.

                       FLORENCE
          Your father passed on my husband’s book
          in 1916.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          That was before sound! Before moving
          cameras.
                       FLORENCE
          He considered the story, and I quote,
          “too scary” for a movie audience.

Laemmle smiles slyly to himself, brings the drinks over.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          And, in what can only be described as an
          ironic twist of fate, it is for this very
          same reason that I would like to offer
          you forty thousand dollars to purchase
          the underlying rights to “Dracula.”
                 (hands her cocktail)
          Plus two and a half percent of the gross.

Florence looks at him.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR. (CONT’D)
          Well, Mrs. Stoker? What do you say? Do we
          have a deal?


INT. MOVIE THEATRE - NIGHT

PAN FROM a SIGN that says “TEST SCREENING IN PROGRESS” to
CARL LAEMMLE JR.’S FACE pressed up against the auditorium
door glass. He is with SUITS and KEY PERSONNEL from the
1931 movie of “Dracula” including director TODD BROWNING.

Piercing SHRIEKS rip forth from inside the auditorium.

CAPTION: PASADENA, ONE YEAR LATER

Doors EXPLODE open and two outraged MEN stampede out.

                         MOVIEGOER
          Disgusting!
6.


Laemmle and his Colleagues hug and high-five each other.


MONTAGE

A flurry of Variety headlines attests to the phenomenal
success of “Dracula.” News footage of MOVIEGOERS lined up
around the block. Shots of the “Dracula” CAST at events.
“Dracula” the play, the Broadway sensation. “Fang” Clubs.


END MONTAGE


INT. PROJECTION ROOM, UNIVERSAL - DAY
Laemmle is screening dailies from “King of Jazz,” looking
miserable, as ROBINSON, a young executive, enters and
gropes around in the dim light, sits down beside him.

                       ROBINSON
          You sent for me, Mr. Laemmle?

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Tell me, Robinson, what do you know about
          Bram Stoker?

                       ROBINSON
          The author of Dracula? Uh...

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Nothing. Just what I thought. Abraham
          “Bram” Stoker, 1847-1912, Irish theatre
          critic and author of “Dracula.” For
          twenty years, the manager of Sir Henry
          Irving. Have you heard of Henry Irving?
                       ROBINSON
          I confess I have not.

Laemmle looks at him sourly.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Remind me to review your resume. Irving
          was once the most famous actor in the
          world. Cagney, Muni and Jolson all rolled
          into one. You can’t imagine how big this
          guy was, on both sides of the Atlantic.

                       ROBINSON
          And Bram Stoker was his agent?
7.


                         CARL LAEMMLE JR.
            Whatever the Victorian equivalent was.
            So get this, Stoker dies 1912. April
            1912. Days after the Titanic sinks.

                         ROBINSON
            That’s rough.

                         CARL LAEMMLE JR.
            Suffice to say not much attention was
            paid to Stoker’s passing. I found one
            obit, squeezed in at the back of ‘The
            Times.’ Doesn’t even mention “Dracula.”

He hands Robinson a laminated, yellowing newspaper obit.
Above the boxed death notice there is a grainy image of
BRAM STOKER, HENRY IRVING and a third man, H.J. LOVEDAY.

The caption says “Bram Stoker with actor Sir Henry Irving
and H.J. Loveday, Co-Manager of the Lyceum under Stoker.”

                         CARL LAEMMLE JR. (CONT’D)
            I want you to listen to something.
                   (stands, goes to phonograph)
            This is an old wax cylinder recording of
            an unaired radio interview Stoker gave in
            1910. Research dug it up in CBS archives.

He puts the needle on the indented, rotating cylinder.


RECORDING

Scratchy static. HISSING. Then a VOICE. A British accent.
                         INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
            Our listeners are curious to know about
            the novel’s origins. Where did you get
            the idea for such a remarkable story?

The next VOICE we hear is rich and sonorous, a blend of
Irish and English. The VOICE of ABRAHAM “BRAM” STOKER.

                         STOKER’S VOICE
            It began when I saw the name ‘Dracul’ on
            an old Hungarian coin. ‘Dracul’ is
            derived from the word ‘draco’ in the
            Megleno-Romanian language, meaning
            ‘devil.’
8.


                       INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
          I’d like to ask you about your
          relationship with Henry Irving next if I
          may. There’s been much speculation about
          the circumstances surrounding his death.

                       STOKER’S VOICE
          It is a well known fact that Mr. Irving
          was suffering from...

                       INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
          A lung condition, yes, but what about the
          police inquest, the talk of foul play?

                       STOKER’S VOICE
          That was a long time ago, I consider the
          matter closed.

                       INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
          Do you miss him?

                       STOKER’S VOICE
          We were discussing ‘Dracula.’

                       INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
          Well, here’s a quote from it. Van Helsing
          speaking: “My life is a barren and lonely
          one, and so full of work that I have not
          had much time for friendships... and it
          has grown with my advancing years, the
          loneliness of my life.” Fair assessment
          of your life after Mr. Irving’s death?

Scratchy SILENCE.

                       STOKER’S VOICE
          This interview is over.

Laemmle lifts the needle, switches the machine off.

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Pretty interesting, huh?

                       ROBINSON
          How did Irving die? Was he murdered?

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          That’s what I want you to find out. In
          addition to answering the question of who
          Bram Stoker was. Speak to anyone that’s
          still alive that knew him. I don’t care
          where they are. I’ll fly you to London,
          Dublin. Hell, Transylvania if I have to.
9.


                       ROBINSON
          Are we planning a press release?

                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          Press release? The guy came up with the
          greatest spine-tingler in history,
          Robinson, don’t you think he deserves
          something more than a press release? If
          this pans out, I’m thinking maybe we do a
          a short feature on Stoker’s life and put
          it before our Halloween re-release of
          “Dracula.” A little added incentive to
          lure the public back for a second time.

                       ROBINSON
          Good idea.
                       CARL LAEMMLE JR.
          I know.
                 (hustling him out)
          Go home and pack, you’re booked on the
          next flight to Philadelphia.

                       ROBINSON
          What’s in Philadelphia?


INT. THE ROSENBACH MUSEUM - DAY

A fetching female ARCHIVIST leads Robinson through a maze
of shelves in the museum’s subterranean book depository.

                       ROBINSON
          How’d an Irishman like Bram Stoker get
          his family papers in a Philly museum?
                       ARCHIVIST
          Mr. Stoker made a substantial donation to
          the museum during The Lyceum’s American
          tour of 1888.

She stops before a locked gate and opens it to reveal a
temperature-controlled antechamber for storing documents.

                       ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)
          This is where we keep the Stoker family
          papers. His mother was a writer, you
          know, essays and Irish ghost stories.

                       ROBINSON
          I’m interested in a book Bram Stoker
          wrote in 1905, “Personal Reminiscences of
          Henry Irving.” It’s out of print.
10.


                       ARCHIVIST
          It was never really in print. Just a few
          copies circulated. Stoker’s plan was to
          sell the book privately, to people he
          knew, for a premium.

Robinson checks out her stockinged legs as she mounts a
step ladder to reach something on an upper shelf.

                       ARCHIVIST (O.S.) (CONT’D)
          You know, a sort of collector’s edition
          for Henry Irving fans. Didn’t pan out.

                       ROBINSON
          I thought Irving had a lot of fans. He
          was like Cagney, Muni, Jolson all in one.
                       ARCHIVIST (O.S.)
          They say by the time of the Lyceum’s
          third tour, Henry Irving’s signature was
          more recognizable than the President’s.

She steps down off the ladder with a metal box.

                       ROBINSON
          So why didn’t the book sell?

                       ARCHIVIST
                 (shrugs)
          Sic transit gloria mundi.

He looks at her blankly.

                       ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)
          It means... fame is fleeting.
She blows the dust off the container and opens it, finds
the tome Robinson needs and puts it on a desk before him.

                       ROBINSON
          Thank you. My name’s Robinson by the way.

He tries to get eye contact but she’s already gone.

He shrugs, looks at the book. The red-leather bind of the
cover is centered by a raised gold-leaf bust of Henry
Irving, shown in profile, with his prominent Roman nose.

Robinson pries open the book, turning to the front.

On the first page, we see the title in gilt lettering:

        “PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF HENRY IRVING”
                     by BRAM STOKER
11.


Robinson flips to the first chapter. We go close on the
page as he reads and we HEAR STOKER’S VOICE come over.

                       STOKER (V.O.)
          Irving and I were alone together one hot
          afternoon in August 1887, crossing in the
          steamer from Southsea to the Isle of
          Wight, and were talking of that phase of
          stage art which deals with the conception
          and development of character.


EXT. ISLE OF WIGHT STEAMER - NIGHT

Rain clouds scuttle across the moon, casting a fleeting
diorama of light and shade over the tumultuous sea.
BRAM STOKER, 42, and HENRY IRVING, 51, are strolling on
deck. We recognize Stoker as the dazed, pistol-toting
gentleman who stumbled from the stagecoach wreckage.

Irving is tall, dark and brooding, with intense, coal-
black eyes and a mane of sweeping, Byronic black hair.

                       STOKER (V.O.)
          In the course of our conversation, whilst
          he was explaining to me the absolute
          necessity of an actor’s understanding the
          prime qualities of character in order
          that he may make it throughout
          consistent, he said these words:

                       HENRY IRVING
          If you do not pass a character through
          your own mind it can never be sincere!
                       STOKER (V.O.)
          I was struck with the phrase, coming as
          it did as the crown of an argument -- the
          explanation of a great artist’s method of
          working out a conceived idea. Lest I
          should forget the exact words I wrote
          them then and there in my pocket-book,
          whence I entered them later in my diary.

Stoker transcribes Irving’s maxim and mulls its meaning.

                       STOKER (V.O.) (CONT’D)
          But I must start at the beginning. Nine
          years earlier. December 13th, 1878. The
          day the world’s greatest thespian invited
          an unsalaried theatre critic to have a
          drink with him at the Shelbourne Hotel.
12.


INT. DUBLIN THEATRE ROYAL - DAY

A spellbound Stoker watches Irving electrify Dublin with
his radical “Hamlet,” portraying the prince as a man
demonically possessed with the spirit of his dead father.

                       HENRY IRVING
          ‘Tis now the very witching time of night,
          When churchyards yawn, and all hell
          itself breathes out contagion to this
          world. Now I could drink hot blood,
          And do such bitter business as the day
          would quake to look on.

Assorted SHRIEKS. A WOMAN in the front row faints.

INT. SHELBOURNE HOTEL - DAY

Stoker is at the bar, anxiously eyeing his pocket-watch.

                       BARMAN
          Do you know what day it is?

                       STOKER
          I beg your pardon?

                       BARMAN
          It is the eve of St. George's. Tonight,
          when the sun sets, all evil things in the
          world have full sway.

A bell TINKLES. Stoker turns to see that a grand black
caleche with six black horses has pulled up outside.

EXT. SHELBOURNE HOTEL - DAY

The DRIVER hands Stoker an envelope sealed with wax
bearing the initials ‘H.I.’ Stoker snaps it open and
looks at it. We HEAR Henry Irving’s VOICE as he reads.

                       HENRY IRVING (V.O.)
          Friend: please excuse the hugger muggery
          but I’m unable to make it into town
          tonight and ask you to come join us here
          at ‘Camp Irving,’ our home on the road,
          instead. My Driver will bring you here.

Stoker feels a slight chill run down his spine. A fleece-
lined cloak is suddenly thrown over his shoulders by the
Driver who speaks with a thick Eastern European accent.
13.


                       DRIVER
          Good evening, mein Herr. There’s a flask
          of plum brandy under the seat, if you
          should require it. Mr. Irving recently
          brought a case back from Hungary.

Before Stoker can protest he has been ushered aboard.

He jerks his head out and is about to holler to the
Driver when there is a loud THWACK of leather against
horse flesh and the coach lurches off into the night.


INT. CALECHE - MOVING - DAY

The Driver looks back at Stoker with a ghoulish grin,
cracking his whip as they thunder out of the city.

                       DRIVER
          We must reach our destination before
          sundown! It is the eve of St. George!

A large gray bat flaps its wings above the horses and
appears to be guiding the carriage as it hurtles along.

Stoker looks out uneasily at the city’s outskirts
flashing past.

The sun is setting under a dramatic blood-red sky
streaked with lurid swirls of purple and vermilion.


EXT. CASTLE - EVENING

The caleche pulls up in the courtyard of a vast ruined
castle with broken battlements showing a jagged line
against the sky. Stoker alights. The coach clatters off.

                       STOKER
          I say! Hello!

He sees a faint glow of light emanating from the castle.


EXT. CASTLE ENTRANCE - NIGHT

The doors mysteriously creak open, revealing a sprawling
campsite of STAGEHANDS, ACTORS and MUSICIANS feasting on
“robber-steaks” -- twists of bloody scraps of meat.

A striking dark-skinned WOMAN dressed as a belly dancer
smiles beguilingly at Stoker from under a broken archway.
14.


                       MIDDLE EASTERN WOMAN
          Good evening.

Stoker flits his eyes over her amazing form.

                       STOKER
          Good evening.

                       MIDDLE EASTERN WOMAN
          Enter at your own will.

Stoker continues on, stumbling over a loose stone in the
floor. Sensing a presence, he looks up to see a gaunt,
dark figure at the top of a crumbling stone staircase.

HENRY IRVING
descends toward him, dressed impeccably in a tuxedo with
his hair slicked back, holding a lamp that throws long
quivering shadows flickering in the dilapidated hall.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Welcome to my home away from home!

He presses his hands into Stoker’s. He is incredibly
charismatic, electric even. Stoker is flustered.

                       STOKER
          This is the greatest moment of my life.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Dear friend! I owe you a debt of eternal
          gratitude. Because of your kind words
          over the years, Dublin has warmed to me
          and she now lies prostate at my feet.
                       STOKER
          I merely record what I see: genius.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Egadz! If I had a Stoker in America!

An insistent COUGH suddenly intrudes. Stoker notices a
short, weasly MAN behind Irving. He is H.J. LOVEDAY, 36.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Mr. Stoker, may I present Mr. H.J.
          Loveday, Co-Manager of The Lyceum.
          Mr. Loveday, meet Mr. Bram Stoker, Dublin
          theatre critic extraordinnaire.
15.


                       STOKER
          A pleasure, sir. I was in London last
          summer and saw “The Bells,” a first-rate
          production if I may say so.

                       LOVEDAY
          You’re paid to write reviews?

                       STOKER
          Well, it is not a salaried position as
          yet but I hope to convince my editor...

                       HENRY IRVING
          Now, now, H.J., Mr. Stoker has been a
          tremendous help to us here in Dublin and
          we must show him our gratitude! Ahem!
Loveday begrudgingly shakes Stoker’s hand.


INT. LUXURY TENT - NIGHT

A minor platoon of elegantly dressed SERVANTS cater to
the every whim of Irving, Stoker and Loveday, filling
crystal wine goblets and serving heaps of dressed crab.

                       HENRY IRVING
          You will I trust excuse that I do not
          join you but I have already dined and I
          never drink... wine. Tell me what you
          thought of tonight’s effort. How was I?

                       STOKER
          You brought a psychological dimension to
          the character. An inner voice that made
          the audience think as well as feel.
                       HENRY IRVING
          How very astute of you to grasp that.

                       LOVEDAY
          Psycho-what? What is he babbling about?

                       HENRY IRVING
          I infer from this, Stoker, that you’re
          not an adherent of the Diderot school?

                       STOKER
          Well, I’d hardly call the rantings of an
          obscure French actor a ‘school.’

Irving explodes with laughter.
16.


                       HENRY IRVING
          Oh, I don’t mean to seem so starved for
          attention but you know we actors are
          treated like dogs. Less than dogs. No
          respect. It is my life goal to bring
          honor and dignity to the profession.
          I want acting to be as respected as
          medicine, the law, or the church!

                       STOKER
          I am told that there is not in the United
          States the same violent opposition to the
          choice of the stage as a profession that
          holds more or less in all Europe.

Irving POUNDS the table with his fist.
                       HENRY IRVING
          You see, Mr. Loveday, this is the man I
          have been searching for!

Loveday dabs his mouth with a napkin.

                       LOVEDAY
          I think I’ll leave you two to it.

An attendant pulls his chair back and Loveday skedaddles.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Tell me about yourself, Stoker. Not your
          life story. Just tell me what you want.

                         STOKER
          What I want?

                       HENRY IRVING
          You’re thirty years old. You work as a
          civil servant during the day and write
          theatre reviews for The Express at night.
          Is this where you saw yourself ending up?
          Surely there must be some secret dream.

                       STOKER
                 (after a beat)
          I write. Short stories. Novels. I hope to
          one day pen something lasting, something
          permanent.

                       HENRY IRVING
          So we both want the same thing you and I:
          Immortality!

                       STOKER
          Immortality through art.
17.


                       HENRY IRVING
          The only kind possible!

A quiet moment, the two of them staring at each other.

Irving smiles as he gestures to an ornate glass fountain
residing on the table.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Let us visit the Green Fairy.

He looks at Stoker. Testing him. Does he know what to do?

Stoker carefully positions sugar cubes over two goblets
and then slowly filters absinthe through them, twisting
spigots on the fountain to add just the right amount
(about a jigger) of chilled water to the concentrate.

The absinthe clouds up, its color slowly transforming
from deep emerald into an opalescent light green.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Well poured!
                 (raises glass)
          To new friends!

                       STOKER
                 (toasting)
          Thank you!

They drink. It’s getting late. Servants ignite a fire pit
for warmth, chasing the shadows away.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Tell me about your family, Stoker. What
          does your father do?
                       STOKER
          Retired civil servant. Worked at Dublin
          Castle for fifty years. Wants me to
          follow in his path to mediocrity.

                       HENRY IRVING
          I’d say you’re already on your way!
          Allow me to be blunt. I want you to come
          work for me. I need a man like you:
          cultivated, organized and ambitious.

                       STOKER
          In what capacity?

                       HENRY IRVING
          Run the front house and manage the next
          phase of my career: conquering America.
18.


Stoker, stunned, tries to act cool.

                       STOKER
          What does Mr. Loveday do?

                       HENRY IRVING
          Mostly administrative duties. He is a
          bright young man but does not possess
          your acumen. Have you visited the States?

                        STOKER
          I have not.

                       HENRY IRVING
          A most arduous journey. What’s wrong? You
          have a sudden look of consternation.
                       STOKER
          I don’t think I’m qualified for the
          immense responsibility of managing Mr.
          Henry Irving’s career. I love the theatre
          but have no practical knowledge of how to
          run a business.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Of course you do. You’ve worked as a
          civil servant for seven years. Running a
          theatre has to be easier than managing a
          county in Ireland.

                       STOKER
          But the differences...

                       HENRY IRVING
          Are slight. You will have a staff of
          forty-eight and my expertise to guide
          you. You’re not married I hope?

                        STOKER
          No.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Good. I didn’t think so. Men marry when
          they are tired and you seem anything but.
          I was married once... Ages ago, it seems.
          She died.

                        STOKER
          I’m sorry.

                       HENRY IRVING
          She was fortunate. Life is such a
          mystery. So what do you say? Game?
19.


                       STOKER
          This would mean leaving Ireland.

                       HENRY IRVING
          For the world! To go through the crowded
          streets of the metropolis, to be in the
          midst of the whirl and rush of humanity,
          to share its life, its changes, its
          death!

He fills their goblets to the rim.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          I’ll even make you Co-Director, with your
          name alongside mine, above the playbill.
                 (a whisper)
          Mr. Irving and Mr. Stoker Present...

Stoker loosens his collar, feeling the effects of the
drink. Thirsty, he downs a carafe of water. He looks at
the fire. Bursts of red and green light strobe at him.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Think it over. In the meantime, I would
          like to present you with a special gift.
          A private recitation of ‘Eugene Aram.’


LATER

Stoker is slumped back in his chair, hypnotized by
Irving’s hallucinatory poetry-reading/performance art.

Everything is nightmarishly distorted by the absinthe.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
          And one with a heavy stone,
          One hurried gash with a hasty knife, --
          And then the deed was done:
          There was nothing lying at my foot
          But lifeless flesh and bone!

Frenzied, he acts out the battering of the old man.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
          That could not do me ill;
          And yet I feared him all the more,
          For lying there so still:
          There was a manhood in his look,
          That murder could not kill.
20.


Stoker feels a hand on him, turns to see the sultry
Middle Eastern women kneeling by him with a smoldering
opium pipe. She leans in, purses her ruby lips and gently
blows a thin plume of whitish smoke into his mouth.


EXT. CAMPSITE, CASTLE GROUNDS - NIGHT

Stoker comes to by the fire pit.

The dark beauty is with a FAIR-HAIRED DAMSEL and a RED-
HEAD. She shakes her head coquettishly. The others urge
her on. They all three laugh, a silvery, musical laugh.

The dark woman moves to Stoker, reaching behind her back
to unclasp her silk bra. The bra tumbles to the ground.
She kneels before Stoker and kisses his mouth, moving
down to his neck. She locks her lips onto his throat.

Stoker gasps. A beat, then...

...she slides down him, biting his flesh, as the blonde
gets behind her and cups her breasts and the red-head
moves to Stoker on all fours, like a cat to its prey.

A bat flitters by overhead, twisting and whirling.

The fire pit flares up and for a brief moment we catch a
glimpse of Henry Irving watching from the shadows.

We HEAR the SOUND of FLORENCE’S VOICE come over.

                       FLORENCE (V.O.)
          It’s too dark. I can’t see!

INT. LONDON FLAT - NIGHT

CLOSE ON A GAS-LAMP

A small female hand turns the wick up, only for a much
larger hand to clasp onto it and turn the light down.

                       FLORENCE (O.S.)
          What are you... I can’t...

They’re giddy, laughing. We HEAR bags drop to the ground.

                       STOKER (O.S.)
          Close your eyes. Okay. Stop.
21.


EXT. LONDON FLAT - BALCONY - NIGHT

Stoker is behind a young and beautiful, just-married
Florence. She’s 19, tall at five feet eight, with a
patrician profile, gray-blue eyes, and long blonde hair.

                         STOKER
            All right. Open your eyes.

She opens them and reacts in amazement to what she sees.

                         FLORENCE
            My god. The light!

NEW ANGLE
We now see the view, a stunning vista of the Thames
embankment illuminated by rows of blazing street lamps.

                         FLORENCE (CONT’D)
            I’ve never seen such brilliance. It’s
            heavenly!

                         STOKER
            The gaslight era is over. Behold the
            modern age of electricity.

A long, leisurely panning and gliding shot from right to
left across the inspiring skyline of the metropolis.

                         FLORENCE
            St. Paul’s Cathedral, Chelsea Bridge... I
            can even see Buckingham Palace!

                         STOKER
            I think that’s the Tower of London.
                         FLORENCE
            Look at the river! All the barges. Oh...

She is prevented from leaning any further by her bulky
wedding dress.

                         STOKER
            Take it off. You’d see better.

                         FLORENCE
            Oh, would I now?

                         STOKER
            Well, the view would certainly improve
            for me, Mrs. Stoker.

She smiles slyly, moves toward him, unbuttoning...
22.


                       FLORENCE
          I suppose I did just take an oath to
          love, honor and obey you.

We leave them to it, pulling up and away, to a somewhat
eerie SUBJECTIVE BIRD’S EYE VIEW on them.

The unsettling POV starts moving, twisting and whirling.


INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT

Stoker and Florence are in a hansom rumbling through
London’s arteries, both of them dressed to the nines.

Stoker looks resplendent in a tuxedo and patterned
Hellfire vest, under a frock coat, with top hat and cane.

Florence is in a restrictive gown which is heavily
ornamented with frills, pleats, ruffles and fringing.

                       FLORENCE
          I should have worn the red dress.

                       STOKER
          You look beautiful, every woman will be
          mad with jealousy.

                       FLORENCE
          I feel like a piece of upholstery.

The hansom veers sharply around a tight corner.

                       STOKER
          I say! Steady on my man!
The DRIVER ignores him, raises his whip and CRACKS it.

                       FLORENCE
          There’s not going to be a single
          Irishwoman there, I know it. And me with
          my thick brogue. They’ll think I’m a
          washerwoman... or worse.

The coach enters the bustling theatre district which is
pulsating with life and thrilling to behold. Bars,
emporiums, coffee houses -- the heart of the city, with
every possible kind of entertainment and restaurant.

                       FLORENCE (CONT’D)
          At least it’s not raining.

As if on cue, THUNDER claps overhead.
23.


EXT. LYCEUM THEATRE - NIGHT

LIGHTNING shatters, dramatically revealing the Lyceum
Theatre with its monumental Grecian facade and towering
Corinthian columns topped with flaming marble torches.

A small notice tacked to the shuttered portico says
“CLOSED FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION.”

Stoker and Florence rush to the stage door which suddenly
opens revealing the wickedly vivacious ELLEN TERRY, 31.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          There you are! Mr. Stoker, I presume?
          Ellen Terry. Your new employee. Sorry
          about the weather, you’ll have to get
          used to it. City needs a glass dome.

Stoker is star-struck. Terry is the most famous actress
in the country, stunningly beautiful, whip-smart and the
second highest paid woman in England after the Queen.

                       STOKER
          A great honor. Your Ophelia last year was
          sublime. As moving as your Rosalynd the
          year before that and your Imogen in ‘74.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          Forget those girls, who’s this beauty?

She is staring agog at Florence.

                       STOKER
          May I present my wife, Florence.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          Have you acted in London before?

                       FLORENCE
          I’m not an actress.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          Well that’s a relief! Come on!
                 (grabs her arm)
          Let’s get you in from this rain.


INT. BACKSTAGE, LYCEUM - NIGHT

Ellen leads the Stokers past CATERERS and STAFF fretting
over last minute party details, rapidly shining silver
cutlery, preparing platters with decorative garnish.
24.


They pass a small wood-panelled dining area, THE
BEEFSTEAK ROOM, where WORKERS are polishing a chandelier.

                       FLORENCE
          What goes on in here?

She peers inside. Someone snaps the door curtain shut.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          Men only, I’m afraid.

She flags down a dapper zooming page-boy named SHRIMP.

                       ELLEN TERRY (CONT’D)
          Shrimp, run ahead and alert Miss Carr
          that Mr. Stoker has arrived.
                       SHRIMP
                 (tips cap)
          Pleasure, madame.

He speeds off, his eyes lingering a moment on Florence.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          I’ll give you the quick tour.

Shrimp and CRONIES wolf-whistle at Florence as she glides
by. Florence cringes. Stoker chuckles, proud as punch.

                       ELLEN TERRY (CONT’D)
          You’re going to have to hide your wife
          behind a veil, Mr. Stoker, if we’re to
          get any work done around here.

Stoker looks around. Sure enough, ever male backstage is
captivated by Florence; STAGEHANDS, CARPENTERS, LIMELIGHT
MEN et al, all of them tipping caps and smiling her way.


INT. REHEARSAL ROOM - NIGHT

Irving is testing new f/x gear with Loveday and
TECHNICIANS, trying out new lightboards from Germany.

Classical music BOOMS forth from a phonograph cylinder,
the 5th Movement of Berlioz’s “Symphonie Fantastique.”

Shrimp enters and approaches a young woman standing to
the side of the stage taking notes. Her name is MISS
CARR, 20, Irving’s private secretary and sketch artist.

Miss Carr wears a constrained grey ‘governess’ gown and
her little round face is plastered with white foundation.
25.


                       MISS CARR
                 (without looking up)
          What do you want, Shrimp?

                       SHRIMP
          Excuse me, Miss Carr. Mr. and Mrs. Bram
          Stoker to see Mr. Irving.

Hearing this, Irving jerks his head around angrily to see
Stoker come bounding over. He scowls, kills the MUSIC.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Did you get my telegram? I wanted you
          hear on the twelfth. This is the
          thirteenth. And who pray tell is this?
                       STOKER
          My wife, Florence.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Wife! A word in private, Mr. Stoker.

He marches off. Stoker looks at Florence who realizes he
has no choice but to leave her there and follow Irving.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          Come on, let’s go show you off to
          everyone. I love your hair, so soft and
          thick. How do you get it like that?

                       FLORENCE
          Uh... egg whites and dandelion leaves.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          How wonderful!

INT. IRVING’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Irving is lambasting Stoker, pacing about, apoplectic.

                       HENRY IRVING
          In less than nine months you’ll be a
          father!

                       STOKER
          Florence is not pregnant.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Oh. Now I understand. This was a romantic
          gesture! You did this for love! Egadz, is
          every Irishman as thick-headed as you?
26.


                       STOKER
          I don’t understand.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Marriage robs a man of ambition!

                       STOKER
          Not with me. Speaking as an employer, I
          always found married subordinates to be
          more productive than bachelors.

                       HENRY IRVING
          That might be how it works on the potato
          farm but the theatre business is a young
          man’s game. A young, single man’s game.
Stoker spies a bible on a nearby shelf, scoops it up.

                       STOKER
          I swear, on the Book, that I will devote
          my life to you, morning, noon and night.

Irving looks him up and down, deciding.

                       HENRY IRVING
          She’s very beautiful, Stoker. Beautiful
          women require constant attention.


EXT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Loveday hears muffled voices, cocks an ear to the door.


INT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
                       HENRY IRVING
          I suppose her charms might bring in some
          business. Go! Go to her! Enjoy the
          festivities. Work a full week and if, by
          the end of Friday, you still mean it,
          then I will accept your oath of loyalty.


EXT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Loveday sees the door handle turn and quickly skulks off.


INT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Stoker leaves. Irving opens the bible and removes a small
glass vial of liquid from a secret cavity within. He
pulls out the stopper and imbibes the vial’s contents.
27.


A thin rivulet of red liquid seeps from his mouth and
trickles down his chin. He finds a napkin, dabs it.


INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT

MUSIC fills the air as we move across the crowded foyer,
finding Florence talking with Ellen and the very
attractive ROSE LOVEDAY, 22, and other TROPHY WIVES.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          Mrs. Bram Stoker may I present Mrs.
          Harold Loveday.

                       ROSE
          Call me Rose. So it’s true, you are
          beautiful.

                       FLORENCE
          Thank you. So are you. I love your dress.
          So light and unadorned. May I?

She brushes her hand over the delicate brocade.

                       ROSE
          It’s tight-fitting like the cuirasse but
          without a waist seam and the bodice and
          skirt are cut into one. So it’s much
          easier to move around in.

                       FLORENCE
          How did you make it?

Rose and Ellen lock eyes and share a little laugh.

                       ROSE
          Made it! How adorable. Don’t worry, we’ll
          take you to the emporiums tomorrow.

                       ELLEN TERRY
          A little tour of pleasures. Your life of
          leisure awaits!

Irving appears, kisses Rose and Ellen, turns to Florence.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Mrs. Stoker, I must apologize for my
          brutish behavior earlier. You see, you
          caught me working and I often forget
          myself when absorbed in stagecraft.

Without breaking eye contact, he puts her little hand in
his and kisses it.
28.


                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          As an imperfect mortal to a goddess, I
          humbly beg your forgiveness.

Florence finds herself overpowered by Irving’s magnetism.


INT. LYCEUM - LATER

Stoker is talking to Loveday, looking over at the
ravishing vision that is the COMTESSE DE GUERBEL, a raven-
haired aristocrat in her 20s, exquisitely begowned and
bejeweled. She is surrounded by three tongue-tied MEN.

                         STOKER
          Who is that?
                       LOVEDAY
          The Comtesse De Guerbel. Do you know her?
          She’s staring right at you.

Stoker is captivated. The Comtesse is truly stunning.

                       LOVEDAY (CONT’D)
          Good luck. I hear she’s a tigress who
          collects married men like souvenirs.

He scoots off in a huff just as the Comtesse appears.

                       COMTESSE
          Mr. Stoker? The Comtesse de Guerbell.

                         STOKER
          An honor.

He takes her gloved hand and kisses it.
                       STOKER (CONT’D)
          Is there a Count de Guerbell?

                       COMTESSE
          There was. I’m recently widowed.

                       STOKER
          My condolences.

                       COMTESSE
          Well... not that recently.

She looks right at him. A pregnant silence. Broken by:
29.


                       COMTESSE (CONT’D)
          Everyone’s talking about your stunning
          wife. I thought I’d come meet the man who
          won her heart.

Stoker doesn’t realize it but directly overhead sits...


INT. PRIVATE BOX - CONTINUOUS

Irving and Florence. Irving appears quite taken by her.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Thank you for allowing me to bring you up
          here. I wanted a chance for us to talk.
She pulls her hair back, revealing a dangling crucifix.

                       FLORENCE
          I’ve never seen a theatre as big as this.

                       HENRY IRVING
          It is my sanctuary and cathedral.

                       FLORENCE
          There must be a thousand seats!

He reaches for a ringlet of her hair and strokes it,
causing her to instantly flinch and tense up.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Relax. I’m not going to bite you.


INT. LYCEUM BALCONY - LATER
The Comtesse laughs at something Stoker just said.

                       COMTESSE
          Perhaps we can finish this conversation
          another time? At my townhouse, perhaps.

She looks at him, a shadow of enticement in her sparkling
blue eyes. Before Stoker can answer...

Loveday suddenly appears, practically butts in.

                       LOVEDAY
          Grab your coat and hat, Irving wants to
          see us all at his place. Immediately.

Stoker turns to the Comtesse but Loveday is insistent.
30.


                       LOVEDAY (CONT’D)
          Sorry. No time for good-byes.

He practically drags Stoker off. We HOLD on the Comtesse.


INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT

Florence is looking for Stoker.

                       FLORENCE
          Have you seen Bram?

                       ELLEN TERRY
          Irving called a meeting.
                       FLORENCE
          At this hour?

                       ELLEN TERRY
          You’ll get used to it.


INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT

Stoker, Loveday and Miss Carr in a rumbling hansom.


EXT. IRVING’S HOUSE - NIGHT

An old church converted into a plush private compound,
complete with iron bars on the stained-glass windows.

Stoker rings the bell while Loveday and Miss Carr look
on. A voice cries out from beyond the gate.
                       VOICE (O.S.)
          I’m coming! I’m coming! No need to make a
          noise to wake the dead!

A faint lantern light grows larger, revealing Irving’s
housekeeper MRS. POOLE, a stout Hungarian woman in her
fifties. She is with FANG, a hulking jet-black mastiff.

The leashed animal growls at Stoker, baring its fangs.

                       MRS. POOLE
          Down boy!
                 (opens gate)
          Well don’t just stand there!
31.


INT. IRVING’S HOUSE - NIGHT

A sparsely furnished room with a big fireplace blazing.

Irving is quaffing brandy and conversing with a skinny,
bookish Scotsman in a suit: ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, 27.

Stoker, Loveday and Carr are shown in. Fang trots across
the marble-tiled floor and settles down at Irving’s feet.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Thank you, Mrs. Poole.

She leaves.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Gentlemen, Miss Carr, may I present my
          favorite new dramatist, Mr. Arthur Doyle.

Stoker excitedly proffers his hand.

                       STOKER
          I’ve read your work in ‘Black Mask’
          magazine. I particularly enjoyed the one
          about the detective.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Forget detectives! Tell them what your
          play is about Mr. Doyle.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          ‘Waterloo.’ The story of Napoleon’s
          defeat.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Wait till you read this! The battle
          scenes alone will thrill them. But first
          allow me to bid Mr. Doyle adieu.

Irving slots an envelope into Doyle’s suit pocket.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Don’t go spending that all at once.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          Couldn’t if I tried. A thousand thanks.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Don’t you mean twenty thousand thanks?

They snicker. Irving shows Doyle out. Loveday immediately
seizes the manuscript and feverishly flips through it.
32.


                       LOVEDAY
          What did you pay for this?

                       HENRY IRVING
          Twenty thousand pounds.

Miss Carr emits a tiny gasp.

                       LOVEDAY
          Twenty thousand! That’s half our profit
          of last season!

Fang growls at Loveday.

                       HENRY IRVING
          “Waterloo” will prove to be anything but
          for us. It’s perfect for the planned
          expansion. We’re going to have to fill
          those five hundred extra seats somehow
          and I don’t think Ibsen is the answer. We
          need to give them spectacle. Agreed?

Loveday doesn’t get it but Stoker does. Nodding as we cut
to...


INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

Florence is in a side bathroom brushing her long blonde
locks, clad in her undergarments. She doesn’t look happy.

Stoker is sitting up in bed reading “Waterloo” and mail.

                       STOKER
          Complain all you like. I think he's
          fascinating.
He slices open a letter and reads it to himself.


STOKER’S POV -- THE LETTER

“Dear. Mr. Stoker, Thank you for submitting ‘Cat’s Eyes.’

You are a very talented writer. Unfortunately, this story
does not suit our publishing needs at this time. Thank
you and please keep us in mind for future submissions.

Sincerely, Peter Faber, Esq.”


BACK TO SCENE

Stoker hides his chagrin, picks up “Waterloo.”
33.


                       FLORENCE
          Oh, I suppose he's all right. I can
          handle him touching my hair, but, well,
          give me someone a little more normal.

                         STOKER
          Like...?

                         FLORENCE
          Like you.

                       STOKER
          I have my dark side.

                       FLORENCE
          Yes, you do! You left me there tonight!
          Not so much as a note or a by-your-leave.

                       STOKER
          There wasn’t opportunity. I rushed
          straight home.

He sets the play down.

                       FLORENCE
          Well? What do you think? Will it make
          your fortune?

                       STOKER
          It is well crafted but needs more in the
          way of visual flair.

She comes over to him, hops onto the bed.

                         FLORENCE
          Any ideas?
He looks at her. So sexy.

                         STOKER
          One or two.

He pulls the bow on her slip and they start to make love.


INT. STOKER’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Stoker looks up from a pile of paperwork to see a massive
sun sizzling into the Thames. He stretches, checks his
pocketwatch and smiles, happy to be going home when...

CRACK!! Irving suddenly pounds the door with the handle
of his cane and comes bounding in, full of vigor and vim.
34.


                       HENRY IRVING
          I take a walk every day after sundown. To
          whip up the circulation. My head starts
          spinning with ideas and I’d like you to
          accompany me.

                       STOKER
          Of course. I am at your disposal.


INT. BOXING RING - DOCKLANDS - NIGHT

CRACK! A swung fist shatters a jaw. Blood goes flying.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL... Stoker and Irving at a bare-
knuckles boxing match. CRACK! More body fluids spray.
                       HENRY IRVING
          Bravo! I love the sight of blood! I bet
          you boxed at Trinity, man your size? Or
          was wrestling your bag? I’m a boxer.

                       STOKER
          I captained the rugby team, which in
          Ireland involves boxing and wrestling.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Stout chap! I knew it.

He hollers at the fighter flat on the mat.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Get up, you swine! Encore! Encore!

The REF feels the flattened fighter’s pulse. Nothing. He
waves his arms. Fight over. The place erupts.
                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          All right, we’re leaving.

Stoker stands up, his Savile Row suit spattered in gore.


INT. OPIUM DEN - NIGHT

Weird, translucent figures take shape on the screen.

PULLING BACK we realize that we are in an opium den,
watching the languid scene from Stoker’s POV.

He is sprawled on a divan of Persian saddlebags, smoking
a charred bamboo pipe, trying to keep his eyes open while
Irving downs absinthe with two naked CHINESE GIRLS.
35.


Other NUDES loll about. COOLIES come and go, emptying
ashes and keeping the smoldering opium burners lit.

Stoker focuses his gaze on a striking mural festooning
the brick wall at the back of the smoky room. It is a
vibrant painting of a Chinese demon with enormous fangs.


EXT. OPIUM DEN - NIGHT

Stoker and Irving stagger out to a deserted street. The
rows of blazing street lamps look like a hallucinatory
blur to Stoker. He tries to snap out of his reverie.

                       HENRY IRVING
                 (looks at pocketwatch)
          Good. Two hours before sun up. Just
          enough time for one last stop.

He hails a cab which comes clattering toward them down
the street. Stoker follows, trying to keep pace.


INT. BROTHEL - NIGHT

Irving plays piano while a gaggle of scantily-clad French
STRUMPETS frolic and cavort, undressing to the music.

Stoker sits on a sofa, trying to resist temptation whilst
sipping champagne with three comely COURTESANS.


INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT

The door creaks open. Stoker slips into bed without
waking Florence. His eyes focus on a clock that shows
5:30 A.M. He shuts his eyes. He opens them. The clock
shows 6:30 A.M. He gets up. Staggers to the washroom.


EXT. STRAND - MORNING

Stoker bicycles to work along the Strand, weaving in and
out of elm trees, past a NEWSPAPER BOY flogging tabloids.

                       NEWSPAPER BOY
          Extra! Extra! Two more murder victims
          found! Throats slit from ear to ear!


INT. REHEARSAL ROOM, LYCEUM - NIGHT

CLANG! CLANG! Metal clashes. Blue bolts of electricity
crackle. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! A huge SHOWER OF SPARKS.
36.


PULL BACK TO REVEAL...

Stoker is on stage in a sword fight with MR. HARKER, 50s,
the Lyceum’s Electrician. Black cord snakes up from their
boot soles to the prop swords. Stoker removes his vizor.

                       STOKER
          What do you think?

                       HENRY IRVING
          I think you’re a bloody fool! A spark
          could catch the curtain baize and we’d
          have ourselves a bonfire within minutes.
          Far too dangerous. Right, Mr. Loveday?

                       LOVEDAY
          Quite right, Mr. Irving. Most dangerous.

                       STOKER
          The baize will be protected and Harker
          here is going to rig a series of fans for
          the smoke. We’ll have personnel stationed
          in the wings with buckets of water. I
          believe this effect will provide the
          spectacle lacking in our finale.

                       HENRY IRVING
          I commend your creativity, Stoker, but
          there’s one striking flaw: The audience
          comes to see me! They don’t need
          electricity. I provide the fireworks!

He storms off with a smug Miss Carr and Loveday. A beat,
then... Harker starts dismantling the boots and swords.

                       STOKER
          What are you doing? Leave that.

                       HARKER
          But I thought Mr. Irving said...

                       STOKER
          Never mind what Mr. Irving said.


EXT. LYCEUM - NIGHT

Opening night of “Waterloo.” A mob of scrubby WORKING-
CLASS types jostle for the best pit seats while nattily-
dressed ARISTOCRATS and other TOFFS stroll right in.
37.


INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT

A tuxedoed Stoker seats Florence in the most prominent
front row seat.

Florence is in a slim fitting trained dress and her hair
is braided, exposing her ears, with the ends cascading
down the back in curled ringlets and looped braids.

                       STOKER
          I’ll be back in a few minutes.

He kisses her on the cheek, taking note of all the men
and women captivated by his stunning, luminous wife.

INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT

Mayhem. STAGEHANDS and other PERSONNEL running around
like headless chickens. Stoker barks at a LIMELIGHT MAN.

                       STOKER
          The limelight’s for Mr. Irving and Mr.
          Irving only.


INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT

Curtain falls for the end of Act I. Polite applause.

Some patrons are exiting. Stoker looks up at Harker who
is perched high above the stage on the flywalk. He nods.


INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
Irving and the man playing Napoleon are sword-fighting
when the lights suddenly die. Cries of confusion. And
then a blue CRACKLE of electric current silences all.

CLANGS reverberate as BLUE SPARKS fly from the darkness.

The audience coos at the coruscating pyrotechnics.

Stoker dashes up a rope-ladder to the flywalk and Harker.

                       STOKER
          Increase the voltage!

                       HARKER
          It’s risky. Circuit might blow.

                         STOKER
          Do it!
38.


Harker cranks it, making the electricity on stage zap
into a frenzied lightning storm of sparking filaments.

The Limelight Men improvise and add to the effect with
chiaroscuro, backlighting and high-contrast lighting,
building to a glorious show-stopping incandescent climax.

                       STOKER (CONT’D)
          Give it everything! All the way!

The power dies. Needles on gauges bounce to zero.

                          STOKER (CONT’D)
          Lights!

The auditorium gas-lamps gradually revive.
Total and complete silence. Hear a pin drop.

Stoker doesn’t breathe.

Someone claps. It spreads. Crescendoes into DEAFENING
APPLAUSE with stomping FEET and HOLLERING from the pit.

The curtain lifts and Irving appears, bowing to the Royal
Box, the pit and the gods. He is bombarded with flowers.


INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - NIGHT

Invitation-only supper club. Politicians, artists and
aristocrats. The Victorian white male power elite.

Attending tonight: WILLIAM GLADSTONE, Arthur Conan Doyle,
HALL CAINE, ARTHUR SULLIVAN of Gilbert & Sullivan, et al.
Stoker sits to Irving’s right. Irving is holding court.

                       HENRY IRVING
          I was walking along the Thames in Chelsea
          when it hit me like a thunderbolt. If
          electricity can light up the city, why
          not harness that energy for spectacle?

Cries of “Bravo, Irving!,” “Genius!,” “Irving the Great!”

                       GUEST #1
          Three cheers for Irving! Hip hip...

                          EVERYONE
          Hooray!

                          GUEST #1
          Hip hip...
39.


We PULL BACK AND UP from the table to an aerial POV,
easing back through peepholes to a secret VIEWING GALLERY
hidden over the ceiling where Florence, Terry, Rose and a
few select, invited women sit silently eavesdropping.

Florence does her best to seem unperturbed while Irving
brazenly takes all the credit.


INT. STOKER’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Stoker and Irving are counting receipts for the season.

                       HENRY IRVING
          I have the profits at ten thousand, two
          hundred and seventeen pounds.
                       STOKER
          The exact same figure I have.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Your quarter comes to two thousand five
          hundred dollars. Less nineteen hundred.
          Surcharge in our electricity bill.

                       STOKER
          I don’t understand.

                       HENRY IRVING
          The swords, you stupid Irishman!

                       STOKER
          But why should I foot the bill?

                       HENRY IRVING
          Costs are costs, Mr. Stoker. You could
          hardly expect me to indulge your
          fascination with electricity after I made
          it perfectly clear I considered the
          matter a fire hazard. This is our first
          production, be content. The real money’s
          in America. One more ‘Waterloo’ and we’ll
          be able to afford a tour. Hmm? We good?

Stoker hesitates, then nods.

                       HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
          Capital. What are your summer plans? I
          shall be on my yacht off the Brighton
          coast, if you and the wife care to join.

Stoker forces a smile.
40.


                       STOKER
          We’d be delighted.


EXT. WALRUS - BRIGHTON COAST - DAY

Stoker is on deck with Florence, looking snazzy in a new
straw boater and richly striped blazer. Florence is
wearing a two-piece bathing dress and carries a parasol.

A newly-successful looking Conan Doyle is also present
with a very pretty and flirtatious raven-haired ACTRESS.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          My dear, you’re going to have to slow
          down on the Pims or you’ll be flat on
          your back in no time.

                       ACTRESS
          You’d like that wouldn’t you?

She is incredibly attractive, like an early silent movie
star, with spectacular legs and big, expressive eyes.

Her name is VIOLET HUNT.

                       STOKER
          Violet Hunt. I don’t think I’ve ever met
          an actress quite as... vivacious as you.

                       VIOLET HUNT
          Bram Stoker. What kind of name is that
          anyway? Bram? Short for what... Bramble?

She giggles. Bram is captivated. Florence elbows him.
POP! Irving steps into view with a frothing magnum of
champagne which he hands to a SERVANT who fills flutes.

Ellen Terry is with him, clad in a chic swimsuit.

                       HENRY IRVING
          To “Waterloo.” The biggest success on the
          London stage. The first of many!

Everyone drinks, except Rose who is occupied with a
mysterious contraption, a camera as big as a bread-box.

                       ROSE LOVEDAY
          All right. Let’s give this a try. Come
          on, gather around. Everyone say cheese!
41.


They oblige. Frozen smiles. The terrific FLASH blinds us.

                                                DISSOLVE TO:


INT. ROSENBACH MUSEUM - DAY

The photograph from Irving’s yacht appears as a black and
white print in “Personal Reminiscences of Henry Irving.”

We are back in the reading room of the Rosenbach Museum.

Robinson flips through the remaining chapters which have
rather dry titles like “Theories of Acting Styles.”

He shuts the book just as the pretty Archivist appears.
                       ARCHIVIST
          Find what you were looking for?

                       ROBINSON
          Not really. I’m finished, thanks.

She packs the materials, returns them to the top shelf.

                       ARCHIVIST
          What’s the subject of your thesis?

                       ROBINSON
          Actually, I’m a producer. You know,
          motion pictures.

She looks at him.

                       ROBINSON (CONT’D)
          I’m trying to find out if Stoker had any
          real life inspiration for his story.
          We’re going to run a feature on his life
          before re-releasing ‘Dracula’ this fall.

                       ARCHIVIST
          Perhaps you could talk to one of Mr.
          Stoker’s contemporaries. He wasn’t that
          old when he passed away. There may be
          someone still around who knew him.

                       ROBINSON
          Like who?

                       ARCHIVIST
          Arthur Conan Doyle’s alive. You know,
          Sherlock Holmes? He lives somewhere in
          London. He’s old but not that old.
42.


                         ROBINSON
          London, huh?


INT. PAN AM CLIPPER - IN THE AIR - DAY/NIGHT

Robinson is nestled in a cushy first class cabin, smoking
a cigarette and reading a dog-eared copy of “Dracula.”

The book’s lurid cover art shows a tuxedoed Count with
his hair slicked back, standing in a crumbling castle.


EXT. UNDERSHAW/CONAN DOYLE’S HOUSE - DAY

A statue of Sherlock Holmes guards the entrance to this
picturesque red-brick house in London. Creeping ivy and
black latticed windows gives the place an air of mystery.


INT. STUDY, UNDERSHAW - DAY

A huge stone fireplace is lit and blazing. A poker stabs
at the coals, rearranging them. PULL BACK TO REVEAL...

...Arthur Conan Doyle, an old man now, getting
comfortable in a deep leather armchair opposite Robinson.

Rose’s photograph from Irving’s yacht is visible in a
frame on a shelf behind him.

A big, ugly tiger moth is flittering about the room.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          There’s one thing you have to understand
          about Bram Stoker. Henry Irving was his
          idol. He wrote about the man for seven
          years before they even met. Seven years
          of worship from afar.

                       ROBINSON
          Did Stoker base “Dracula” on their
          relationship?

                       CONAN DOYLE
          Irving certainly was strange but I’m not
          sure I’d go so far as... although did you
          know he suffered from porphyria?

                         ROBINSON
          Por-what?
43.


                       CONAN DOYLE
          Porphyria. A rare genetic skin disorder,
          an allergy to the sun that causes severe
          reactions to heat and light. Begins to
          account for his nocturnal lifestyle.

                       ROBINSON
          Nothing I’ve read on Irving mentions it.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          He never told a soul. I happened to
          examine Irving myself.

He nods at the medical diplomas on the wall by Robinson.

                       CONAN DOYLE (CONT’D)
          Two years as a ship’s doctor on a voyage
          to West Africa and then five years as an
          opthalmologist. Still be practising now
          if weren’t for Stoker.

                       ROBINSON
          They produced your play “Waterloo.”

                       CONAN DOYLE
          That’s right. My first stab at drama
          proved to be most lucrative.

                       ROBINSON
          So you saw the dynamic between Stoker and
          Irving close up.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          Americans have a phrase for it: star
          struck. That was Stoker all right.
The moth flutters curiously around a lit candle.

                       ROBINSON
          From what I can gather, their
          relationship soured and there was some
          controversy surrounding Irving’s death.

                       DOYLE
          I don’t know anything about that. Stoker
          confided in me. We were quite close at
          one point. But our friendship ended
          rather abruptly around ‘88.

                       ROBINSON
          What happened?

The moth hits its wing on the candle flame and combusts.
44.


                       DOYLE
          Victoria Hunt happened.

Doyle scoops up the dead insect, cremates it in the fire.

                       ROBINSON
          I read about her in “The Personal
          Reminiscences of Henry Irving.”

                       DOYLE
          Tish! That book was pabulum for the
          public. They didn’t know the real Henry
          Irving. No one did.

                       ROBINSON
          Is it fair to say Count Dracula is a
          thinly veiled portrayal of Irving?

                       CONAN DOYLE
                 (after a beat)
          Irving had certain vampyric tendencies.

                       ROBINSON
          Tell me about them.

Doyle seems perturbed as he gazes at the crackling fire.

Wisps of smoke become...


EXT. LONDON LANE - NIGHT

...thick, green-gray curling wreathes of London fog.

The SOUND of FOOTSTEPS from within the murky haze.
A cloud of steam drifts up through a grating.

There is sudden movement in the gutter. A huge slimy rat
slithers along with something in its mouth. A HUMAN
FINGER. Ring attached. The rat scurries off down a drain.

The FOOTFALLS get louder until --

HENRY IRVING

emerges from the swirling mist, prodding the ground with
his cane, striding briskly toward an OLD MAN who sees him
and takes an exaggerated step back in fright.

Irving hoists his cane and clubs the man to the earth,
hailing down a storm of savage blows, kicking and
trampling him with ape-like fury. His bloodied cane
splits in two and one half goes flying through the air.
45.


Atmospheric MUSIC swells as we PULL BACK TO REVEAL...

...we are on stage in the Lyceum, amidst a vividly
realized production of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

The curtain drops. Gaslight reveals a riveted audience.

Everyone is too shaken to immediately applaud but when
they do it is loud, enthusiastic and sustained.

Doyle sits up front, beside a ravishing-looking Violet.


BACKSTAGE

Stoker greets Irving with pride and adoration.
                         STOKER
            A most convincing performance!

Irving ignores him and makes a beeline for the actor who
played the battered old man.

                         HENRY IRVING
            You! You were late again! And kindly
            remain at the back of the stage or next
            time it won’t be a prop cane that
            splinters on your spine!

He storms off.

                         LOVEDAY
            A word, please, Mr. Stoker.

                         STOKER
                   (eyeing Violet)
            Can it wait?

                         LOVEDAY
            A most delicate situation has arisen.
            This comes directly from the top.

Stoker sighs, follows him, exiting past Doyle and Violet.

                         CONAN DOYLE
            I say, where are you headed?

                         STOKER
            I wish I knew.

                         CONAN DOYLE
            Tell us all about it when you return.
46.


                       VIOLET
          Yes, Bramble, tell us everything.


EXT. WHITECHAPEL - NIGHT

Stoker and Loveday stand before a stationary hansom,
holding the door open for four slatternly PROSTITUTES.

                       LOVEDAY
          Occasionally, Irving asks me to invite
          some female admirers from the penny seats
          to visit him in his quarters.

                       STOKER
          These women hardly fit the description.
                       LOVEDAY
          Our master has certain expectations when
          it comes to female entertainment. I
          expect we all do. Regardless, as you’ll
          come to see, this system works best.

One of the girls strokes Stoker’s cheek flirtatiously.

                       PROSTITUTE #1
          ‘ello, ‘andsome.

                       LOVEDAY
          Yes, come along, come along!

He hustles the last of the girls into the carriage.


INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT
Stoker and Irving and the prostitutes crammed inside.
Stoker watches with slight disgust as Loveday examines
the girls, poking and prodding them with his fingers.

                       PROSTITUTE #1
          ‘er throat was cut and body moot-ilated.

                       PROSTITUTE #2
          I ‘eard there was no blood at the scene.

                       PROSTITUTE #3
          That’s coz ‘e strangles ‘em.

                       PROSTITUTE #4
          The Ripper ‘e calls himself. On account
          of rippin’ the organs out of his victims.
47.


                       STOKER
          Ahem, are you ladies discussing the
          recent spate of murders in Whitechapel?

                       PROSTITUTE #1
          Core, ‘e’s a bright one ain’t ‘e? Course
          that’s wot we’re talkin’ about!

                       PROSTITUTE #2
          That’s all we talk about.

                       PROSTITUTE #3
          ‘e’s killed five of us already.

                       PROSTITUTE #4
          None of us wants to be next.
                       LOVEDAY
          There’ll be no talk of Jack the Ripper in
          Mr. Irving’s presence. And you’re to do
          everything he says or you won’t get paid.


INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - NIGHT

The streetwalkers have been washed and scrubbed and
transformed into beautiful, buxom French courtesans clad
in expensive costumes from the “Waterloo” production.

Champagne and caviar flows. CLASSICAL MUSIC provided by a
quartet of MUSICIANS dressed as servants from the court
of Louis XIV, complete with powdered wigs and fake moles.

In the middle of the bacchanal sits Irving, on a throne,
looking like the Sun King, being serviced by a kneeling
supplicant made up to resemble a young Marie Antoinette.
PULLING BACK we realize we are watching from STOKER,
LOVEDAY and DOYLE’S POV in the upstairs viewing gallery.

Stoker looks at his watch, notices Loveday leering
lecherously at the goings-on below, quietly slips out.


INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT

Stoker is trying to mollify a very agitated Florence.

                       FLORENCE
          You’re never here! I see delivery men
          more than I see you! You don’t even sleep
          here some nights. Writing on the
          weekends. What about me? I’m lonesome!
48.


                       STOKER
          This is only temporary. Once “Faust” is
          launched my burden will ease.

                       FLORENCE
          You said that last year. And now you’re
          talking about going to America for six
          months! Six months!

                       STOKER
          You and Noel will accompany me on all
          future trips after this initial
          excursion. I must assess the hardships
          and risks involved.

                       FLORENCE
          I don’t like it here anymore. I miss
          Ireland.

                       STOKER
          The doctor said you have an excess of
          cholic following the birth. It has
          nothing to do with where we live.

                       FLORENCE
          Don’t you miss home?

                       STOKER
          This is home.

                       FLORENCE
          Why not take the experience from here and
          manage a theatre of your own in Dublin?
          Irving doesn’t give you the respect you
          deserve. Partner! He lied to you!
                       STOKER
          That would be going backwards. Dublin -
          London - America. That’s the plan.

                       FLORENCE
          What about me? What about my plans?

                       STOKER
          My plans are your plans.

Florence reaches for a vial of medicine but he stops her.

                       STOKER (CONT’D)
          I’m going to ask my brother Thornley to
          take a look at you.

                       FLORENCE
          I don’t need a doctor. I need a husband!
49.


Two-year old NOEL STOKER creeps in rubbing his eyes.

                        NOEL
          I’m hungry.

                       STOKER
                 (to Florence)
          Go back to bed. I’ll make some time for
          us this weekend.

                       FLORENCE
          You’re going to Paris with Irving this
          weekend.

                       STOKER
          Soon then. I promise.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

Stoker is up late, working on the draft of a novel.


INT. LUNATIC ASYLUM - DAY

TILTING DOWN from the high metal gate of the sanitarium
and dissolving to the gardens and grounds below, where we
move past an odd assortment of ATTENDANTS and PATIENTS.

Suddenly, a terrifying CRY is heard from the main
building. Two PATIENTS on a bench hear the cry and react.

                       PATIENT
          He probably wants his flies again!

They laugh, screeching hysterically. Tracking up to the
second-story sanitarium where two MEN struggle together.


INT. LUNATIC ASYLUM - DAY

A tortured PATIENT is begging an ORDERLY to let him keep
a spider for a meal.

                       ORDERLY
          Here, give it to me now...

He procures the spider from the deranged man and carries
it with two fingers toward the window.

                       PATIENT
          No! Don't throw my spider away from me!

The Orderly disposes of the insect.
50.


                       ORDERLY
          Ashamed now, are you?

He pulls the patient by the ear and twists it, as Stoker
appears from around a corner with THORNLEY STOKER, 32,
his younger brother, a successful doctor, one who
exhibits more compassion than a typical Victorian medic.

                       THORNLEY
          Hey! Enough of that!

The Orderly and Patient clear out. Stoker tags along
while Thornley does his rounds. It is Bedlam: CATATONIC
PATIENTS fussing with bedsheets, SCHIZOS ranting, etc.

                         THORNLEY (CONT’D)
          Where was I?

                       STOKER
          You were trying to convince me that
          Florence is acting perfectly normal.

Thornley checks the bloody eyes of a bed-bound PATIENT.

                       THORNLEY
          Onset of melancholia following childbirth
          was first reported in ancient times.
          Herodotus writes about it.

                       STOKER
          Does he mention when it ends? Noel is two
          years old!

                       THORNLEY
          Be patient, brother, they are not built
          like us. It is a wonder she survived such
          a difficult birth.

He peers in at a cell where a young waif-like GIRL is
writhing around in the throes of drug-fuelled torment.

Stoker watches the abandoned woman, feels strangely
guilty.

                       THORNLEY (CONT’D)
          How’s your sex life?

He leads them off down the dank corridor.

                         THORNLEY (CONT’D)
          Well?
51.


                       STOKER
          It’s not what it was. Ever since the
          birth. She has lost interest.

Thornley peers in at a straitjacketed syphilis victim,
reaches into the cell and jabs a needle into his neck.

                       THORNLEY
          Things will improve. In the meantime, I
          advise you to seek relief elsewhere.
          Abstinence is unhealthy for a man.


INT. THORNLEY’S OFFICE - DAY

Thornley hands his brother two bottles of medicine.
                       THORNLEY
          Two teaspoons of the red liquid in the
          morning, one teaspoon of the clear at
          night. That should calm her down a bit.

Stoker gazes glumly at the opium derivatives, knowing
they are just a salve. ZOOM TO the red liquid from his
POV.


INT. BOODLES GENTLEMAN’S CLUB - DAY

CLOSE ON a red snooker ball. PULL BACK TO REVEAL:

Stoker and Conan Doyle at play. CRACK! Doyle slams the
red into a pocket. It stays down. He chalks his cue and
studies the table. There is a thick atmosphere of smoke,
tension and weariness in the small, otherwise cozy room.
                       CONAN DOYLE
          From all you’ve told me, it sounds to me
          like your brother has the situation under
          control.

CRACK! He sends the black ball zooming into a pocket.

                       STOKER
          Laudanum. That’s all they prescribe, for
          everything. I fear my wife’s malaise is
          more... spiritual.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          Perhaps you should be spending more time
          at home.

                       STOKER
          You know how Irving is.
52.


                       CONAN DOYLE
          Demanding?

                       STOKER
          That’s putting it mildly. We leave for
          Paris tomorrow. Two days studying
          cadavers at the Paris Morgue.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          Whatever for?

He takes a puff of his cigar. The plume becomes...


EXT. PARIS - DAY
...a thick fog from the Seine. It blots out the early
morning daylight, shrouding Paris in a chocolate pall.

Occasional shafts of sunlight stab down through the
swirling vapors, giving the city a nightmarish look.


INT. PARIS MORGUE - NIGHT

Stoker and Irving wander amid MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC past
window displays of corpses, mostly unclaimed bodies
fished from the Seine, suicides and executed criminals.

Miss Carr follows behind Irving, pressing a cambric-
scented handkerchief to her nose while she sketches body
parts, faces and anything else of interest to Irving.

Irving stops before a tableau of a drowning victim.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Make sure to get the shadows, Miss Carr.
          The eye sockets. I want Mr. Pritchard to
          make me look exactly like that for Faust.

                       STOKER
          Did you read the publicity materials?

Miss Carr drops her scented handkerchief and gags when
she inhales the putrid air.

                       HENRY IRVING
          No. Bring me up to date.

                       STOKER
          Rest assured, ‘Faust’ is going to be the
          biggest, most spectacular production ever
          mounted on a London stage.
53.


                       HENRY IRVING
          I hope so. No success means no America.
          Don’t disappoint me, Mr. Stoker. Suffice
          to say your future hangs in the balance.


INT. STOKER’S FLAT - NIGHT

Stoker dresses Noel while two HANDMAIDS wash, dress and
ply Florence with enough laudanum to face the world.


INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT

Irving is on stage as Mephistopheles in the lavish
production of ‘Faust,’ in scarlet face make-up and clad
in a brilliant scarlet cape. The f/x are eye-popping:
apparitions, tinsel storms, descents into a sulfurous
inferno, trapdoor vanishings and mysterious mists.

The Stokers, Doyle, Violet and the Lovedays watch from
Stoker’s box. Rose is fiddling with a new camera. Violet
gives Stoker a flirtatious look. He looks away, his eyes
settling on a woman below in the front row: the Comtesse.

She sees him and smiles. Stoker pulls his head back.


MONTAGE

Money pours into the Lyceum with the success of “Faust.”

END MONTAGE


INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - DAY
Stoker spies Loveday talking with a STRANGER, steps back
and watches from around a corner, eavesdropping on them.

The man is lean, detached and efficient, all business.

                       STRANGER
          What goes on in here?

                       LOVEDAY
          This is a private dining club. The Prime
          Minister and Prince of Wales dine here.

                       STRANGER
          Why are there slats in the ceiling?
54.


                         LOVEDAY
            I’d love to stay and discuss architecture
            with you but, alas, I have a job to do.
            If you’ll excuse me.

                         STRANGER
            I still need to speak with Mr. Irving.

                         LOVEDAY
            He never rises before late afternoon.

                         STRANGER
            I’ll return this evening then.

He turns and goes. Loveday shouts out after him.
                         LOVEDAY
            He is not expected in tonight.

He curses to himself. Stoker retreats, waits, then...

                         STOKER
            Who was that?

                         LOVEDAY
            Scotland Yard. Inspector Godfrey.

                         STOKER
            What does he want?

                         LOVEDAY
            You’ll find out soon enough!

He takes off leaving Stoker standing there, perplexed.

NEW ANGLE

Revealing Conan Doyle watching from the vestibule.


EXT. STREETS - NIGHT

Stoker and Irving strolling through the West End.

                         STOKER
            Who’s Godfrey?

                         HENRY IRVING
            How should I know? Here we are. This is
            meant to feature some nifty lighting.

They have arrived at the very popular Alhambra Theatre.
55.


Irving hands the tickets to an USHERETTE who rips the
stubs, lifts the velvet rope.


INT. THE ALHAMBRA - NIGHT

Irving and Stoker, incognito, watch a performance of a
now forgotten play, observed by a MAN IN THE SHADOWS.


EXT. LONDON STREETS - NIGHT

Stoker and Irving turn a corner. Stoker is suddenly
winded. The MAN from the theatre has just socked him.

He wields a dagger, holds it in front of him as he cries:
                       MAN
          Give me your money!

                       HENRY IRVING
          Calm, calm, my man, no need to do
          anything rash.

                       MAN
          Shut up or I’ll cut you!

Irving reaches down to his pocket but flicks his cane
instead and -- SWISH! -- a blade protrudes from the end.

In one fast, circular motion, he whirls his weapon at the
guttersnipe. The blade retreats back into the cane.

At first, there seems to be no difference with the man.
And then we see that the blade has neatly sliced his
throat, right across his bulging Adam's apple.
He looks at Irving in confusion as a fine mist of blood
sprays from his throat, staining Stoker’s clothes.

Irving corrals a dumbfounded Stoker, hurries them away.


EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Stoker is visibly shaken, Irving exhilarated.

                       STOKER
          We must inform the police. It was an
          honest action, he was trying to rob us.

                       HENRY IRVING
          There’ll be no talking to the police.
56.


                       STOKER
          But...

                       HENRY IRVING
          I’ll remind you of an oath you took.

He looks directly at Stoker with his penetrating eyes.


INT. GARRICK - NIGHT

Doyle and Stoker are nestled in a corner nook, away from
the other PATRONS. Dole has a stunned look on his face.

                       STOKER
          I am sorry to burden you with all this.
                       DOYLE
          Not at all. We are friends. It sounds to
          me like Irving acted in self defense.

                       STOKER
                 (pauses, looks at watch)
          We should go to dinner. Irving doesn’t
          like to be kept waiting.


INT. LA BOHEME RESTAURANT - NIGHT

DANCERS from Europe parade about the stage to a music
hall-type tune emanating from a piano. A large dining
table is placed before the stage where DIGNITARIES sit
feasting. Irving is seated at the head of the table.

Loveday is also there, with his wife Rose who is trying
to unlock the mysteries of a new Eastman camera.
Victoria is to Irving’s right, looking vampish. Doyle is
slumped in a chair, barely conscious, inebriated.

                       VICTORIA
          Brambell! My darling. How are you?

Stoker goes to kiss her hand but gets swatted by Irving.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Victoria belongs to me, tonight, don’t
          you my dear?

He caresses her cheek. She giggles drunkenly. Stoker
turns to see...

                       COMTESSE
          Isn’t this a pleasant coincidence?
57.


                       STOKER
          Can I get you something to drink?

                       COMTESSE
          Yes, but not here. I know a charming
          little place at 34 Grosvenor Square.

Stoker flicks his eyes to Irving who smiles as Victoria
dips below the table and reaches up to unbutton his fly.

                       STOKER
          I can’t leave him.

                       COMTESSE
          No?
She turns and waltzes off. Stoker moves toward the Irving
table, sits down tentatively, just realizing that...

INSPECTOR GODFREY

...is watching them from a corner table, supping a beer.


INT. THE COMTESSE’S BOUDOIR - NIGHT

Stoker dresses while the Comtesse reclines back in a sea
of satin sheets behind him, her face bathed in sweat.


INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT

Late. Dark. Florence awakes. It’s chilly. She shivers.

                       FLORENCE
          Bram?
Silence. And then the distant SOUND of breaking glass.

Florence rushes to the window then takes a step back into
the shadows and looks out at the brilliantly lit Thames.

HENRY IRVING

can be seen staring right up at Florence. She moves
closer to the window. She blinks her eyes. No one there.

Did she imagine it? She opens the French doors and
hurries out onto the balcony, but he has vanished.

Suddenly, the DOOR OPENS behind her and MAKES HER JUMP.

Stoker enters and she goes running into his arms.
58.


                       STOKER
          What’s wrong? You look as if you have
          seen a ghost.

A shrill WHISTLE BLAST suddenly pierces the night.

Stoker looks out the window to the embankment.


EXT. THAMES - NIGHT

A POLICEMAN is blowing his whistle vigorously. Stoker
steps out on the balcony, tries to make out what is
causing the commotion. PEOPLE are running to the river.

EXT. THAMES - NIGHT

Behind the Constable we see a corpse floating downstream.

Two MEN are wading towards it with gaffes and pikes. One
of them hooks into the naked female body and hauls it in.

It is the corpse of Victoria Hunt.


INT. ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL - DAY

The cream of London society listens as Henry Irving
eulogizes, talking from the pulpit, backed up by the well-
appointed magnificence of the Anglican altar.

PULLING BACK we learn we are watching from STOKER’S POV.
His eyes bore into Irving, as if trying to see into his
very soul. To Stoker’s right sits a numbed Conan Doyle.

INT. RECEPTION - NIGHT

Doyle stands at the back of the room, nursing a drink,
slyly observing Irving who is across the room, regaling a
group of sycophantic MOURNERS hanging on his every word.

Stoker approaches, sees the look on Doyle’s face.

                       STOKER
          How are you doing?

                       CONAN DOYLE
          He was the last to see her alive. Did you
          know that?

                         STOKER
          Who?
59.


                       CONAN DOYLE
          Irving. At the Garrick. You were there.
          Where did you run off to?

                       STOKER
                 (quickly)
          Home. When I left, Victoria was at the
          table next to you.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          She was on his lap. That much I remember
          seeing before I passed out.

                        STOKER
          What of it?
                       CONAN DOYLE
          Maybe he was the last person to see her
          alive.

                       STOKER
          Surely not the very last.

Doyle is silent.

                       STOKER (CONT’D)
          What have the police said? Is it the
          Ripper?

Doyle shakes his head, reaches for the bottle and
generously tops up his tipple.

                       CONAN DOYLE
          Chap at Scotland Yard thinks otherwise.
          Name’s God something... Godfrey?
Stoker reacts, then quickly tries to look indifferent.

                       CONAN DOYLE (CONT’D)
          Yes, that’s it. Godfrey. An
          Inspector. Heard of him?

                       STOKER
          What does he say?

                       CONAN DOYLE
          The Ripper took souvenirs, internal
          organs, and his method is cool and
          clinical. Victoria was mauled. Carved up
          like a bird, with random, haphazard stab
          marks.

A couple of MOURNERS look over with disapproving looks.
60.


                       STOKER
          Perhaps we should take this conversation
          outside?

                        CONAN DOYLE
                 (loud)
          What conversation? This is idle
          speculation!

He knocks back his drink, sets it down and stomps off.

                       STOKER
          Wait up, old man. Doyle!

He reaches for Doyle’s arm but Doyle is too determined,
making a beeline for Irving and his circle of fans. Doyle
shoves rudely past, knocking Irving slightly with his
arm. There is an audible gasp from some mourners.

Irving takes it in his stride.

                       HENRY IRVING
          Poor fellow. He must be devastated.

Murmurs of assent. PULL BACK TO REVEAL...

Stoker watching Irving, scrutinizing his demeanor. He
chases after Doyle, past a huge crackling fireplace.

                                                DISSOLVE TO:


INT. UNDERSHAW - NIGHT

The fire has grown cold. Old Doyle pokes at it absently.
                       CONAN DOYLE
          That’s all I really know. After Violet’s
          death, I didn’t spend see much of Stoker
          and Irving. Bad memories and all that.

                       ROBINSON
          Do you think Irving had something to do
          with her death?

                       CONAN DOYLE
          You asked me if I thought he was the
          inspiration for Dracula. I’d say he was.
          Did he sleep in a coffin and drink blood?
          Probably not. Was he a nocturnal creature
          with a murderous appetite? The evidence
          certainly points in that direction.
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Dracula nov 12 2008 draft

  • 1. In The Shadow of Dracula by Damian Stevenson 11/12/08 DRAFT
  • 2. BLACK SCREEN The grating SOUND of a knife flint dragged across a whetstone comes over, like nails scraping chalk, as we FADE IN: On a close-up of a blade being sharpened. An ornate Victorian hunting knife. Manicured HANDS clasping it. The SOUND of CLATTERING HOOVES comes over. EXT. LONDON STREETS - NIGHT A herky-jerky POV atop a horse-drawn hansom thundering down a crowded London thoroughfare, scattering PICKPOCKETS, PROSTITUTES, PORTERS and THIEVES. A cloaked FIGURE stands in the middle of the muddy road, remaining stationary, oblivious to his imminent demise. The CABMAN sees him and cries out. CABMAN Hey-oh! Out of the way! Ho! At the last possible moment, the figure deftly side- steps, swinging his arm in an elegant, arcing motion. A FLASH of steel. The sharpened flint finds flesh. The horse stumbles, its neck slashed, bringing everything to a violent, CRASHING HALT. The Cabman is thrown. His cab topples over and skids spectacularly across the road. A wheel goes flying, spins through the air whip-saw fast, blurring past a frozen GREENGROCER. His neatly severed head bounces down the filthy gutter. Someone SCREAMS. The screeching, sparking heap comes to a rest in a flower stand where the entangled horse bucks wildly, blood spurting from its neck onto people’s faces and clothes. An oncoming cab veers to avoid the debris and plows into a restaurant. A terrific EXPLOSION of glass shards. DINERS and elegantly-dressed WAITERS mowed down. Carnage. ANGLE ON The wreck still shuddering and splintering, surrounded by flowers, like an impromptu funeral arrangement.
  • 3. 2. The Cabman cuts loose his horse and SHOOTS it. He tries to pry open the doors while CHILDREN attack his vehicle. CABMAN Clear off! Thieves! Their small grubby hands snap loose metal edgings and knobs, seats and precious swatches of leather and cloth. A MAN squeezes out of the shattered carriage, staggers about, stupefied, trying to get his bearings, while onlookers gawp at him like they just witnessed a miracle. He is tall, good-looking, about thirty. He has blood matted down the side of his face. He is holding a pistol. His dazed eyes sweep the area, trying to locate the shrouded figure. His eyes strain. Everything is spinning. FADE OUT. FADE IN: EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS - DAY A black Dodge taxicab trundles up a steep scrubby slope. An OLD WOMAN sits in the back of the taxi, clad in a black Victorian dress, her face obscured by a silk veil. Slanting shafts of dusty sunlight stream into the cab. SUPER: HOLLYWOOD, 1930 EXT. UNIVERSAL PICTURES - DAY The taxi backfires as it departs, having dispensed the Old Woman who shuffles to the Universal SECURITY GUARD. OLD WOMAN Florence Stoker to see Mr. Carl Laemmle. The Guard looks her up and down. INT. EXECUTIVE BUILDING, FIRST FLOOR - DAY A platinum-blonde RECEPTIONIST graces the art deco foyer. FLORENCE Florence Stoker to see Mr. Carl Laemmle.
  • 4. 3. INT. EXECUTIVE BUILDING, UPPER FLOOR - DAY Florence is led along by a bespectacled male SECRETARY. SECRETARY This way, please, Mrs. Stoker. He ushers her down a hallway decked with framed stills and posters from Universal’s horror hits of the 1920s like ”Phantom of the Opera” and “The Cat and the Canary.” INT. CARL LAEMMLE JR.’S OFFICE - DAY Doors push open to reveal CARL LAEMMLE JR., 23, ensconced behind his desk reading Variety, the cover of which says “LITTLE CAESAR GUNS DOWN BOX OFFICE! MGM NO. 1 AGAIN!” Disgruntled, obsessed, he doesn’t notice that his meeting has arrived. His Secretary coughs, snapping him out of it. Laemmle forces a smile, stands up to greet Florence. CARL LAEMMLE JR. This is truly an honor. To think when I was a small boy growing up in Hoboken that I would one day meet the wife of... FLORENCE (cuts him off, exasperated) Just how many lapdogs does this jerk Laemmle have? Anyone would think I was meeting the President! Where is he? Laemmle is speechless, his Secretary appalled. SECRETARY Mrs. Stoker, this is Mr. Laemmle! Florence squints her eyes at the baby-faced Laemmle. FLORENCE You! How old are you?! There suddenly comes a loud ruckus from outside, CLANGING METAL with what sounds like a full ORCHESTRA tuning up. EXT. UNIVERSAL BACKLOT - DAY A big, bloated MGM-style musical is rehearsing on the backlot with a swirl of frenetic activity surrounding it. DANCING GIRLS kick, MAKE-UP CREWS flutter about and, sure enough, a full orchestra provides musical accompaniment.
  • 5. 4. PULLING BACK we realize we are watching from Laemmle and Florence’s POV as they look down from Laemmle’s balcony. CARL LAEMMLE JR. Pretty amazing, huh? FLORENCE Opening night at The Lyceum, that was amazing. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, seeing as how you’re twelve. CARL LAEMMLE JR. The Lyceum Theatre in London, where your husband was codirector with Henry Irving during its heyday in the 1880s and 90s. Florence is non plussed. FLORENCE My compliments to your research department. Laemmle pauses, studying the shrewd old bird. He smiles. CARL LAEMMLE JR. Tea, Mrs. Stoker? He gestures to a tea-wagon laden with yummy refreshments. FLORENCE I’d prefer something stronger. Laemmle flips a switch, causing a bulky radio consul to swivel around revealing a hidden wet bar. The device jams with just half the bar exposed, forcing Laemmle to kneel down and squeeze his hand in to reach a bottle of booze. FLORENCE (CONT’D) (peers outside) Might I ask what you’re photographing down there? CARL LAEMMLE JR. (straining to reach inside) Nothing. That’s actually a rehearsal for “King of Jazz.” No cameras rolling yet. FLORENCE “King of Jazz?” Wasn’t your last picture “Broadway” also a musical? Perhaps I should be talking to Mr. Mayer over at MGM? This hits a nerve.
  • 6. 5. CARL LAEMMLE JR. Things are going to be different around here now that my father has officially retired. I intend to restore Universal to her former position as the pre-eminent purveyor of terror and suspense. He floods two highballs with gin, shovels in some ice. FLORENCE Your father passed on my husband’s book in 1916. CARL LAEMMLE JR. That was before sound! Before moving cameras. FLORENCE He considered the story, and I quote, “too scary” for a movie audience. Laemmle smiles slyly to himself, brings the drinks over. CARL LAEMMLE JR. And, in what can only be described as an ironic twist of fate, it is for this very same reason that I would like to offer you forty thousand dollars to purchase the underlying rights to “Dracula.” (hands her cocktail) Plus two and a half percent of the gross. Florence looks at him. CARL LAEMMLE JR. (CONT’D) Well, Mrs. Stoker? What do you say? Do we have a deal? INT. MOVIE THEATRE - NIGHT PAN FROM a SIGN that says “TEST SCREENING IN PROGRESS” to CARL LAEMMLE JR.’S FACE pressed up against the auditorium door glass. He is with SUITS and KEY PERSONNEL from the 1931 movie of “Dracula” including director TODD BROWNING. Piercing SHRIEKS rip forth from inside the auditorium. CAPTION: PASADENA, ONE YEAR LATER Doors EXPLODE open and two outraged MEN stampede out. MOVIEGOER Disgusting!
  • 7. 6. Laemmle and his Colleagues hug and high-five each other. MONTAGE A flurry of Variety headlines attests to the phenomenal success of “Dracula.” News footage of MOVIEGOERS lined up around the block. Shots of the “Dracula” CAST at events. “Dracula” the play, the Broadway sensation. “Fang” Clubs. END MONTAGE INT. PROJECTION ROOM, UNIVERSAL - DAY Laemmle is screening dailies from “King of Jazz,” looking miserable, as ROBINSON, a young executive, enters and gropes around in the dim light, sits down beside him. ROBINSON You sent for me, Mr. Laemmle? CARL LAEMMLE JR. Tell me, Robinson, what do you know about Bram Stoker? ROBINSON The author of Dracula? Uh... CARL LAEMMLE JR. Nothing. Just what I thought. Abraham “Bram” Stoker, 1847-1912, Irish theatre critic and author of “Dracula.” For twenty years, the manager of Sir Henry Irving. Have you heard of Henry Irving? ROBINSON I confess I have not. Laemmle looks at him sourly. CARL LAEMMLE JR. Remind me to review your resume. Irving was once the most famous actor in the world. Cagney, Muni and Jolson all rolled into one. You can’t imagine how big this guy was, on both sides of the Atlantic. ROBINSON And Bram Stoker was his agent?
  • 8. 7. CARL LAEMMLE JR. Whatever the Victorian equivalent was. So get this, Stoker dies 1912. April 1912. Days after the Titanic sinks. ROBINSON That’s rough. CARL LAEMMLE JR. Suffice to say not much attention was paid to Stoker’s passing. I found one obit, squeezed in at the back of ‘The Times.’ Doesn’t even mention “Dracula.” He hands Robinson a laminated, yellowing newspaper obit. Above the boxed death notice there is a grainy image of BRAM STOKER, HENRY IRVING and a third man, H.J. LOVEDAY. The caption says “Bram Stoker with actor Sir Henry Irving and H.J. Loveday, Co-Manager of the Lyceum under Stoker.” CARL LAEMMLE JR. (CONT’D) I want you to listen to something. (stands, goes to phonograph) This is an old wax cylinder recording of an unaired radio interview Stoker gave in 1910. Research dug it up in CBS archives. He puts the needle on the indented, rotating cylinder. RECORDING Scratchy static. HISSING. Then a VOICE. A British accent. INTERVIEWER’S VOICE Our listeners are curious to know about the novel’s origins. Where did you get the idea for such a remarkable story? The next VOICE we hear is rich and sonorous, a blend of Irish and English. The VOICE of ABRAHAM “BRAM” STOKER. STOKER’S VOICE It began when I saw the name ‘Dracul’ on an old Hungarian coin. ‘Dracul’ is derived from the word ‘draco’ in the Megleno-Romanian language, meaning ‘devil.’
  • 9. 8. INTERVIEWER’S VOICE I’d like to ask you about your relationship with Henry Irving next if I may. There’s been much speculation about the circumstances surrounding his death. STOKER’S VOICE It is a well known fact that Mr. Irving was suffering from... INTERVIEWER’S VOICE A lung condition, yes, but what about the police inquest, the talk of foul play? STOKER’S VOICE That was a long time ago, I consider the matter closed. INTERVIEWER’S VOICE Do you miss him? STOKER’S VOICE We were discussing ‘Dracula.’ INTERVIEWER’S VOICE Well, here’s a quote from it. Van Helsing speaking: “My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not had much time for friendships... and it has grown with my advancing years, the loneliness of my life.” Fair assessment of your life after Mr. Irving’s death? Scratchy SILENCE. STOKER’S VOICE This interview is over. Laemmle lifts the needle, switches the machine off. CARL LAEMMLE JR. Pretty interesting, huh? ROBINSON How did Irving die? Was he murdered? CARL LAEMMLE JR. That’s what I want you to find out. In addition to answering the question of who Bram Stoker was. Speak to anyone that’s still alive that knew him. I don’t care where they are. I’ll fly you to London, Dublin. Hell, Transylvania if I have to.
  • 10. 9. ROBINSON Are we planning a press release? CARL LAEMMLE JR. Press release? The guy came up with the greatest spine-tingler in history, Robinson, don’t you think he deserves something more than a press release? If this pans out, I’m thinking maybe we do a a short feature on Stoker’s life and put it before our Halloween re-release of “Dracula.” A little added incentive to lure the public back for a second time. ROBINSON Good idea. CARL LAEMMLE JR. I know. (hustling him out) Go home and pack, you’re booked on the next flight to Philadelphia. ROBINSON What’s in Philadelphia? INT. THE ROSENBACH MUSEUM - DAY A fetching female ARCHIVIST leads Robinson through a maze of shelves in the museum’s subterranean book depository. ROBINSON How’d an Irishman like Bram Stoker get his family papers in a Philly museum? ARCHIVIST Mr. Stoker made a substantial donation to the museum during The Lyceum’s American tour of 1888. She stops before a locked gate and opens it to reveal a temperature-controlled antechamber for storing documents. ARCHIVIST (CONT’D) This is where we keep the Stoker family papers. His mother was a writer, you know, essays and Irish ghost stories. ROBINSON I’m interested in a book Bram Stoker wrote in 1905, “Personal Reminiscences of Henry Irving.” It’s out of print.
  • 11. 10. ARCHIVIST It was never really in print. Just a few copies circulated. Stoker’s plan was to sell the book privately, to people he knew, for a premium. Robinson checks out her stockinged legs as she mounts a step ladder to reach something on an upper shelf. ARCHIVIST (O.S.) (CONT’D) You know, a sort of collector’s edition for Henry Irving fans. Didn’t pan out. ROBINSON I thought Irving had a lot of fans. He was like Cagney, Muni, Jolson all in one. ARCHIVIST (O.S.) They say by the time of the Lyceum’s third tour, Henry Irving’s signature was more recognizable than the President’s. She steps down off the ladder with a metal box. ROBINSON So why didn’t the book sell? ARCHIVIST (shrugs) Sic transit gloria mundi. He looks at her blankly. ARCHIVIST (CONT’D) It means... fame is fleeting. She blows the dust off the container and opens it, finds the tome Robinson needs and puts it on a desk before him. ROBINSON Thank you. My name’s Robinson by the way. He tries to get eye contact but she’s already gone. He shrugs, looks at the book. The red-leather bind of the cover is centered by a raised gold-leaf bust of Henry Irving, shown in profile, with his prominent Roman nose. Robinson pries open the book, turning to the front. On the first page, we see the title in gilt lettering: “PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF HENRY IRVING” by BRAM STOKER
  • 12. 11. Robinson flips to the first chapter. We go close on the page as he reads and we HEAR STOKER’S VOICE come over. STOKER (V.O.) Irving and I were alone together one hot afternoon in August 1887, crossing in the steamer from Southsea to the Isle of Wight, and were talking of that phase of stage art which deals with the conception and development of character. EXT. ISLE OF WIGHT STEAMER - NIGHT Rain clouds scuttle across the moon, casting a fleeting diorama of light and shade over the tumultuous sea. BRAM STOKER, 42, and HENRY IRVING, 51, are strolling on deck. We recognize Stoker as the dazed, pistol-toting gentleman who stumbled from the stagecoach wreckage. Irving is tall, dark and brooding, with intense, coal- black eyes and a mane of sweeping, Byronic black hair. STOKER (V.O.) In the course of our conversation, whilst he was explaining to me the absolute necessity of an actor’s understanding the prime qualities of character in order that he may make it throughout consistent, he said these words: HENRY IRVING If you do not pass a character through your own mind it can never be sincere! STOKER (V.O.) I was struck with the phrase, coming as it did as the crown of an argument -- the explanation of a great artist’s method of working out a conceived idea. Lest I should forget the exact words I wrote them then and there in my pocket-book, whence I entered them later in my diary. Stoker transcribes Irving’s maxim and mulls its meaning. STOKER (V.O.) (CONT’D) But I must start at the beginning. Nine years earlier. December 13th, 1878. The day the world’s greatest thespian invited an unsalaried theatre critic to have a drink with him at the Shelbourne Hotel.
  • 13. 12. INT. DUBLIN THEATRE ROYAL - DAY A spellbound Stoker watches Irving electrify Dublin with his radical “Hamlet,” portraying the prince as a man demonically possessed with the spirit of his dead father. HENRY IRVING ‘Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn, and all hell itself breathes out contagion to this world. Now I could drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day would quake to look on. Assorted SHRIEKS. A WOMAN in the front row faints. INT. SHELBOURNE HOTEL - DAY Stoker is at the bar, anxiously eyeing his pocket-watch. BARMAN Do you know what day it is? STOKER I beg your pardon? BARMAN It is the eve of St. George's. Tonight, when the sun sets, all evil things in the world have full sway. A bell TINKLES. Stoker turns to see that a grand black caleche with six black horses has pulled up outside. EXT. SHELBOURNE HOTEL - DAY The DRIVER hands Stoker an envelope sealed with wax bearing the initials ‘H.I.’ Stoker snaps it open and looks at it. We HEAR Henry Irving’s VOICE as he reads. HENRY IRVING (V.O.) Friend: please excuse the hugger muggery but I’m unable to make it into town tonight and ask you to come join us here at ‘Camp Irving,’ our home on the road, instead. My Driver will bring you here. Stoker feels a slight chill run down his spine. A fleece- lined cloak is suddenly thrown over his shoulders by the Driver who speaks with a thick Eastern European accent.
  • 14. 13. DRIVER Good evening, mein Herr. There’s a flask of plum brandy under the seat, if you should require it. Mr. Irving recently brought a case back from Hungary. Before Stoker can protest he has been ushered aboard. He jerks his head out and is about to holler to the Driver when there is a loud THWACK of leather against horse flesh and the coach lurches off into the night. INT. CALECHE - MOVING - DAY The Driver looks back at Stoker with a ghoulish grin, cracking his whip as they thunder out of the city. DRIVER We must reach our destination before sundown! It is the eve of St. George! A large gray bat flaps its wings above the horses and appears to be guiding the carriage as it hurtles along. Stoker looks out uneasily at the city’s outskirts flashing past. The sun is setting under a dramatic blood-red sky streaked with lurid swirls of purple and vermilion. EXT. CASTLE - EVENING The caleche pulls up in the courtyard of a vast ruined castle with broken battlements showing a jagged line against the sky. Stoker alights. The coach clatters off. STOKER I say! Hello! He sees a faint glow of light emanating from the castle. EXT. CASTLE ENTRANCE - NIGHT The doors mysteriously creak open, revealing a sprawling campsite of STAGEHANDS, ACTORS and MUSICIANS feasting on “robber-steaks” -- twists of bloody scraps of meat. A striking dark-skinned WOMAN dressed as a belly dancer smiles beguilingly at Stoker from under a broken archway.
  • 15. 14. MIDDLE EASTERN WOMAN Good evening. Stoker flits his eyes over her amazing form. STOKER Good evening. MIDDLE EASTERN WOMAN Enter at your own will. Stoker continues on, stumbling over a loose stone in the floor. Sensing a presence, he looks up to see a gaunt, dark figure at the top of a crumbling stone staircase. HENRY IRVING descends toward him, dressed impeccably in a tuxedo with his hair slicked back, holding a lamp that throws long quivering shadows flickering in the dilapidated hall. HENRY IRVING Welcome to my home away from home! He presses his hands into Stoker’s. He is incredibly charismatic, electric even. Stoker is flustered. STOKER This is the greatest moment of my life. HENRY IRVING Dear friend! I owe you a debt of eternal gratitude. Because of your kind words over the years, Dublin has warmed to me and she now lies prostate at my feet. STOKER I merely record what I see: genius. HENRY IRVING Egadz! If I had a Stoker in America! An insistent COUGH suddenly intrudes. Stoker notices a short, weasly MAN behind Irving. He is H.J. LOVEDAY, 36. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Mr. Stoker, may I present Mr. H.J. Loveday, Co-Manager of The Lyceum. Mr. Loveday, meet Mr. Bram Stoker, Dublin theatre critic extraordinnaire.
  • 16. 15. STOKER A pleasure, sir. I was in London last summer and saw “The Bells,” a first-rate production if I may say so. LOVEDAY You’re paid to write reviews? STOKER Well, it is not a salaried position as yet but I hope to convince my editor... HENRY IRVING Now, now, H.J., Mr. Stoker has been a tremendous help to us here in Dublin and we must show him our gratitude! Ahem! Loveday begrudgingly shakes Stoker’s hand. INT. LUXURY TENT - NIGHT A minor platoon of elegantly dressed SERVANTS cater to the every whim of Irving, Stoker and Loveday, filling crystal wine goblets and serving heaps of dressed crab. HENRY IRVING You will I trust excuse that I do not join you but I have already dined and I never drink... wine. Tell me what you thought of tonight’s effort. How was I? STOKER You brought a psychological dimension to the character. An inner voice that made the audience think as well as feel. HENRY IRVING How very astute of you to grasp that. LOVEDAY Psycho-what? What is he babbling about? HENRY IRVING I infer from this, Stoker, that you’re not an adherent of the Diderot school? STOKER Well, I’d hardly call the rantings of an obscure French actor a ‘school.’ Irving explodes with laughter.
  • 17. 16. HENRY IRVING Oh, I don’t mean to seem so starved for attention but you know we actors are treated like dogs. Less than dogs. No respect. It is my life goal to bring honor and dignity to the profession. I want acting to be as respected as medicine, the law, or the church! STOKER I am told that there is not in the United States the same violent opposition to the choice of the stage as a profession that holds more or less in all Europe. Irving POUNDS the table with his fist. HENRY IRVING You see, Mr. Loveday, this is the man I have been searching for! Loveday dabs his mouth with a napkin. LOVEDAY I think I’ll leave you two to it. An attendant pulls his chair back and Loveday skedaddles. HENRY IRVING Tell me about yourself, Stoker. Not your life story. Just tell me what you want. STOKER What I want? HENRY IRVING You’re thirty years old. You work as a civil servant during the day and write theatre reviews for The Express at night. Is this where you saw yourself ending up? Surely there must be some secret dream. STOKER (after a beat) I write. Short stories. Novels. I hope to one day pen something lasting, something permanent. HENRY IRVING So we both want the same thing you and I: Immortality! STOKER Immortality through art.
  • 18. 17. HENRY IRVING The only kind possible! A quiet moment, the two of them staring at each other. Irving smiles as he gestures to an ornate glass fountain residing on the table. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Let us visit the Green Fairy. He looks at Stoker. Testing him. Does he know what to do? Stoker carefully positions sugar cubes over two goblets and then slowly filters absinthe through them, twisting spigots on the fountain to add just the right amount (about a jigger) of chilled water to the concentrate. The absinthe clouds up, its color slowly transforming from deep emerald into an opalescent light green. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Well poured! (raises glass) To new friends! STOKER (toasting) Thank you! They drink. It’s getting late. Servants ignite a fire pit for warmth, chasing the shadows away. HENRY IRVING Tell me about your family, Stoker. What does your father do? STOKER Retired civil servant. Worked at Dublin Castle for fifty years. Wants me to follow in his path to mediocrity. HENRY IRVING I’d say you’re already on your way! Allow me to be blunt. I want you to come work for me. I need a man like you: cultivated, organized and ambitious. STOKER In what capacity? HENRY IRVING Run the front house and manage the next phase of my career: conquering America.
  • 19. 18. Stoker, stunned, tries to act cool. STOKER What does Mr. Loveday do? HENRY IRVING Mostly administrative duties. He is a bright young man but does not possess your acumen. Have you visited the States? STOKER I have not. HENRY IRVING A most arduous journey. What’s wrong? You have a sudden look of consternation. STOKER I don’t think I’m qualified for the immense responsibility of managing Mr. Henry Irving’s career. I love the theatre but have no practical knowledge of how to run a business. HENRY IRVING Of course you do. You’ve worked as a civil servant for seven years. Running a theatre has to be easier than managing a county in Ireland. STOKER But the differences... HENRY IRVING Are slight. You will have a staff of forty-eight and my expertise to guide you. You’re not married I hope? STOKER No. HENRY IRVING Good. I didn’t think so. Men marry when they are tired and you seem anything but. I was married once... Ages ago, it seems. She died. STOKER I’m sorry. HENRY IRVING She was fortunate. Life is such a mystery. So what do you say? Game?
  • 20. 19. STOKER This would mean leaving Ireland. HENRY IRVING For the world! To go through the crowded streets of the metropolis, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its changes, its death! He fills their goblets to the rim. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) I’ll even make you Co-Director, with your name alongside mine, above the playbill. (a whisper) Mr. Irving and Mr. Stoker Present... Stoker loosens his collar, feeling the effects of the drink. Thirsty, he downs a carafe of water. He looks at the fire. Bursts of red and green light strobe at him. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Think it over. In the meantime, I would like to present you with a special gift. A private recitation of ‘Eugene Aram.’ LATER Stoker is slumped back in his chair, hypnotized by Irving’s hallucinatory poetry-reading/performance art. Everything is nightmarishly distorted by the absinthe. HENRY IRVING Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone, One hurried gash with a hasty knife, -- And then the deed was done: There was nothing lying at my foot But lifeless flesh and bone! Frenzied, he acts out the battering of the old man. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And yet I feared him all the more, For lying there so still: There was a manhood in his look, That murder could not kill.
  • 21. 20. Stoker feels a hand on him, turns to see the sultry Middle Eastern women kneeling by him with a smoldering opium pipe. She leans in, purses her ruby lips and gently blows a thin plume of whitish smoke into his mouth. EXT. CAMPSITE, CASTLE GROUNDS - NIGHT Stoker comes to by the fire pit. The dark beauty is with a FAIR-HAIRED DAMSEL and a RED- HEAD. She shakes her head coquettishly. The others urge her on. They all three laugh, a silvery, musical laugh. The dark woman moves to Stoker, reaching behind her back to unclasp her silk bra. The bra tumbles to the ground. She kneels before Stoker and kisses his mouth, moving down to his neck. She locks her lips onto his throat. Stoker gasps. A beat, then... ...she slides down him, biting his flesh, as the blonde gets behind her and cups her breasts and the red-head moves to Stoker on all fours, like a cat to its prey. A bat flitters by overhead, twisting and whirling. The fire pit flares up and for a brief moment we catch a glimpse of Henry Irving watching from the shadows. We HEAR the SOUND of FLORENCE’S VOICE come over. FLORENCE (V.O.) It’s too dark. I can’t see! INT. LONDON FLAT - NIGHT CLOSE ON A GAS-LAMP A small female hand turns the wick up, only for a much larger hand to clasp onto it and turn the light down. FLORENCE (O.S.) What are you... I can’t... They’re giddy, laughing. We HEAR bags drop to the ground. STOKER (O.S.) Close your eyes. Okay. Stop.
  • 22. 21. EXT. LONDON FLAT - BALCONY - NIGHT Stoker is behind a young and beautiful, just-married Florence. She’s 19, tall at five feet eight, with a patrician profile, gray-blue eyes, and long blonde hair. STOKER All right. Open your eyes. She opens them and reacts in amazement to what she sees. FLORENCE My god. The light! NEW ANGLE We now see the view, a stunning vista of the Thames embankment illuminated by rows of blazing street lamps. FLORENCE (CONT’D) I’ve never seen such brilliance. It’s heavenly! STOKER The gaslight era is over. Behold the modern age of electricity. A long, leisurely panning and gliding shot from right to left across the inspiring skyline of the metropolis. FLORENCE St. Paul’s Cathedral, Chelsea Bridge... I can even see Buckingham Palace! STOKER I think that’s the Tower of London. FLORENCE Look at the river! All the barges. Oh... She is prevented from leaning any further by her bulky wedding dress. STOKER Take it off. You’d see better. FLORENCE Oh, would I now? STOKER Well, the view would certainly improve for me, Mrs. Stoker. She smiles slyly, moves toward him, unbuttoning...
  • 23. 22. FLORENCE I suppose I did just take an oath to love, honor and obey you. We leave them to it, pulling up and away, to a somewhat eerie SUBJECTIVE BIRD’S EYE VIEW on them. The unsettling POV starts moving, twisting and whirling. INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT Stoker and Florence are in a hansom rumbling through London’s arteries, both of them dressed to the nines. Stoker looks resplendent in a tuxedo and patterned Hellfire vest, under a frock coat, with top hat and cane. Florence is in a restrictive gown which is heavily ornamented with frills, pleats, ruffles and fringing. FLORENCE I should have worn the red dress. STOKER You look beautiful, every woman will be mad with jealousy. FLORENCE I feel like a piece of upholstery. The hansom veers sharply around a tight corner. STOKER I say! Steady on my man! The DRIVER ignores him, raises his whip and CRACKS it. FLORENCE There’s not going to be a single Irishwoman there, I know it. And me with my thick brogue. They’ll think I’m a washerwoman... or worse. The coach enters the bustling theatre district which is pulsating with life and thrilling to behold. Bars, emporiums, coffee houses -- the heart of the city, with every possible kind of entertainment and restaurant. FLORENCE (CONT’D) At least it’s not raining. As if on cue, THUNDER claps overhead.
  • 24. 23. EXT. LYCEUM THEATRE - NIGHT LIGHTNING shatters, dramatically revealing the Lyceum Theatre with its monumental Grecian facade and towering Corinthian columns topped with flaming marble torches. A small notice tacked to the shuttered portico says “CLOSED FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION.” Stoker and Florence rush to the stage door which suddenly opens revealing the wickedly vivacious ELLEN TERRY, 31. ELLEN TERRY There you are! Mr. Stoker, I presume? Ellen Terry. Your new employee. Sorry about the weather, you’ll have to get used to it. City needs a glass dome. Stoker is star-struck. Terry is the most famous actress in the country, stunningly beautiful, whip-smart and the second highest paid woman in England after the Queen. STOKER A great honor. Your Ophelia last year was sublime. As moving as your Rosalynd the year before that and your Imogen in ‘74. ELLEN TERRY Forget those girls, who’s this beauty? She is staring agog at Florence. STOKER May I present my wife, Florence. ELLEN TERRY Have you acted in London before? FLORENCE I’m not an actress. ELLEN TERRY Well that’s a relief! Come on! (grabs her arm) Let’s get you in from this rain. INT. BACKSTAGE, LYCEUM - NIGHT Ellen leads the Stokers past CATERERS and STAFF fretting over last minute party details, rapidly shining silver cutlery, preparing platters with decorative garnish.
  • 25. 24. They pass a small wood-panelled dining area, THE BEEFSTEAK ROOM, where WORKERS are polishing a chandelier. FLORENCE What goes on in here? She peers inside. Someone snaps the door curtain shut. ELLEN TERRY Men only, I’m afraid. She flags down a dapper zooming page-boy named SHRIMP. ELLEN TERRY (CONT’D) Shrimp, run ahead and alert Miss Carr that Mr. Stoker has arrived. SHRIMP (tips cap) Pleasure, madame. He speeds off, his eyes lingering a moment on Florence. ELLEN TERRY I’ll give you the quick tour. Shrimp and CRONIES wolf-whistle at Florence as she glides by. Florence cringes. Stoker chuckles, proud as punch. ELLEN TERRY (CONT’D) You’re going to have to hide your wife behind a veil, Mr. Stoker, if we’re to get any work done around here. Stoker looks around. Sure enough, ever male backstage is captivated by Florence; STAGEHANDS, CARPENTERS, LIMELIGHT MEN et al, all of them tipping caps and smiling her way. INT. REHEARSAL ROOM - NIGHT Irving is testing new f/x gear with Loveday and TECHNICIANS, trying out new lightboards from Germany. Classical music BOOMS forth from a phonograph cylinder, the 5th Movement of Berlioz’s “Symphonie Fantastique.” Shrimp enters and approaches a young woman standing to the side of the stage taking notes. Her name is MISS CARR, 20, Irving’s private secretary and sketch artist. Miss Carr wears a constrained grey ‘governess’ gown and her little round face is plastered with white foundation.
  • 26. 25. MISS CARR (without looking up) What do you want, Shrimp? SHRIMP Excuse me, Miss Carr. Mr. and Mrs. Bram Stoker to see Mr. Irving. Hearing this, Irving jerks his head around angrily to see Stoker come bounding over. He scowls, kills the MUSIC. HENRY IRVING Did you get my telegram? I wanted you hear on the twelfth. This is the thirteenth. And who pray tell is this? STOKER My wife, Florence. HENRY IRVING Wife! A word in private, Mr. Stoker. He marches off. Stoker looks at Florence who realizes he has no choice but to leave her there and follow Irving. ELLEN TERRY Come on, let’s go show you off to everyone. I love your hair, so soft and thick. How do you get it like that? FLORENCE Uh... egg whites and dandelion leaves. ELLEN TERRY How wonderful! INT. IRVING’S OFFICE - NIGHT Irving is lambasting Stoker, pacing about, apoplectic. HENRY IRVING In less than nine months you’ll be a father! STOKER Florence is not pregnant. HENRY IRVING Oh. Now I understand. This was a romantic gesture! You did this for love! Egadz, is every Irishman as thick-headed as you?
  • 27. 26. STOKER I don’t understand. HENRY IRVING Marriage robs a man of ambition! STOKER Not with me. Speaking as an employer, I always found married subordinates to be more productive than bachelors. HENRY IRVING That might be how it works on the potato farm but the theatre business is a young man’s game. A young, single man’s game. Stoker spies a bible on a nearby shelf, scoops it up. STOKER I swear, on the Book, that I will devote my life to you, morning, noon and night. Irving looks him up and down, deciding. HENRY IRVING She’s very beautiful, Stoker. Beautiful women require constant attention. EXT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS Loveday hears muffled voices, cocks an ear to the door. INT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS HENRY IRVING I suppose her charms might bring in some business. Go! Go to her! Enjoy the festivities. Work a full week and if, by the end of Friday, you still mean it, then I will accept your oath of loyalty. EXT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS Loveday sees the door handle turn and quickly skulks off. INT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS Stoker leaves. Irving opens the bible and removes a small glass vial of liquid from a secret cavity within. He pulls out the stopper and imbibes the vial’s contents.
  • 28. 27. A thin rivulet of red liquid seeps from his mouth and trickles down his chin. He finds a napkin, dabs it. INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT MUSIC fills the air as we move across the crowded foyer, finding Florence talking with Ellen and the very attractive ROSE LOVEDAY, 22, and other TROPHY WIVES. ELLEN TERRY Mrs. Bram Stoker may I present Mrs. Harold Loveday. ROSE Call me Rose. So it’s true, you are beautiful. FLORENCE Thank you. So are you. I love your dress. So light and unadorned. May I? She brushes her hand over the delicate brocade. ROSE It’s tight-fitting like the cuirasse but without a waist seam and the bodice and skirt are cut into one. So it’s much easier to move around in. FLORENCE How did you make it? Rose and Ellen lock eyes and share a little laugh. ROSE Made it! How adorable. Don’t worry, we’ll take you to the emporiums tomorrow. ELLEN TERRY A little tour of pleasures. Your life of leisure awaits! Irving appears, kisses Rose and Ellen, turns to Florence. HENRY IRVING Mrs. Stoker, I must apologize for my brutish behavior earlier. You see, you caught me working and I often forget myself when absorbed in stagecraft. Without breaking eye contact, he puts her little hand in his and kisses it.
  • 29. 28. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) As an imperfect mortal to a goddess, I humbly beg your forgiveness. Florence finds herself overpowered by Irving’s magnetism. INT. LYCEUM - LATER Stoker is talking to Loveday, looking over at the ravishing vision that is the COMTESSE DE GUERBEL, a raven- haired aristocrat in her 20s, exquisitely begowned and bejeweled. She is surrounded by three tongue-tied MEN. STOKER Who is that? LOVEDAY The Comtesse De Guerbel. Do you know her? She’s staring right at you. Stoker is captivated. The Comtesse is truly stunning. LOVEDAY (CONT’D) Good luck. I hear she’s a tigress who collects married men like souvenirs. He scoots off in a huff just as the Comtesse appears. COMTESSE Mr. Stoker? The Comtesse de Guerbell. STOKER An honor. He takes her gloved hand and kisses it. STOKER (CONT’D) Is there a Count de Guerbell? COMTESSE There was. I’m recently widowed. STOKER My condolences. COMTESSE Well... not that recently. She looks right at him. A pregnant silence. Broken by:
  • 30. 29. COMTESSE (CONT’D) Everyone’s talking about your stunning wife. I thought I’d come meet the man who won her heart. Stoker doesn’t realize it but directly overhead sits... INT. PRIVATE BOX - CONTINUOUS Irving and Florence. Irving appears quite taken by her. HENRY IRVING Thank you for allowing me to bring you up here. I wanted a chance for us to talk. She pulls her hair back, revealing a dangling crucifix. FLORENCE I’ve never seen a theatre as big as this. HENRY IRVING It is my sanctuary and cathedral. FLORENCE There must be a thousand seats! He reaches for a ringlet of her hair and strokes it, causing her to instantly flinch and tense up. HENRY IRVING Relax. I’m not going to bite you. INT. LYCEUM BALCONY - LATER The Comtesse laughs at something Stoker just said. COMTESSE Perhaps we can finish this conversation another time? At my townhouse, perhaps. She looks at him, a shadow of enticement in her sparkling blue eyes. Before Stoker can answer... Loveday suddenly appears, practically butts in. LOVEDAY Grab your coat and hat, Irving wants to see us all at his place. Immediately. Stoker turns to the Comtesse but Loveday is insistent.
  • 31. 30. LOVEDAY (CONT’D) Sorry. No time for good-byes. He practically drags Stoker off. We HOLD on the Comtesse. INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT Florence is looking for Stoker. FLORENCE Have you seen Bram? ELLEN TERRY Irving called a meeting. FLORENCE At this hour? ELLEN TERRY You’ll get used to it. INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT Stoker, Loveday and Miss Carr in a rumbling hansom. EXT. IRVING’S HOUSE - NIGHT An old church converted into a plush private compound, complete with iron bars on the stained-glass windows. Stoker rings the bell while Loveday and Miss Carr look on. A voice cries out from beyond the gate. VOICE (O.S.) I’m coming! I’m coming! No need to make a noise to wake the dead! A faint lantern light grows larger, revealing Irving’s housekeeper MRS. POOLE, a stout Hungarian woman in her fifties. She is with FANG, a hulking jet-black mastiff. The leashed animal growls at Stoker, baring its fangs. MRS. POOLE Down boy! (opens gate) Well don’t just stand there!
  • 32. 31. INT. IRVING’S HOUSE - NIGHT A sparsely furnished room with a big fireplace blazing. Irving is quaffing brandy and conversing with a skinny, bookish Scotsman in a suit: ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, 27. Stoker, Loveday and Carr are shown in. Fang trots across the marble-tiled floor and settles down at Irving’s feet. HENRY IRVING Thank you, Mrs. Poole. She leaves. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Gentlemen, Miss Carr, may I present my favorite new dramatist, Mr. Arthur Doyle. Stoker excitedly proffers his hand. STOKER I’ve read your work in ‘Black Mask’ magazine. I particularly enjoyed the one about the detective. HENRY IRVING Forget detectives! Tell them what your play is about Mr. Doyle. CONAN DOYLE ‘Waterloo.’ The story of Napoleon’s defeat. HENRY IRVING Wait till you read this! The battle scenes alone will thrill them. But first allow me to bid Mr. Doyle adieu. Irving slots an envelope into Doyle’s suit pocket. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Don’t go spending that all at once. CONAN DOYLE Couldn’t if I tried. A thousand thanks. HENRY IRVING Don’t you mean twenty thousand thanks? They snicker. Irving shows Doyle out. Loveday immediately seizes the manuscript and feverishly flips through it.
  • 33. 32. LOVEDAY What did you pay for this? HENRY IRVING Twenty thousand pounds. Miss Carr emits a tiny gasp. LOVEDAY Twenty thousand! That’s half our profit of last season! Fang growls at Loveday. HENRY IRVING “Waterloo” will prove to be anything but for us. It’s perfect for the planned expansion. We’re going to have to fill those five hundred extra seats somehow and I don’t think Ibsen is the answer. We need to give them spectacle. Agreed? Loveday doesn’t get it but Stoker does. Nodding as we cut to... INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT Florence is in a side bathroom brushing her long blonde locks, clad in her undergarments. She doesn’t look happy. Stoker is sitting up in bed reading “Waterloo” and mail. STOKER Complain all you like. I think he's fascinating. He slices open a letter and reads it to himself. STOKER’S POV -- THE LETTER “Dear. Mr. Stoker, Thank you for submitting ‘Cat’s Eyes.’ You are a very talented writer. Unfortunately, this story does not suit our publishing needs at this time. Thank you and please keep us in mind for future submissions. Sincerely, Peter Faber, Esq.” BACK TO SCENE Stoker hides his chagrin, picks up “Waterloo.”
  • 34. 33. FLORENCE Oh, I suppose he's all right. I can handle him touching my hair, but, well, give me someone a little more normal. STOKER Like...? FLORENCE Like you. STOKER I have my dark side. FLORENCE Yes, you do! You left me there tonight! Not so much as a note or a by-your-leave. STOKER There wasn’t opportunity. I rushed straight home. He sets the play down. FLORENCE Well? What do you think? Will it make your fortune? STOKER It is well crafted but needs more in the way of visual flair. She comes over to him, hops onto the bed. FLORENCE Any ideas? He looks at her. So sexy. STOKER One or two. He pulls the bow on her slip and they start to make love. INT. STOKER’S OFFICE - NIGHT Stoker looks up from a pile of paperwork to see a massive sun sizzling into the Thames. He stretches, checks his pocketwatch and smiles, happy to be going home when... CRACK!! Irving suddenly pounds the door with the handle of his cane and comes bounding in, full of vigor and vim.
  • 35. 34. HENRY IRVING I take a walk every day after sundown. To whip up the circulation. My head starts spinning with ideas and I’d like you to accompany me. STOKER Of course. I am at your disposal. INT. BOXING RING - DOCKLANDS - NIGHT CRACK! A swung fist shatters a jaw. Blood goes flying. PULL BACK TO REVEAL... Stoker and Irving at a bare- knuckles boxing match. CRACK! More body fluids spray. HENRY IRVING Bravo! I love the sight of blood! I bet you boxed at Trinity, man your size? Or was wrestling your bag? I’m a boxer. STOKER I captained the rugby team, which in Ireland involves boxing and wrestling. HENRY IRVING Stout chap! I knew it. He hollers at the fighter flat on the mat. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Get up, you swine! Encore! Encore! The REF feels the flattened fighter’s pulse. Nothing. He waves his arms. Fight over. The place erupts. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) All right, we’re leaving. Stoker stands up, his Savile Row suit spattered in gore. INT. OPIUM DEN - NIGHT Weird, translucent figures take shape on the screen. PULLING BACK we realize that we are in an opium den, watching the languid scene from Stoker’s POV. He is sprawled on a divan of Persian saddlebags, smoking a charred bamboo pipe, trying to keep his eyes open while Irving downs absinthe with two naked CHINESE GIRLS.
  • 36. 35. Other NUDES loll about. COOLIES come and go, emptying ashes and keeping the smoldering opium burners lit. Stoker focuses his gaze on a striking mural festooning the brick wall at the back of the smoky room. It is a vibrant painting of a Chinese demon with enormous fangs. EXT. OPIUM DEN - NIGHT Stoker and Irving stagger out to a deserted street. The rows of blazing street lamps look like a hallucinatory blur to Stoker. He tries to snap out of his reverie. HENRY IRVING (looks at pocketwatch) Good. Two hours before sun up. Just enough time for one last stop. He hails a cab which comes clattering toward them down the street. Stoker follows, trying to keep pace. INT. BROTHEL - NIGHT Irving plays piano while a gaggle of scantily-clad French STRUMPETS frolic and cavort, undressing to the music. Stoker sits on a sofa, trying to resist temptation whilst sipping champagne with three comely COURTESANS. INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT The door creaks open. Stoker slips into bed without waking Florence. His eyes focus on a clock that shows 5:30 A.M. He shuts his eyes. He opens them. The clock shows 6:30 A.M. He gets up. Staggers to the washroom. EXT. STRAND - MORNING Stoker bicycles to work along the Strand, weaving in and out of elm trees, past a NEWSPAPER BOY flogging tabloids. NEWSPAPER BOY Extra! Extra! Two more murder victims found! Throats slit from ear to ear! INT. REHEARSAL ROOM, LYCEUM - NIGHT CLANG! CLANG! Metal clashes. Blue bolts of electricity crackle. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! A huge SHOWER OF SPARKS.
  • 37. 36. PULL BACK TO REVEAL... Stoker is on stage in a sword fight with MR. HARKER, 50s, the Lyceum’s Electrician. Black cord snakes up from their boot soles to the prop swords. Stoker removes his vizor. STOKER What do you think? HENRY IRVING I think you’re a bloody fool! A spark could catch the curtain baize and we’d have ourselves a bonfire within minutes. Far too dangerous. Right, Mr. Loveday? LOVEDAY Quite right, Mr. Irving. Most dangerous. STOKER The baize will be protected and Harker here is going to rig a series of fans for the smoke. We’ll have personnel stationed in the wings with buckets of water. I believe this effect will provide the spectacle lacking in our finale. HENRY IRVING I commend your creativity, Stoker, but there’s one striking flaw: The audience comes to see me! They don’t need electricity. I provide the fireworks! He storms off with a smug Miss Carr and Loveday. A beat, then... Harker starts dismantling the boots and swords. STOKER What are you doing? Leave that. HARKER But I thought Mr. Irving said... STOKER Never mind what Mr. Irving said. EXT. LYCEUM - NIGHT Opening night of “Waterloo.” A mob of scrubby WORKING- CLASS types jostle for the best pit seats while nattily- dressed ARISTOCRATS and other TOFFS stroll right in.
  • 38. 37. INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT A tuxedoed Stoker seats Florence in the most prominent front row seat. Florence is in a slim fitting trained dress and her hair is braided, exposing her ears, with the ends cascading down the back in curled ringlets and looped braids. STOKER I’ll be back in a few minutes. He kisses her on the cheek, taking note of all the men and women captivated by his stunning, luminous wife. INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT Mayhem. STAGEHANDS and other PERSONNEL running around like headless chickens. Stoker barks at a LIMELIGHT MAN. STOKER The limelight’s for Mr. Irving and Mr. Irving only. INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT Curtain falls for the end of Act I. Polite applause. Some patrons are exiting. Stoker looks up at Harker who is perched high above the stage on the flywalk. He nods. INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT Irving and the man playing Napoleon are sword-fighting when the lights suddenly die. Cries of confusion. And then a blue CRACKLE of electric current silences all. CLANGS reverberate as BLUE SPARKS fly from the darkness. The audience coos at the coruscating pyrotechnics. Stoker dashes up a rope-ladder to the flywalk and Harker. STOKER Increase the voltage! HARKER It’s risky. Circuit might blow. STOKER Do it!
  • 39. 38. Harker cranks it, making the electricity on stage zap into a frenzied lightning storm of sparking filaments. The Limelight Men improvise and add to the effect with chiaroscuro, backlighting and high-contrast lighting, building to a glorious show-stopping incandescent climax. STOKER (CONT’D) Give it everything! All the way! The power dies. Needles on gauges bounce to zero. STOKER (CONT’D) Lights! The auditorium gas-lamps gradually revive. Total and complete silence. Hear a pin drop. Stoker doesn’t breathe. Someone claps. It spreads. Crescendoes into DEAFENING APPLAUSE with stomping FEET and HOLLERING from the pit. The curtain lifts and Irving appears, bowing to the Royal Box, the pit and the gods. He is bombarded with flowers. INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - NIGHT Invitation-only supper club. Politicians, artists and aristocrats. The Victorian white male power elite. Attending tonight: WILLIAM GLADSTONE, Arthur Conan Doyle, HALL CAINE, ARTHUR SULLIVAN of Gilbert & Sullivan, et al. Stoker sits to Irving’s right. Irving is holding court. HENRY IRVING I was walking along the Thames in Chelsea when it hit me like a thunderbolt. If electricity can light up the city, why not harness that energy for spectacle? Cries of “Bravo, Irving!,” “Genius!,” “Irving the Great!” GUEST #1 Three cheers for Irving! Hip hip... EVERYONE Hooray! GUEST #1 Hip hip...
  • 40. 39. We PULL BACK AND UP from the table to an aerial POV, easing back through peepholes to a secret VIEWING GALLERY hidden over the ceiling where Florence, Terry, Rose and a few select, invited women sit silently eavesdropping. Florence does her best to seem unperturbed while Irving brazenly takes all the credit. INT. STOKER’S OFFICE - NIGHT Stoker and Irving are counting receipts for the season. HENRY IRVING I have the profits at ten thousand, two hundred and seventeen pounds. STOKER The exact same figure I have. HENRY IRVING Your quarter comes to two thousand five hundred dollars. Less nineteen hundred. Surcharge in our electricity bill. STOKER I don’t understand. HENRY IRVING The swords, you stupid Irishman! STOKER But why should I foot the bill? HENRY IRVING Costs are costs, Mr. Stoker. You could hardly expect me to indulge your fascination with electricity after I made it perfectly clear I considered the matter a fire hazard. This is our first production, be content. The real money’s in America. One more ‘Waterloo’ and we’ll be able to afford a tour. Hmm? We good? Stoker hesitates, then nods. HENRY IRVING (CONT’D) Capital. What are your summer plans? I shall be on my yacht off the Brighton coast, if you and the wife care to join. Stoker forces a smile.
  • 41. 40. STOKER We’d be delighted. EXT. WALRUS - BRIGHTON COAST - DAY Stoker is on deck with Florence, looking snazzy in a new straw boater and richly striped blazer. Florence is wearing a two-piece bathing dress and carries a parasol. A newly-successful looking Conan Doyle is also present with a very pretty and flirtatious raven-haired ACTRESS. CONAN DOYLE My dear, you’re going to have to slow down on the Pims or you’ll be flat on your back in no time. ACTRESS You’d like that wouldn’t you? She is incredibly attractive, like an early silent movie star, with spectacular legs and big, expressive eyes. Her name is VIOLET HUNT. STOKER Violet Hunt. I don’t think I’ve ever met an actress quite as... vivacious as you. VIOLET HUNT Bram Stoker. What kind of name is that anyway? Bram? Short for what... Bramble? She giggles. Bram is captivated. Florence elbows him. POP! Irving steps into view with a frothing magnum of champagne which he hands to a SERVANT who fills flutes. Ellen Terry is with him, clad in a chic swimsuit. HENRY IRVING To “Waterloo.” The biggest success on the London stage. The first of many! Everyone drinks, except Rose who is occupied with a mysterious contraption, a camera as big as a bread-box. ROSE LOVEDAY All right. Let’s give this a try. Come on, gather around. Everyone say cheese!
  • 42. 41. They oblige. Frozen smiles. The terrific FLASH blinds us. DISSOLVE TO: INT. ROSENBACH MUSEUM - DAY The photograph from Irving’s yacht appears as a black and white print in “Personal Reminiscences of Henry Irving.” We are back in the reading room of the Rosenbach Museum. Robinson flips through the remaining chapters which have rather dry titles like “Theories of Acting Styles.” He shuts the book just as the pretty Archivist appears. ARCHIVIST Find what you were looking for? ROBINSON Not really. I’m finished, thanks. She packs the materials, returns them to the top shelf. ARCHIVIST What’s the subject of your thesis? ROBINSON Actually, I’m a producer. You know, motion pictures. She looks at him. ROBINSON (CONT’D) I’m trying to find out if Stoker had any real life inspiration for his story. We’re going to run a feature on his life before re-releasing ‘Dracula’ this fall. ARCHIVIST Perhaps you could talk to one of Mr. Stoker’s contemporaries. He wasn’t that old when he passed away. There may be someone still around who knew him. ROBINSON Like who? ARCHIVIST Arthur Conan Doyle’s alive. You know, Sherlock Holmes? He lives somewhere in London. He’s old but not that old.
  • 43. 42. ROBINSON London, huh? INT. PAN AM CLIPPER - IN THE AIR - DAY/NIGHT Robinson is nestled in a cushy first class cabin, smoking a cigarette and reading a dog-eared copy of “Dracula.” The book’s lurid cover art shows a tuxedoed Count with his hair slicked back, standing in a crumbling castle. EXT. UNDERSHAW/CONAN DOYLE’S HOUSE - DAY A statue of Sherlock Holmes guards the entrance to this picturesque red-brick house in London. Creeping ivy and black latticed windows gives the place an air of mystery. INT. STUDY, UNDERSHAW - DAY A huge stone fireplace is lit and blazing. A poker stabs at the coals, rearranging them. PULL BACK TO REVEAL... ...Arthur Conan Doyle, an old man now, getting comfortable in a deep leather armchair opposite Robinson. Rose’s photograph from Irving’s yacht is visible in a frame on a shelf behind him. A big, ugly tiger moth is flittering about the room. CONAN DOYLE There’s one thing you have to understand about Bram Stoker. Henry Irving was his idol. He wrote about the man for seven years before they even met. Seven years of worship from afar. ROBINSON Did Stoker base “Dracula” on their relationship? CONAN DOYLE Irving certainly was strange but I’m not sure I’d go so far as... although did you know he suffered from porphyria? ROBINSON Por-what?
  • 44. 43. CONAN DOYLE Porphyria. A rare genetic skin disorder, an allergy to the sun that causes severe reactions to heat and light. Begins to account for his nocturnal lifestyle. ROBINSON Nothing I’ve read on Irving mentions it. CONAN DOYLE He never told a soul. I happened to examine Irving myself. He nods at the medical diplomas on the wall by Robinson. CONAN DOYLE (CONT’D) Two years as a ship’s doctor on a voyage to West Africa and then five years as an opthalmologist. Still be practising now if weren’t for Stoker. ROBINSON They produced your play “Waterloo.” CONAN DOYLE That’s right. My first stab at drama proved to be most lucrative. ROBINSON So you saw the dynamic between Stoker and Irving close up. CONAN DOYLE Americans have a phrase for it: star struck. That was Stoker all right. The moth flutters curiously around a lit candle. ROBINSON From what I can gather, their relationship soured and there was some controversy surrounding Irving’s death. DOYLE I don’t know anything about that. Stoker confided in me. We were quite close at one point. But our friendship ended rather abruptly around ‘88. ROBINSON What happened? The moth hits its wing on the candle flame and combusts.
  • 45. 44. DOYLE Victoria Hunt happened. Doyle scoops up the dead insect, cremates it in the fire. ROBINSON I read about her in “The Personal Reminiscences of Henry Irving.” DOYLE Tish! That book was pabulum for the public. They didn’t know the real Henry Irving. No one did. ROBINSON Is it fair to say Count Dracula is a thinly veiled portrayal of Irving? CONAN DOYLE (after a beat) Irving had certain vampyric tendencies. ROBINSON Tell me about them. Doyle seems perturbed as he gazes at the crackling fire. Wisps of smoke become... EXT. LONDON LANE - NIGHT ...thick, green-gray curling wreathes of London fog. The SOUND of FOOTSTEPS from within the murky haze. A cloud of steam drifts up through a grating. There is sudden movement in the gutter. A huge slimy rat slithers along with something in its mouth. A HUMAN FINGER. Ring attached. The rat scurries off down a drain. The FOOTFALLS get louder until -- HENRY IRVING emerges from the swirling mist, prodding the ground with his cane, striding briskly toward an OLD MAN who sees him and takes an exaggerated step back in fright. Irving hoists his cane and clubs the man to the earth, hailing down a storm of savage blows, kicking and trampling him with ape-like fury. His bloodied cane splits in two and one half goes flying through the air.
  • 46. 45. Atmospheric MUSIC swells as we PULL BACK TO REVEAL... ...we are on stage in the Lyceum, amidst a vividly realized production of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The curtain drops. Gaslight reveals a riveted audience. Everyone is too shaken to immediately applaud but when they do it is loud, enthusiastic and sustained. Doyle sits up front, beside a ravishing-looking Violet. BACKSTAGE Stoker greets Irving with pride and adoration. STOKER A most convincing performance! Irving ignores him and makes a beeline for the actor who played the battered old man. HENRY IRVING You! You were late again! And kindly remain at the back of the stage or next time it won’t be a prop cane that splinters on your spine! He storms off. LOVEDAY A word, please, Mr. Stoker. STOKER (eyeing Violet) Can it wait? LOVEDAY A most delicate situation has arisen. This comes directly from the top. Stoker sighs, follows him, exiting past Doyle and Violet. CONAN DOYLE I say, where are you headed? STOKER I wish I knew. CONAN DOYLE Tell us all about it when you return.
  • 47. 46. VIOLET Yes, Bramble, tell us everything. EXT. WHITECHAPEL - NIGHT Stoker and Loveday stand before a stationary hansom, holding the door open for four slatternly PROSTITUTES. LOVEDAY Occasionally, Irving asks me to invite some female admirers from the penny seats to visit him in his quarters. STOKER These women hardly fit the description. LOVEDAY Our master has certain expectations when it comes to female entertainment. I expect we all do. Regardless, as you’ll come to see, this system works best. One of the girls strokes Stoker’s cheek flirtatiously. PROSTITUTE #1 ‘ello, ‘andsome. LOVEDAY Yes, come along, come along! He hustles the last of the girls into the carriage. INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT Stoker and Irving and the prostitutes crammed inside. Stoker watches with slight disgust as Loveday examines the girls, poking and prodding them with his fingers. PROSTITUTE #1 ‘er throat was cut and body moot-ilated. PROSTITUTE #2 I ‘eard there was no blood at the scene. PROSTITUTE #3 That’s coz ‘e strangles ‘em. PROSTITUTE #4 The Ripper ‘e calls himself. On account of rippin’ the organs out of his victims.
  • 48. 47. STOKER Ahem, are you ladies discussing the recent spate of murders in Whitechapel? PROSTITUTE #1 Core, ‘e’s a bright one ain’t ‘e? Course that’s wot we’re talkin’ about! PROSTITUTE #2 That’s all we talk about. PROSTITUTE #3 ‘e’s killed five of us already. PROSTITUTE #4 None of us wants to be next. LOVEDAY There’ll be no talk of Jack the Ripper in Mr. Irving’s presence. And you’re to do everything he says or you won’t get paid. INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - NIGHT The streetwalkers have been washed and scrubbed and transformed into beautiful, buxom French courtesans clad in expensive costumes from the “Waterloo” production. Champagne and caviar flows. CLASSICAL MUSIC provided by a quartet of MUSICIANS dressed as servants from the court of Louis XIV, complete with powdered wigs and fake moles. In the middle of the bacchanal sits Irving, on a throne, looking like the Sun King, being serviced by a kneeling supplicant made up to resemble a young Marie Antoinette. PULLING BACK we realize we are watching from STOKER, LOVEDAY and DOYLE’S POV in the upstairs viewing gallery. Stoker looks at his watch, notices Loveday leering lecherously at the goings-on below, quietly slips out. INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT Stoker is trying to mollify a very agitated Florence. FLORENCE You’re never here! I see delivery men more than I see you! You don’t even sleep here some nights. Writing on the weekends. What about me? I’m lonesome!
  • 49. 48. STOKER This is only temporary. Once “Faust” is launched my burden will ease. FLORENCE You said that last year. And now you’re talking about going to America for six months! Six months! STOKER You and Noel will accompany me on all future trips after this initial excursion. I must assess the hardships and risks involved. FLORENCE I don’t like it here anymore. I miss Ireland. STOKER The doctor said you have an excess of cholic following the birth. It has nothing to do with where we live. FLORENCE Don’t you miss home? STOKER This is home. FLORENCE Why not take the experience from here and manage a theatre of your own in Dublin? Irving doesn’t give you the respect you deserve. Partner! He lied to you! STOKER That would be going backwards. Dublin - London - America. That’s the plan. FLORENCE What about me? What about my plans? STOKER My plans are your plans. Florence reaches for a vial of medicine but he stops her. STOKER (CONT’D) I’m going to ask my brother Thornley to take a look at you. FLORENCE I don’t need a doctor. I need a husband!
  • 50. 49. Two-year old NOEL STOKER creeps in rubbing his eyes. NOEL I’m hungry. STOKER (to Florence) Go back to bed. I’ll make some time for us this weekend. FLORENCE You’re going to Paris with Irving this weekend. STOKER Soon then. I promise. INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT Stoker is up late, working on the draft of a novel. INT. LUNATIC ASYLUM - DAY TILTING DOWN from the high metal gate of the sanitarium and dissolving to the gardens and grounds below, where we move past an odd assortment of ATTENDANTS and PATIENTS. Suddenly, a terrifying CRY is heard from the main building. Two PATIENTS on a bench hear the cry and react. PATIENT He probably wants his flies again! They laugh, screeching hysterically. Tracking up to the second-story sanitarium where two MEN struggle together. INT. LUNATIC ASYLUM - DAY A tortured PATIENT is begging an ORDERLY to let him keep a spider for a meal. ORDERLY Here, give it to me now... He procures the spider from the deranged man and carries it with two fingers toward the window. PATIENT No! Don't throw my spider away from me! The Orderly disposes of the insect.
  • 51. 50. ORDERLY Ashamed now, are you? He pulls the patient by the ear and twists it, as Stoker appears from around a corner with THORNLEY STOKER, 32, his younger brother, a successful doctor, one who exhibits more compassion than a typical Victorian medic. THORNLEY Hey! Enough of that! The Orderly and Patient clear out. Stoker tags along while Thornley does his rounds. It is Bedlam: CATATONIC PATIENTS fussing with bedsheets, SCHIZOS ranting, etc. THORNLEY (CONT’D) Where was I? STOKER You were trying to convince me that Florence is acting perfectly normal. Thornley checks the bloody eyes of a bed-bound PATIENT. THORNLEY Onset of melancholia following childbirth was first reported in ancient times. Herodotus writes about it. STOKER Does he mention when it ends? Noel is two years old! THORNLEY Be patient, brother, they are not built like us. It is a wonder she survived such a difficult birth. He peers in at a cell where a young waif-like GIRL is writhing around in the throes of drug-fuelled torment. Stoker watches the abandoned woman, feels strangely guilty. THORNLEY (CONT’D) How’s your sex life? He leads them off down the dank corridor. THORNLEY (CONT’D) Well?
  • 52. 51. STOKER It’s not what it was. Ever since the birth. She has lost interest. Thornley peers in at a straitjacketed syphilis victim, reaches into the cell and jabs a needle into his neck. THORNLEY Things will improve. In the meantime, I advise you to seek relief elsewhere. Abstinence is unhealthy for a man. INT. THORNLEY’S OFFICE - DAY Thornley hands his brother two bottles of medicine. THORNLEY Two teaspoons of the red liquid in the morning, one teaspoon of the clear at night. That should calm her down a bit. Stoker gazes glumly at the opium derivatives, knowing they are just a salve. ZOOM TO the red liquid from his POV. INT. BOODLES GENTLEMAN’S CLUB - DAY CLOSE ON a red snooker ball. PULL BACK TO REVEAL: Stoker and Conan Doyle at play. CRACK! Doyle slams the red into a pocket. It stays down. He chalks his cue and studies the table. There is a thick atmosphere of smoke, tension and weariness in the small, otherwise cozy room. CONAN DOYLE From all you’ve told me, it sounds to me like your brother has the situation under control. CRACK! He sends the black ball zooming into a pocket. STOKER Laudanum. That’s all they prescribe, for everything. I fear my wife’s malaise is more... spiritual. CONAN DOYLE Perhaps you should be spending more time at home. STOKER You know how Irving is.
  • 53. 52. CONAN DOYLE Demanding? STOKER That’s putting it mildly. We leave for Paris tomorrow. Two days studying cadavers at the Paris Morgue. CONAN DOYLE Whatever for? He takes a puff of his cigar. The plume becomes... EXT. PARIS - DAY ...a thick fog from the Seine. It blots out the early morning daylight, shrouding Paris in a chocolate pall. Occasional shafts of sunlight stab down through the swirling vapors, giving the city a nightmarish look. INT. PARIS MORGUE - NIGHT Stoker and Irving wander amid MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC past window displays of corpses, mostly unclaimed bodies fished from the Seine, suicides and executed criminals. Miss Carr follows behind Irving, pressing a cambric- scented handkerchief to her nose while she sketches body parts, faces and anything else of interest to Irving. Irving stops before a tableau of a drowning victim. HENRY IRVING Make sure to get the shadows, Miss Carr. The eye sockets. I want Mr. Pritchard to make me look exactly like that for Faust. STOKER Did you read the publicity materials? Miss Carr drops her scented handkerchief and gags when she inhales the putrid air. HENRY IRVING No. Bring me up to date. STOKER Rest assured, ‘Faust’ is going to be the biggest, most spectacular production ever mounted on a London stage.
  • 54. 53. HENRY IRVING I hope so. No success means no America. Don’t disappoint me, Mr. Stoker. Suffice to say your future hangs in the balance. INT. STOKER’S FLAT - NIGHT Stoker dresses Noel while two HANDMAIDS wash, dress and ply Florence with enough laudanum to face the world. INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT Irving is on stage as Mephistopheles in the lavish production of ‘Faust,’ in scarlet face make-up and clad in a brilliant scarlet cape. The f/x are eye-popping: apparitions, tinsel storms, descents into a sulfurous inferno, trapdoor vanishings and mysterious mists. The Stokers, Doyle, Violet and the Lovedays watch from Stoker’s box. Rose is fiddling with a new camera. Violet gives Stoker a flirtatious look. He looks away, his eyes settling on a woman below in the front row: the Comtesse. She sees him and smiles. Stoker pulls his head back. MONTAGE Money pours into the Lyceum with the success of “Faust.” END MONTAGE INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - DAY Stoker spies Loveday talking with a STRANGER, steps back and watches from around a corner, eavesdropping on them. The man is lean, detached and efficient, all business. STRANGER What goes on in here? LOVEDAY This is a private dining club. The Prime Minister and Prince of Wales dine here. STRANGER Why are there slats in the ceiling?
  • 55. 54. LOVEDAY I’d love to stay and discuss architecture with you but, alas, I have a job to do. If you’ll excuse me. STRANGER I still need to speak with Mr. Irving. LOVEDAY He never rises before late afternoon. STRANGER I’ll return this evening then. He turns and goes. Loveday shouts out after him. LOVEDAY He is not expected in tonight. He curses to himself. Stoker retreats, waits, then... STOKER Who was that? LOVEDAY Scotland Yard. Inspector Godfrey. STOKER What does he want? LOVEDAY You’ll find out soon enough! He takes off leaving Stoker standing there, perplexed. NEW ANGLE Revealing Conan Doyle watching from the vestibule. EXT. STREETS - NIGHT Stoker and Irving strolling through the West End. STOKER Who’s Godfrey? HENRY IRVING How should I know? Here we are. This is meant to feature some nifty lighting. They have arrived at the very popular Alhambra Theatre.
  • 56. 55. Irving hands the tickets to an USHERETTE who rips the stubs, lifts the velvet rope. INT. THE ALHAMBRA - NIGHT Irving and Stoker, incognito, watch a performance of a now forgotten play, observed by a MAN IN THE SHADOWS. EXT. LONDON STREETS - NIGHT Stoker and Irving turn a corner. Stoker is suddenly winded. The MAN from the theatre has just socked him. He wields a dagger, holds it in front of him as he cries: MAN Give me your money! HENRY IRVING Calm, calm, my man, no need to do anything rash. MAN Shut up or I’ll cut you! Irving reaches down to his pocket but flicks his cane instead and -- SWISH! -- a blade protrudes from the end. In one fast, circular motion, he whirls his weapon at the guttersnipe. The blade retreats back into the cane. At first, there seems to be no difference with the man. And then we see that the blade has neatly sliced his throat, right across his bulging Adam's apple. He looks at Irving in confusion as a fine mist of blood sprays from his throat, staining Stoker’s clothes. Irving corrals a dumbfounded Stoker, hurries them away. EXT. STREET - NIGHT Stoker is visibly shaken, Irving exhilarated. STOKER We must inform the police. It was an honest action, he was trying to rob us. HENRY IRVING There’ll be no talking to the police.
  • 57. 56. STOKER But... HENRY IRVING I’ll remind you of an oath you took. He looks directly at Stoker with his penetrating eyes. INT. GARRICK - NIGHT Doyle and Stoker are nestled in a corner nook, away from the other PATRONS. Dole has a stunned look on his face. STOKER I am sorry to burden you with all this. DOYLE Not at all. We are friends. It sounds to me like Irving acted in self defense. STOKER (pauses, looks at watch) We should go to dinner. Irving doesn’t like to be kept waiting. INT. LA BOHEME RESTAURANT - NIGHT DANCERS from Europe parade about the stage to a music hall-type tune emanating from a piano. A large dining table is placed before the stage where DIGNITARIES sit feasting. Irving is seated at the head of the table. Loveday is also there, with his wife Rose who is trying to unlock the mysteries of a new Eastman camera. Victoria is to Irving’s right, looking vampish. Doyle is slumped in a chair, barely conscious, inebriated. VICTORIA Brambell! My darling. How are you? Stoker goes to kiss her hand but gets swatted by Irving. HENRY IRVING Victoria belongs to me, tonight, don’t you my dear? He caresses her cheek. She giggles drunkenly. Stoker turns to see... COMTESSE Isn’t this a pleasant coincidence?
  • 58. 57. STOKER Can I get you something to drink? COMTESSE Yes, but not here. I know a charming little place at 34 Grosvenor Square. Stoker flicks his eyes to Irving who smiles as Victoria dips below the table and reaches up to unbutton his fly. STOKER I can’t leave him. COMTESSE No? She turns and waltzes off. Stoker moves toward the Irving table, sits down tentatively, just realizing that... INSPECTOR GODFREY ...is watching them from a corner table, supping a beer. INT. THE COMTESSE’S BOUDOIR - NIGHT Stoker dresses while the Comtesse reclines back in a sea of satin sheets behind him, her face bathed in sweat. INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT Late. Dark. Florence awakes. It’s chilly. She shivers. FLORENCE Bram? Silence. And then the distant SOUND of breaking glass. Florence rushes to the window then takes a step back into the shadows and looks out at the brilliantly lit Thames. HENRY IRVING can be seen staring right up at Florence. She moves closer to the window. She blinks her eyes. No one there. Did she imagine it? She opens the French doors and hurries out onto the balcony, but he has vanished. Suddenly, the DOOR OPENS behind her and MAKES HER JUMP. Stoker enters and she goes running into his arms.
  • 59. 58. STOKER What’s wrong? You look as if you have seen a ghost. A shrill WHISTLE BLAST suddenly pierces the night. Stoker looks out the window to the embankment. EXT. THAMES - NIGHT A POLICEMAN is blowing his whistle vigorously. Stoker steps out on the balcony, tries to make out what is causing the commotion. PEOPLE are running to the river. EXT. THAMES - NIGHT Behind the Constable we see a corpse floating downstream. Two MEN are wading towards it with gaffes and pikes. One of them hooks into the naked female body and hauls it in. It is the corpse of Victoria Hunt. INT. ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL - DAY The cream of London society listens as Henry Irving eulogizes, talking from the pulpit, backed up by the well- appointed magnificence of the Anglican altar. PULLING BACK we learn we are watching from STOKER’S POV. His eyes bore into Irving, as if trying to see into his very soul. To Stoker’s right sits a numbed Conan Doyle. INT. RECEPTION - NIGHT Doyle stands at the back of the room, nursing a drink, slyly observing Irving who is across the room, regaling a group of sycophantic MOURNERS hanging on his every word. Stoker approaches, sees the look on Doyle’s face. STOKER How are you doing? CONAN DOYLE He was the last to see her alive. Did you know that? STOKER Who?
  • 60. 59. CONAN DOYLE Irving. At the Garrick. You were there. Where did you run off to? STOKER (quickly) Home. When I left, Victoria was at the table next to you. CONAN DOYLE She was on his lap. That much I remember seeing before I passed out. STOKER What of it? CONAN DOYLE Maybe he was the last person to see her alive. STOKER Surely not the very last. Doyle is silent. STOKER (CONT’D) What have the police said? Is it the Ripper? Doyle shakes his head, reaches for the bottle and generously tops up his tipple. CONAN DOYLE Chap at Scotland Yard thinks otherwise. Name’s God something... Godfrey? Stoker reacts, then quickly tries to look indifferent. CONAN DOYLE (CONT’D) Yes, that’s it. Godfrey. An Inspector. Heard of him? STOKER What does he say? CONAN DOYLE The Ripper took souvenirs, internal organs, and his method is cool and clinical. Victoria was mauled. Carved up like a bird, with random, haphazard stab marks. A couple of MOURNERS look over with disapproving looks.
  • 61. 60. STOKER Perhaps we should take this conversation outside? CONAN DOYLE (loud) What conversation? This is idle speculation! He knocks back his drink, sets it down and stomps off. STOKER Wait up, old man. Doyle! He reaches for Doyle’s arm but Doyle is too determined, making a beeline for Irving and his circle of fans. Doyle shoves rudely past, knocking Irving slightly with his arm. There is an audible gasp from some mourners. Irving takes it in his stride. HENRY IRVING Poor fellow. He must be devastated. Murmurs of assent. PULL BACK TO REVEAL... Stoker watching Irving, scrutinizing his demeanor. He chases after Doyle, past a huge crackling fireplace. DISSOLVE TO: INT. UNDERSHAW - NIGHT The fire has grown cold. Old Doyle pokes at it absently. CONAN DOYLE That’s all I really know. After Violet’s death, I didn’t spend see much of Stoker and Irving. Bad memories and all that. ROBINSON Do you think Irving had something to do with her death? CONAN DOYLE You asked me if I thought he was the inspiration for Dracula. I’d say he was. Did he sleep in a coffin and drink blood? Probably not. Was he a nocturnal creature with a murderous appetite? The evidence certainly points in that direction.