MARV Review

Darling, “Dracula: A Love Tale.” Honestly, you’d think with a little more effort, someone could have at least bothered to *think* about the plot. It’s like watching a particularly dull episode of ‘Saturday Night Live’ directed by a particularly grumpy sloth. The premise? A vampire prince cursed by a heartbroken widow, turned into a brooding, slightly pretentious monster who then wanders into 19th-century London looking for a doppelgänger. Seriously? It’s a theatrical exercise in misery, and a remarkably underwhelming one at that. The romance? Let’s just say it’s less “tender” and more “a protracted, agonizing battle of wills over a lukewarm cup of tea.” And the characters? They’re all cardboard cutouts – the prince is perpetually melancholic, the widow is aggressively passive, and the doppelgänger? A vaguely unsettling shadow of a woman. It’s like they spent three hours meticulously crafting a tableau of boredom. The ending? A rushed, frantic scramble to ‘resolve’ a situation that could have been left dangling for a truly *delicious* fade-to-black. It’s a cinematic cry for help, I tell you. A desperate plea to the gods to just… *stop*. Honestly, it’s a film that’s actively trying to be profoundly, tragically, and utterly pointless. I’d rate it a solid three out of five stars – because I’m still mildly amused by the sheer audacity of its ambition.