op I'm so sorry to bug out on your post but I have been obsessed with this particular monologue for over a decade, and I have been a Dracula nerd for much longer still
hi, my name is Rae, I got my actual phd in us american gothic and horror media (more generally, Literature) because of vampires. I adopted the last line of this monologue as a sort of academic credo, because to humanity, even if vampires aren't real outside of the bats, monsters are real because we need them in our stories to talk about so many things that we have a hard time discussing directly. monsters do so much important cultural work that there is literally a branch of the criticism I studied that is referred to as 'monster theory,' written about by scholars such as Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock and Jeffrey Jerome Cohen and also other people that aren't named Jeffrey, I swear. "there are such things!" is not only my blog title here, but I literally have it tattooed on my right shoulder.
pictured here: the stencil from when I got the tattoo in 2021 (observing the studio's mask protocol) as a delayed gift to myself for getting my MA in 2020.
so I'm freaking out about this because I've been obsessed not only with vampires and Dracula, but the Bela Lugosi version in particular. because as I'm betting you already know but humor me nonetheless, the Bela Lugosi version is obviously not based off the novel (as is alarmingly traditional for Dracula adaptations, many have noted), on the Hamilton Deane stage play from 1924. it's worth noting that he was an Irish playwright, and therefore (IIRC) one of the first and only people that Florence Stoker, (also Irish) Bram Stoker's widow by then, gave actual permission to adapt his work (unlike F.W. Murnau's silent film Nosferatu, which had just been released in 1922 and which she had ordered - or so the story goes - to have all the prints destroyed). so Deane getting to adapt the novel at all is highly significant, and especially because he was adapting it into a stage play. this is bc Stoker had been the proud business manager of London's Lyceum Theater for most of his life as an adult (which you can read more about at his estate's website) on behalf of Sir Henry Irving, the theater's owner and a very famous stage actor in their day. Stoker was also, to my understanding, Irving's personal manager and assistant to some degree, and they had the kind of relationship where many people in the history department would say they were definitely on-the-record "friends" but they'd say it with a very knowing intonation and meaningful eyebrow movement to indicate that they were arguably queer to some degree and Involved, though there is (to my knowledge) some uncertainty over how one-sided or at all reciprocal this relationship might have been (I seem to remember it being one-sided on Stoker's part, but I also admit I could have been projecting after a bad breakup, so take that with a grain of salt). Irving has been discussed in biographical writing as having the bearing of nobility despite his career as an actor (something that was not seen as "Respectable" at this time, though not Disreputable as in previous centuries), and his dramatic, intimidating imperiousness is often mentioned in various texts I've read over the years as a possible inspiration for Stoker's Dracula and his mannerisms. I recall having read some text on Dracula years ago where the author suggested that Stoker might have intended to adapt Dracula into a play all along and offer the role to Irving, but alas, I would need to do some digging to source that properly.
I mention all of this to explain this clip. the Hamilton Deane stage play toured in England before being performed in the West End for a bit, and then was revised at the request of an American producer by an American writer, John Balderson (hell of a name!!), in October 1927.
the person playing the role of Dracula in that Broadway staging was, indeed, the icon-to-be himself: Bela Lugosi. it was actually one of his first major roles in english, as he was a Hungarian actor who had come over to the states not long before this (and IIRC, had kind of learned a lot of his parts in english phonetically before then).
the revised version got so popular touring the States that it actually wound up replacing the original adaptation in England, and then was adapted into the Lugosi-starring movie, directed by Tod Browning for Universal Studios in 1931 -- one of the first sound film/"talkie" adaptations of the story
(unrelated aside: Browning would capitalize on this fame the next year by making Freaks, which was one of the first US horror movies to use actual disabled performers to play the roles they occupied in the circus/freakshow culture that was common at the time, and one of the earliest where they were actually portrayed sympathetically. but being as this was an era in the US where the culture that created so-called 'ugly laws' reigned, it also wound up more or less tanking his whole career. sorry Tod, you tried.)
the Dracula film did gangbusters, which is an old time-y way of saying it would literally go on to influence a lot of the USian (and others, by osmosis) pop cultural image of the vampire as a concept. like, the medal Lugosi wears in this film, the black suit and opera cape, and the widow's peak in his hair? this role is what made Dracula a noun; it's how we got vampires that are draculas (unlike those/los-feratus) and why all the vintage Halloween vampire masks seem to look like this one specific guy. it got released on Valentine's Day for the weirdos who would predate people like me by almost a century, beginning the proud tradition suggesting a a horror movie where there's a lot of biting, fainting, and underlying sexual tension for a date.
'lugosi isn't even in this clip.' I know, I'm getting there, I promise.
so if you've seen the Lugosi version, you know that the film ends seemingly extremely abruptly -- Mina is freed, Dracula is defeated, sunrise, then cut to black. that's because, as of course op pointed out, this was supposed to come next as the true final beat of the film.
you also have to understand that at nowhere else in the film does Van Helsing break the fourth wall. this is purely an epilogue thing. this also really isn't a thing you see (again, IIRC) in any of the other Universal horror movies, as they would come to be called. it seems very random and without precedent for Van Helsing to suddenly start speaking to the theater audience, until you know that this is a holdover from the Deane/Balderson stage play, and was originally meant to be delivered live and to a room full of people.
my advisor in undergrad was obsessed with the silent/black and white era of film, and especially the horror films of that period. he is also a gifted musician, and would frequently either host screenings of such at my university or get paid to work at local screenings by small community theaters to provide the accompanying score live on his piano (sometimes accompanied by string quartets or duos) like they would have done in the eras when these films were first released. it's how I saw a lot of the early gems of the genre, such as Nosferatu above, but also The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (which like Nosferatu is also getting a remake for some reason??) and those that are horror-adjacent, like Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927). it was a part of my education in the genre that I treasure immensely for how it exposed me to the collaborative artistic process that was not only how films were created and produced, but also how they were shared in live theatrical settings.
in a rare not-film instance, one of the things he provided the score for also happened to be the stage play version of Dracula that this clip directly adapts.
when you are sitting in a historic theater in perfect pitch blackness, accompanied by an ominous piano and the hushed breathing of your fellow audience members, the sincere gravitas of Dr. Van Helsing staring directly at you, yes, you, and reminding you that when you reach for the safety of the modern world outside this theater, when you comfort yourself with your electric lights, your notions of reality,
has a way of making your skin crawl and your hair stand on end with the unpleasant possibility that he might, in fact, be right.
the Van Helsing in this clip is a bit more semi-whimsical grandpa/old man mentor about it, which fits his vibe in the film, even if it lacks the menace of the one I originally saw.
I don't know when or where this clip was finally released, but op, you have fulfilled such a lifelong dream of mine by letting me finally get to see the 1931 version. thank you so so so much for sharing it with us here and I'm sincerely sorry for passionately info-hurling all over your post in my excitement :'D