Come with us now to the days of yesteryear ... When from out of the west, in a cloud of dust, on a steed of white, shouting a hearty “I vant to suck your blood! Bleaauugh!” rides … Count … Dracula?!?
Well, sort of. But not really. An easy assumption given the title, for sure, but since the following film fails to ever actually address the character with his infamous non de plume, I won’t either and we shall refer to him as Assumed Dracula for the duration of this after action report.
Thus, our story proper begins somewhere along the untamed frontier of the American west circa the late 1800s, where we spy a group of immigrant settlers settling down for the night after a hard day’s travel. At the rear of this caravan we meet the Oster clan, which includes Poppa Franz, his soon-to-be-revealed hyper-superstitious wife Eva, and their teenage daughter, Lisa.
After the Osters bed down for the night and drift off to sleep, we suddenly spy a rather large, chittering bat fluttering over the encampment; a bat that, I shit you not, appears to be wearing a top hat!? Seriously. Look for yourselves!
This dapper flying rodent then circles in for a landing behind the Oster’s wagon, where it quickly transforms into an equally dapper gent in a top hat, cravat, cape, and tails, who is none other than Assumed Count Dracula.
Low on fluids after flapping all the way here from Transylvania (-- and boy are his arms tired, hi-YO!), the Assumed Count (Carradine) quickly zeros in on young Lisa (Landman) for a little neck-nibbling. But luckily for the girl, the crucifix given to her by her fretful mother scares the vampire off before she can be sucked completely dry.
Awakened by her screams, Lisa’s parents discover four small puncture wounds on Lisa's neck. Without hesitation, Eva (Christine) proclaims it to be the work of a damnable vampire, but Poppa Franz (Janovitz) refuses to believe this, thinking they left all that nonsense behind in the old country.
Cut to a stagecoach as it hastily thunders toward the next weigh station. Seems they’re running way behind schedule due to an unexpected stop to help a stranded stranger -- you guessed it, Assumed Dracula. Once aboard, we’re quickly introduced to the other passengers:
First we have Joe Flake, a whiskey salesman (-- and passable W.C. Fields impersonator), who likes to hit his own stock rather frequently. Also on board are Mary Bentley, owner and operator of the massive Bar-B Ranch; and her brother, James Underhill, whom she is bringing out west for a first time visit.
Here, Mary (Bennett) shows Assumed Dracula a picture of her daughter, Betty, and the vampire is immediately smitten -- so smitten he keeps asking to see her picture over and over again. And as this conversation / plot-dump continues, the oblivious Mary ignores these red flags and mentions how Betty has never met her Uncle James (Forrest) before.
After they finally arrive at the next station just as the sun sets, the manager moves quickly to prevent Flake from selling any 'firewater' to the local natives camped nearby. But the other weary travelers just retire for the night. All save one: Assumed Dracula, who spirits away to the neaby camp with his fangs out and kills a young maiden he had been eyeing earlier.
The next morning, after the stage departs, her exsanguinated body is discovered. Seeking revenge, the natives go on the warpath and run the stagecoach down, massacring everyone on board. Everyone, that is, except for Assumed Dracula, who conveniently missed the carriage’s departure.
Once the deed is done and the natives clear off, the vampire bat flits to the massacre site and once more transforms into Assumed Dracula. And as he rifles through the dead and once more unearths the coveted photograph of Betty, it becomes clear that this tragedy was not some unfortunate side-effect of his attack on the native girl.
No. This was part of the plan all along, to clear the deck and pave the way to his next victim...
Back in 1937, fledgling entrepreneur Joseph E. Levine owned and operated four movie theaters and three drive-ins in his native New England. Humble beginnings, sure, but he would soon branch out as a regional distributor, buying up z-grade Ken Maynard Westerns and explicit Sex Hygiene films because, one, they drew lines around the block, and two, and I quote Levine, “They made me sick.”
In the early 1950s Levine became a sub-distributor for American Releasing Corp / American International Pictures, who famously offered to buy up all the promotional materials for The Beast with a Million Eyes (1954) with plans to burn the negatives of Roger Corman’s quite turgid film and start all over from scratch -- more on that fascinating / hilarious debacle here.
And while he started producing features domestically in 1945, when he established Embassy Pictures, where Levine would positively excel was importing foreign films, re-dubbing them, punching up their ad campaigns with some Five-Star ballyhoo and a ton of exclamation points to sucker in an eager public. This was perfectly epitomized by the French-Australian import Walk Into Paradise (1956), which initially fizzled at the box-office. However, when Levine rebranded it as the proto-Mondo movie A Walk Into Hell, ticket sales went through the roof.
That same year he would spend $12,000 to co-distribute Toho’s Gojira (1954), expend another $100,000 “Americanizing” the Japanese film, and then unleashed a $400,000 advertising blitzkrieg on the rebranded Godzilla: King of the Monsters (1956), which was soon in the black to the tune of $2 million in box-office receipts, which in no small part helped launch a worldwide phenomenon and a franchise I treasure that is still going strong to this very day.
Levine would do even better with his Italian imports, where he famously spent over a million to publicize the release of Hercules (alias Le Fatiche di Ercole, 1959). “Joseph E. Levine is all things to all popcorn buyers,” noted Elston Brooks of The Fort Worth Star-Telegram (July 4, 1965). “He is first of all, a showman -- the modern day Barnum, the man who kicked off Hercules with full page newspaper ads and mass bookings all over the country on the same day (147 theaters in the New York area alone). Hercules was a quickie. But it cost $120,000 and grossed $20 million [sic].” In truth, it was more like $5 million, but still.
“Half the money I spend on advertising is wasted, but I could never find out which half,” said Levine (-- quoted from his obituary in The New York Times, August 1, 1987). But the key to his success was, ''You can fool all the people all the time if the advertising is right.''
Joseph E. Levine.
“Levine has gotten rich by operating on the principle of a floating crap game,” theorized Philip Scheuer of The Los Angeles Times (July 27, 1959). “He glomed onto a picture no other distributor wanted, had hundreds of prints made, moved into a town with saturation bookings and full page ads and was on his way to the next burg before his bemused customers knew what struck them.”
But it wasn’t just schlock. Embassy Pictures would also introduce American mass audiences to Roberto Rossellini with Rome, Open City (alias Roma città aperta, 1945); Vittorio De Sica’s Bicycle Thieves (alias Ladri di biciclette, 1948) and Two Women (alias La ciociara, 1960); and Federico Fellini with 8½ (alias Otto e mezzo, 1963).
And from Britain he provided an outlet for the classic adventure yarn Zulu (1963), which we covered here; and this proved so successful he commissioned star and producer Stanley Baker and director Cy Endfield for a follow up: Sands of the Kalahari (1965), a brutal parable of survival, alpha-maleitus, and lurking baboons.
Said Dick Griffin of The Los Angeles Times (June 21, 1966). “Levine was one of the greatest hucksters of all time, who has introduced many of the best-forgotten movies of the last seven years, as well as a few worth remembering.”
Domestically, after signing a lucrative deal with Paramount, Embassy backed Edward Dmytryk’s The Carpetbaggers (1964); the saucy bio-pic Harlow (1965), which was Levine’s personal passion project, whose tumultuous production saw star Carrol Baker retreat to Italy to put as much distance between them as possible; Henry Hathaway’s Nevada Smith (1966), an underappreciated Steve McQueen revenger; and Russell Rouse’s notorious flop The Oscar (1966). The producer would also back Mel Brooks’ The Producers (1967), Anthony Harvey's The Lion in Winter (1968), and Mike Nichols’ The Graduate (1967) and Carnal Knowledge (1971).
Earning the nickname Mr. Exclamation Point, when asked by Griffin how he reconciled backing such prestige pictures while also funding something like, say, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964) or Village of the Giants (1965), Bert I. Gordon’s first attempt to adapt H.G. Wells Food of the Gods, Levine's answer was blunt: “Don’t reconcile them! Why should you have to?”
And so, it should’ve come as a surprise to no one, then, back in 1965, when flabbergasted Hollywood reporters and gossip insiders revealed Levine’s latest project:
“It had to come,” said Alex Freeman with ominous foreboding in The Macon News (July 7, 1965). “Embassy Pictures will release a shocker called Billy the Kid vs Dracula. It will star John Carradine as Dracula -- John is the type of actor who believes in working at his craft constantly, no matter what the vehicle -- and Chuck Courtney as Billy. If successful they’ll follow with Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter. And I’m not kidding.”
“What routine madness is in progress out in Hollywood these days?” echoed Patrick Bennett in his column Ticket Stubbs (The Abilene Reporter-News, June 18, 1965). “Some foggy answers emerge from the blurbs manufactured by studio publicity departments and stuffed in our mailboxes. Circle Productions is reportedly filming two yarns, one entitled Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter and the other Billy the Kid vs Dracula ... That’s what the letter said.”
Said The Los Angeles Times (July 7, 1965), “On reflection maybe the title isn’t as uncourageous as it is honest, judging from some of the contrived projects that have been announced in the last few weeks, such as Joseph Levine’s planned [double-bill] and American International’s Frankenstein Meets the Giant Devil Fish and Pajama Party in Haunted House.” We’ll assume they meant Frankenstein Conquers the World (alias Furankenshutain tai Chitei Kaijū Baragon, (1965) on the first, and the second was eventually released as The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (1966).
When asked why in the world would he make such a thing, Levine’s answer to The Boston Globe (November 17, 1965) was simple: “Why not?" Why not, indeed.
And so, it came to pass and became official on June 27, 1965, when Levine signed a contract with Carroll Case and his Circle Productions on this seemingly anachronistic genre mash-up. Case would produce, and Levine would finance and distribute. And these “Adventure-Shock” films would be shot in Hollywood and in color.
At the time Case’s only real experience was in television, most notably producing on Racket Squad (1950-1953) and Sugarfoot (1957-1958). His only theatrical experience at that point was co-producing Budd Boetticher’s The Magnificent Matador (1955). Case would form Circle Productions in 1965, and Billy the Kid vs Dracula would be their inaugural feature, followed quickly by Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter. It was then announced the films would be written by Carl Hittleman and directed by William Beaudine.
Hittleman had worn many hats during his career -- writer, director and producer -- mostly for Robert L. Lippert, who, like Levine, started out as a theater chain owner that got into production and quickly became known as the Quickie King.
Hittleman would produce a series of films for Lippert that were directed by Samuel Fuller, including I Shot Jesse James (1949) and The Baron of Arizona (1950), two apex examples of what can be done on a minimum budget, and a grisly western potboiler called Little Big Horn (1951) that more folks should see.
He also wrote a series of films starring Tom Neal as detective Russ Ashton -- The Hat Box Mystery (1947) and The Case of the Baby Sitter (1947), and co-wrote 36 Hours (1964) with George Seaton. An excellent espionage thriller, the film sees the Nazis kidnap an American officer (James Garner), who wakes up in a hospital, where the staff say he'd been in a coma for months, the war was now over, and Germany lost; all in a byzantine effort to trick their ersatz prisoner into revealing the Allies pending plans to invade Europe and derail D-Day. But Kittleman focused mostly on westerns with films like Grand Canyon (1949), The Return of Jesse James (1950) and Kentucky Rifle (1957), which he also directed.
William Beaudine and Mary Pickford.
Speaking of directing, back in 1909, William Beaudine’s film career began at the age of 17 at New York City’s fabled American Mutoscope and Biograph Company, a chief rival of Thomas Edison’s studio, where notables such as director D.W. Griffith and actors Mary Pickford, Lilian Gish, and Lionel Barrymore got their starts.
"I started as everybody's assistant," said Beaudine (William Beaudine: From Silents to Television, Wendy L. Marshall, 2005). "I dished out water, painted properties, and cleaned the cuspidors. I was the assistant cameraman, assistant property man, and assistant director all rolled into one."
Beaudine would direct his first film, a short, called Minnie the Tiger (1915), and would make his first feature in 1922 with Watch Your Step (1922) for Goldwyn Studios. From there, Beaudine would bounce around several of the major studios throughout the 1920s and ‘30s, where he soon developed a sterling reputation of making his features appear more expensive than their meager budgets would imply.
In high demand, the director would helm such films as Jean Harlow’s debut in Three Wise Girls (1932), a W.C. Fields vehicle The Old Fashioned Way (1934), and an interesting murder mystery with The Crime of the Century (1933), where a prognosticator confesses to a murder that, technically, hadn’t happened yet.
The Decatur Daily (December 5, 1938).
But just when his career was hitting its A-list stride, Beaudine made the ill-fated decision to move to Britain in 1935, where he directed 11 more films, before returning to America in 1937 when England went to war with Germany. And while he had hoped to pick up where he’d left off, no real offers came, save for a few films at Warners, including a couple of entries in Glenda Farrell’s Torchy Blane series -- Torchy Gets Her Man (1938) and Torchy Blane in Chinatown (1939).
Facing financial ruin due to some bad investments, as we moved into the 1940s, Beaudine soon found himself relegated to the B-units at lowly PRC and Monogram, where he would direct over half of Monogram’s Bowery Boy pictures, technically no longer boys and all now long in the tooth, and several vehicles for Bela Lugosi -- The Ape Man (1943) and Voodoo Man (1944); which inevitably led Beaudine to direct all of them at once in Ghosts on the Loose (1943).
Around this same time Beaudine, under the alias William X. Crowley, would also direct a trio of Mantan Moreland vehicles, featuring all-black casts, for Dixie National Pictures and Toddy Pictures Co. -- Up Jumped the Devil (1941), Lucky Ghost (1942), and Professor Creeps (1942).
Then in 1945, Beaudine would shoot the Sexual Hygiene film Mom and Dad (1945) for showman and Four-Walling King, Kroger Babb. The film was shot at Monogram, which told the sordid tale of a knocked-up high-school girl and her under-fire sex-ed teacher, complete with graphic inserts on the horrors of venereal diseases -- not to mention the lecture by noted sex expert Dr. Elliot Forbes (all seven of him) and the self-help sex pamphlets for sale in the lobby to gender segregated audiences. And then another, “Ripped from the Headlines” social-screed soon followed with Black Market Babies (1945).
Arlington Heights Herald (August 31, 1945).
Now, in the middle of all of this, to help stay on budget, Beaudine soon earned the nickname “One-Shot,” meaning minimal camera movements and an infinitesimal amount of takes; an efficient but artless style. Perfunctory.
In the 1950s, it only got worse as One-Shot Beaudine would start transitioning into television, where he directed several episodes of The Mickey Mouse Club spin-off series The Adventures of Spin and Marty (1955) and Corky and White Shadow (1956). But he was still churning out Bowery Boys films, too, including Here Comes the Marines (1952) Jalopy (1953), Paris Playboys (1954), and High Society (1955), which earned screenwriter Edward Bernds an Oscar due to a clerical error when it was confused with Charles Walters’ High Society (1956); and then his last film with Leo Gorcey and Huntz Hall, In the Money (1958).
The 1950s also saw a film that’s in the running as one of the oddest films Beaudine ever directed when he teamed up with Lugosi again on Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla (1952), starring Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis clones, Duke Mitchell and Sammy Petrillo, Lugosi, and Ray “Crash” Corrigan as the gorilla, who may or may not have been from Brooklyn. And while there were admittedly quite a few to choose from Beaudine’s oeuvre, both this one, Billy the Kid vs Dracula, and Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter are god-tier terrible by any metric.
Still, one should not discount a career that lasted some fifty years and produced over 400 films, which traced the evolution of Hollywood; from New York to California; from silent to sound, black and white to color, 3D and CinemaScope, to the TV incursion, to the fall of the studio system that created him.
Thus, as we moved into the 1960s, Beaudine was basically done with features and worked exclusively on TV, mostly as a dog whisperer on The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin (1958-1959) and Lassie (1960-1968), but he wouldn’t say no to directing another feature. All one had to do was ask.
“Not only did Bill Beaudine want to work, but he also was very, very reciprocal in his friendships," said producer A.C. Lyles (Marshall, 2005). “All you had to do if you knew Bill was to call him and say, I’ve got a picture and I need you, and he’d say, When do we start? He loved friends and he accommodated friends. He also did a lot of films that maybe he should have turned down, but he didn’t because they were friends. He was very loyal.”
Beaudine had worked with Case’s production manager, Sam Manners, on several TV shows, who reached out and got the director on board. “They were made for fun,” said Manners (Marshall, 2005). “Carroll Case felt Bill would do the best job on them, and I’m sure Levine and Case felt they could make money with them. That part was parcel, and is always part and parcel, of whatever’s being done. Levine expected to clear more than $5 million on each film.”
In theory, this made sense. When you dig into the history of these two films, aside from the nearly universal critical drubbing, most agreed that Billy the Kid vs Dracula and Jesse James meets Frankenstein’s Daughter were shot strictly as a double-bill for teenage drive-in crowds. But I'm not so sure. I think these films were shot expressly for children, an audience Levine also cashed in on with things like The Thief of Baghdad (alias Il ladro di Bagdad, 1961), The Wonders of Aladdin (alias Le meraviglie di Aladino, 1961) and Santa Claus Conquers the Martians; not to mention later efforts with Rankin / Bass -- The Daydreamer (1966) and Mad Monster Party? (1967).
“Primarily, I go into all movies to make a profit,” said Levine (Griffin, 1966). “Obviously we can’t go into a movie if we think we’re going to lose money on it. This is a business. I just made 15 family-type pictures in 18 months, but don’t let that get around. I don’t want anybody to know, ‘cause families don’t go to see them -- they just talk about them. But I made them anyway, because I have the protection of television. Money in the bank, the television.”
Remember, by the mid-1960s, the Western was all but dead, cinematically speaking; and if it didn’t have John Wayne, Randolph Scott, or Clint Eastwood’s Spaghetti Westerns, then people didn’t go to see them anymore; but at the same time they were absolutely thriving on TV, where they attracted a huge juvenile audience.
The country was also going through a resurgent Monster Kid boom, when yet another generation was introduced to Classic Creakers on TV reruns, with periodicals like Famous Monsters of Filmland on the newsstands, and the kooky, high-octane, modeling-glue-fumes fueled creatures of Ed “Big Daddy” Roth in the toy model aisles, meaning a mash-up of the two genres was a no-brainer.
Thus, I feel Levine’s plan the whole time was to get what he could theatrically and then sell them off to TV for syndication. Not quite as drastic as what he did in 1965 when he imported 13 peplum films from Italy, cut them down, re-dubbed them, and packaged them off to TV as The Sons of Hercules, but close. Note how most of the action in both films is crowded toward the middle, making it tailor made for TV conversion. Again, just an opinion.
Of course this notion of Cowboys vs Monsters was not totally unprecedented. I mean, a cowboy had been an integral part of Dracula lore from the very beginning, right? In Bram Stoker’s novel, one of Lucy Westenra’s three suitors was a rough and tumble Texan named Quincey Morris, whose horse had once been bled dry by vampire bats somewhere on the range, and who plunged his Bowie knife into Dracula’s heart during the rousing climax, allowing Jonathan Harker to deliver the killing blow. People tend to forget this because, until Coppola's Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992), the Morris character was either excised from the story altogether or melded into one of the other suitors in the film adaptations.
Other notable Weird Western Tales were The Beast of Hollow Mountain (1956), which finds a T-Rex was responsible for a rash of cattle-rustling south of the border; Curse of the Undead (1959) sees a vampire enter a range war, which is actually pretty good, honest; and Teenage Monster (1957), a tale of raging hormones and radiation-induced mutation, which really, really -- no, really -- was not. Good. At all. Of course, two years later would see the release of one of my favorite Ray Harryhausen films, The Valley of Gwangi (1969), which featured the greatest rodeo round-up of ever.
How would Case, Beaudine and Hittleman’s efforts stack up? Well, from what we’ve seen thus far things are not looking too good. But, let's give them the benefit of the doubt and see if they can salvage something.
Remember, we haven’t even met our hero and heroine yet as we head out to the Bar-B, where William Bonney, alias Billy the Kid, has apparently put his lawless days behind him and now diligently serves as the ranch's foreman.
We should also note that Billy (Courtney) is Betty Bentley's fiancé, who plan to make this momentous decision official once her family returns. This, of course, doesn’t make Red Thorpe (Russell), both the former foreman of the Bar-B and former boyfriend of Betty (-- at least according to him), very happy as he jealously watches Billy help Betty (Plowman) with her target practice.
But with the stage due at any minute, the lesson abruptly ends. This is so Billy can head into town to meet Mrs. Bentley, and then escort her mother and Uncle James back to the ranch while Betty finishes getting the main house ready for their new arrival.
However, once Billy reaches town he has a dust-up with the aggressive Red, who winds up getting a fist to the face for mouthing off. Before he can retaliate, Billy beats the other man to the draw. Red backs down but promises their brewing beef is far from settled.
Once Red clears out, Sheriff Griffin (Barcroft) arrives, who breaks the solemn news of the stagecoach massacre, and how there were no survivors. Here, as Billy offers to break this tragic news to Betty about the loss of her whole family, an eavesdropping bartender chimes in, saying a man claiming to be a Mr. James Underhill, out to visit family at the Bar-B, checked into a room earlier that morning. Could he still be alive?
Assumed Dracula then appears and introduces himself as Betty’s uncle -- remember, no one had ever met him before. But while he tries to explain how he survived the stage massacre, the Osters arrive on scene. And recognizing him as the man who attacked her, Lisa points and screams, raising the Sheriff’s interest in this tall stranger up a few notches.
But using that pilfered picture of Betty, Assumed Dracula is able to convince them that he is who he says he is. “Uncle James” then tells the lawman to ignore these superstitious peasants before retiring to his room. With that, Billy glumly heads home to notify Betty about her mother's death.
Later that night, despite her parents precautions, Assumed Dracula breaks into the Oster's hotel room, bares his fangs once again, and kills Lisa. Upon this discovery, a grieving Eva tracks Assumed Dracula, now Assumed Uncle James, down at the Bar-B the following morning, convinced now more than ever that he is the blood-sucking culprit.
Feeling sorry for the grieving family, Billy offers the surviving Osters a job at the ranch. They accept, mostly to keep tabs on the vampire. The distraught Eva also begs Billy to keep an eye on Assumed Dracula, too; and to keep him away from Betty at all costs before it's too late.
For her part, Eva starts hanging wolfsbane all over the place, which would be great if there was a werewolf running loose. Now, to be fair, Assumed Dracula must've been allergic to the noxious "queen of poisons" because the deterrent worked splendidly in keeping the vampire out of the unwitting Betty's room. At least it was, until Betty's patience with humoring the old woman's superstitious beliefs run out, accelerated by her faux uncle, forcing the old woman to remove all vestiges of it.
But things seemingly settle down for a while -- at least until Billy and Red finally come to blows again over Betty. Oddly enough, Red beats the crap out of our hero this time, absolutely curb stomps him, who limps into town to get patched-up by old Doc Hull. (Picture Dr. Quinn: The Old and Cranky Declining Years.)
Since her answer for any ailment is a good stiff drink, the two share a bottle. At this point, Billy, who has become suspicious of Assumed Dracula's odd behavior, tells Doc Hull (Carey) about all the vampire stuff Eva’s been spouting about; and how there might just be something to it after all.
Coincidentally, it just so happens the Doc has an old book of folklore handy, and together, they brush up on the mythical creatures of the night: how the ghouls drink the blood of the living; and more importantly, how male vampires are always on the hunt for a new bride to turn into a vampire, too, so they may live unhappily ever after for all eternity.
Armed with this new information, Billy tracks Betty and Assumed Dracula down at the old silver mine. Informed that Assumed Dracula is inside exploring for ... reasons, Billy takes this opportunity to confront Betty with his mounting suspicions -- that her uncle is a vampire.
Told he must be crazy to even think such a thing, Billy insists she at least use a mirror on her uncle to see if he casts a reflection, which will settle the point once and for all. And even though she still thinks these vampire notions are ludicrous, Betty agrees.
Unfortunately, the ever-lurking Red has put together that Billy, Betty and Eva are now conspiring against Assumed Dracula and rats them out. Eva tries to warn Billy of this, but it's already too late.
As Betty’s legal guardian, Assumed Dracula takes control of the estate, locks his niece in her bedroom until further notice, and then fires Billy, who is then told to never see Betty again before he's escorted off the ranch at gunpoint by Red. Assumed Dracula also moves to fire the Osters, but, to her credit, Eva refuses to leave.
Later that night at the saloon, an extremely intoxicated Red pushes things too far and draws on Billy. The scene erupts in violence and gunfire, and once the smoke clears Red lies dead. It's the first man he's killed in awhile, and Billy seeks out Doc Hull and confesses to everything that's happened; from getting fired to killing Red. But Doc is less worried about the latest notch on his gunbelt and more worried about Betty being all alone with her dubious uncle.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Assumed Dracula has done an end run on the Osters and enters Betty's room. He confesses his infatuation with her ever since seeing her photo. She's confused. He then puts the hypno-whammy on the girl. Mesmerized, she offers no resistance as the vampire feasts. Thankfully, not fatally -- at least not yet.
The following morning, Eva finds the girl just before Billy arrives to check on her -- only they're both too late. Where's Assumed Dracula, you ask? Oh, he's out at the old silver mine, spiffing things up into some kind of ersatz bridal suite.
Now, Betty won't snap out of it and appears to be in some kind of catatonic state. But with Eva's help, Billy is able to sneak her away from the ranch and into town, where Doc Hull examines her new patient.
Unfortunately, just as the old sawbones comments on Betty's canine-like neck wounds, the Sheriff shows up to arrest Billy for killing Red. For even though it’s a clear-cut case of self-defense, he still must stand trial.
Thus, as Billy sits in jail, Assumed Dracula returns to the ranch and finds Betty gone. After threatening the Osters, he tracks Betty down to Doc Hull's office, who doesn't stand a chance in stopping him, steals her back, and escapes.
But! Not before the wily Doc Hull manages to hold a mirror up to him -- and sure enough, he casts no reflection.
That seals it then; he truly is a vampire, and they finally have proof! With that, Doc Hull conspires to bust Billy out of jail, wresting a pistol away from the unsuspecting Sheriff.
Once free, she then tries to give Billy a metal stake to use on the vampire, saying it must be driven into his heart. According to the book its the only thing that can kill them, she says.
But the gunslinger insists his trusty pistol will do the trick. He then steals the Sheriff's horse and thunders out of town -- destination, the old silver mine. Knowing that the bullets won't kill the undead, Doc frees the Sheriff and, with that pivotal stake still in hand, they head out of town in hot-pursuit.
And so, as all parties converge on the old silver mine, Assumed Dracula, who's apparently been busy decorating things up, gives the still mesmerized Betty the nickel tour, saying as soon as he finishes turning her into a vampire, this will be their new home!
With fangs bared he closes in for the kill, but before Assumed Dracula can finish the dastardly deed, Billy barges in -- guns-a-blazing!
Emptying his six-shooter with no effect, our hero then proceeds to get his butt kicked again. Again. With Billy out of the way, Assumed Dracula turns back to feast on Betty.
Fortunately, he’s interrupted once more; this time by Doc Hull and the Sheriff, who uselessly empties his six-shooter into the vampire, too.
But when Billy wakes up, he grabs the now empty gun from the Sheriff and throws it at Dracula! Amazingly enough, for once, this old trick finally works when the gun conks Assumed Dracula right in the kisser and knocks him silly because of course it does.
Taking Doc Hull's stake, Billy is quickly all over the prone body and soundly pounds it into the vampire’s heart with a rock.
But as he whacks away, watch as a bat slips out from under the Assumed Dracula's cloak, which then flutters outside in a wobbly trajectory until it crash-lands in some nearby bushes, where it presumably ... dies. Maybe?
Amazingly, no one else seems to notice this. I'm not even sure if I did either, to be honest, until I rewound it and watched the scene again. Sure enough. Wait. What?!? And as I pondered the cinematic impact and symbolism of this scene, since it has absolutely no bearing on the rest of the film, and makes my head hurt, let’s just forget that I even brought it up. Now back to the film. We're almost done.
The survivors then turn their attention to Betty, who still seems to be under the vampire's thrall. Then Doc Hull gasps and points toward Assumed Dracula, whose staked corpse quickly evaporates until only a skeleton remains.
With that, Betty finally seems to snap out of her stupor, hearty and healthy. She and Billy embrace, kiss, and they lead the others out of the mine, which brings us to...
While watching Billy the Kid vs Dracula -- or enduring it, depending on how you look at these things -- it becomes readily apparent that these filmmakers did know a thing or two about how to make a Western; but it’s equally obvious that they knew next to nothing about Creature Features.
Now, Beaudine had at least some experience with Horror films -- those Monogram Lugosi pictures for instance, and with Carradine for that matter on The Face of Marble (1946), but Hittleman, obviously, had none.
Beaudine, Carradine, and Maris Wixon in The Face of Marble.
Right off the bat (-- and we’ll be addressing that actual bat prop in a minute --) he blows the easiest vampire convention as Assumed Dracula moves about during the light of day, freely, with no detrimental side-effects. It started off in the dark, sure, but this is quickly abandoned after the opening credits; possibly for practical reasons, otherwise you’da had nearly an entire film shot through day-for-night filters.
Secondly, where’s the coffin? Apparently, Assumed Dracula doesn’t need to sleep on his native soil during daylight hours like nearly every other classical vampire you’ve heard of. Instead, he hides out in an abandoned silver mine, which is even more confusing as some lore shows silver as an anathema to the undead over its purity. In theory, it's why you can’t take a photo of a vampire (pre-digital, natch) because of the silver nitrate in the film stock. And in lieu of a coffin we get a double bed with a blood red velvet blankie in his super-secret hidey-hole, making one wonder what nefarious shenanigans the Assumed Count will get up to with his new bride once converted. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!
Thirdly, wolfsbane? Any Monster Kid worth their salt will call bullshit on that. Wolfsbane is for werewolves, garlic is for vampires. But at least they didn’t borrow any silver bullets from the Lone Ranger. (Though I do seem to recall an old issue of Eerie or Creepy Magazine that contained a story whose final punch line was the Masked Man taking out some werewolves.)
Look, I’m not trying to be mean, honest, or been caught up in some kind of nerd-roid-rage of pedantry. No. I have no problem with muddying up the lore, like in, say, The Vampire (1957), where the ghoul is pharmaceutical-ly induced. Or the aforementioned Curse of the Undead when the sin of suicide is the root cause. But when you claim your villain is Dracula -- at least in the title, my point is, by cultural osmosis alone, by 1965, this shouldn’t have been that hard.
To me, it seems Hittleman’s entire grasp of the genre was based entirely on Bobby Pickett's "The Monster Mash," which had debuted in 1962. That, or his script was based on a game of Telephone, whereas by the time the genre notions trickled down to him they were totally ass-backwards or completely unrecognizable from whence they started.
To his credit, Hittleman did get the crucifix right, and how vampires don’t cast a reflection -- one of the film’s best FX gags is when Doc Hull outs Assumed Dracula as a vampire. The bit with the vampire feeding on the sheep when his attempts to get at Betty are continually thwarted by Eva, not Billy, was a nice grisly touch, too. And Eva Oster and Doc Hull are a fine two-punch combo as our Van Helsing surrogates. Though one should note they weren’t the first gender-swapped vampire experts. No, for that you’ll have to look to Freida Inescort as Lady Jane Ainsley in The Return of the Vampire (1943).
I will also give some props on the notion of Assumed Dracula’s canine bite-marks with four punctures instead of the customary two, making the attacks appear more savage -- that or the old bloodsucker’s aim sure ain’t what it used to be, resulting in two attempts to strike a vein. Also note that even though I mention Assumed Dracula baring his fangs in the synopsis he never actually shows any fangs in the film, making them Assumed Fangs, too.
However, this isn't as big a slight as you'd think. Lugosi never used false fangs, neither did Carradine back in the day. Didn't need 'em. No, the extended canines weren't really popularized until Christopher Lee played the Count in Horror of Dracula (1958) and only became a cinematic staple after. So, no, Assumed Dracula wasn't gumming people to death.
Thus and lo, the net result of all their efforts was an extremely reasonable facsimile of a Western but a completely unreasonable pastiche of a Horror film. Anyhoo…
While Billy the Kid vs Dracula’s production history is fairly well documented, these documents are often conflicting or contradictory so it's kind of hard to nail things down precisely.
Variety first announced the impending production of Billy the Kid vs Dracula on June 22, 1965, and some sources say it began shooting that very same day. Other reports say shooting took place between July 7th and July 16th, 1965, but another recollection said, no, the film wrapped on July 9th. This also bleeds into what I dug up on the shooting dates of the Jesse James co-feature, which was allegedly shot immediately after Billy the Kid vs Dracula.
As for how long they shot, the schedule ranges from seven to nine days on each film; while others said both were shot in a span of eight days, with just four days on each. Said Manners (Marshall, 2005), “The films were made as cheaply as films could be made. The eight day shooting schedule was extreme, even by low budget movie standards.”
But! While we’re not sure when it was shot, or for how long, we’ve pretty much got a lock on where it was filmed. The interiors of both features were shot at The Producer's Studio, while the exteriors with the stagecoach were filmed in Red Rock Canyon, with the town and ranch exteriors shot at Corriganville. And while you might not know where or what that is, odds are good you’d recognize some of Corriganville’s rather familiar environs.
See, back in 1937, after a hunting trip in the Simi Valley with fellow actor Clark Gable, Ray “Crash” Corrigan fell in love with the area, bought over 1000 acres in eastern Ventura county, and built his home there.
He then converted part of the property into the Corriganville Movie Ranch, complete with a frontier town, dubbed Silverton, complete with a saloon, a blacksmith shop, stables, a jailhouse, a church / schoolhouse, a general store, and a bank with the express purpose of renting them out as a location for anyone shooting a Western. And over the years since its inception, hundreds if not thousands of films and TV episodes were shot there.
Then in 1949, Corrigan decided to turn this venture into a tourist attraction, too, where he would arrange a stunt show, a jailbreak, a bank robbery, or a combination of all three. And so, during weekdays Corriganville was a working movie backlot, and on the weekends and holidays it was a theme park. And Corrigan would expand his property by, essentially, letting studios build whatever they needed for filming as long as they left it all standing once they wrapped.
For example, in 1948, a fort was built on the property to be used in John Ford’s Fort Apache (1948), and the same thing happened with Howard Hughes’ Vendetta (1950), who erected and left a Spanish Village set. Other films shot there included Duel in the Sun (1946) and How the West Was Won (1962); and the biblical epic The Robe (1953) shot some of its scenes among the scenic environs. As for TV series shot there, they ranged from The Lone Ranger (1950-1955) to Gunsmoke (1955-1975) to Bonanza (1959-1973), and yes, even Star Trek (1966-1969).
In 1965, Corrigan wound up selling the property to fellow actor Bob Hope, who was less interested in running a theme park and more interested in subdividing the land for housing developments. Sadly, what was left of Corriganville would be devastated by two wildfires in 1971 and 1979, which basically destroyed everything. It was then turned into a public park. However, it was briefly resurrected in 2018 by Quentin Tarantino, who built his Spahn Ranch set on Corrigan’s old property for Once Upon a Time … In Hollywood (2019).
As shooting on Billy the Kid vs Dracula commenced, it became readily apparent that Beaudine had lost a step. He was 73 by then, so this is completely understandable; and his cinematographer, Lothrop Worth, recalled that he needed extended rest periods between set-ups.
Worth had been one of the 3D camera operators for Arch Oboler’s Bwana Devil (1952) and Bill Castle’s Fort Ti (1953), and was listed as a consultant on Andre de Toth’s House of Wax (1953). And while the rest of his credits from there were mostly for TV, he did serve as a DP for the likes of GOG (1954), the best killer Tinker-Toy movie you’ll ever see this side of Kronos (1957), and I Was a Teenage Frankenstein (1957).
And if you’ve only seen Billy the Kid vs Dracula on washed out pan ‘n’ scan prints, I’d say you owe yourself at least one more watch with Kino Lorber’s 2019 release to truly appreciate what Worth, art director Paul Sylos, and set decorator Henry Reif pulled off on that kind of budget and lackluster direction and editing. Despite the odds, the film looks great with its lush, almost over-saturated colors bouncing off the Tex-Mex decor. But while the film overachieves visually, it is ultimately undone by the somnolent plot, lackluster FX, and continuity flubs.
Watch and boggle as the bat prop appears to be wearing the same top hat as its human counterpart?!? Rumor has it the prop was battery operated to make the wings flap while hanging from a fishing pole like a marionette. Technically sound on that front, as far as rubber bat props go, it’s too bad one can clearly see the strings holding it up in most scenes; and one where you can clearly see the tech operator running the thing behind the stagecoach through the windows.
But even the film's best unintentional laugh proves a fallacy and is completely undone when we see the prop in a later scene and in better light, where we see it was not a Top Hat at all but an optical illusion with its tiny head mistaken for the stovepipe. *sigh*
Things break down even further during the transition sequences, which were accomplished by some rather dubious jump cuts where the bat would fly behind something, and then suddenly, Assumed Dracula would literally blink into existence.
The whole thing could’ve used some of the nifty animation featured in the opening credits, where a giant bat silhouette flies across the screen, wiping it clean for the next batch of contributors.
Still, one of my favorite scenes in the whole movie is when the bat prop rockets across the screen and pulls-off a kamikaze nosedive into the saloon followed by a jarring cut as Assumed Dracula blips into existence.
Note how one of the patrons was staring right at the door the whole time and who must’ve seen the whole thing. Zoom! Banzai! Blip! Ta-Dah! You can almost hear him mumble, “WTF just happened?”
When asked what was the worst film he ever starred in, the legendary John Carradine said, “That's easy, a thing called Billy the Kid versus Dracula … It was a bad film. I don't even remember it. I was absolutely numb!" (Billy the Kid on Film, 1911-2012, Johnny Boggs, 2013.)
And this was a guy who’d appeared in Satan’s Cheerleaders (1977) and Vampire Hookers (1978), and was a veteran of many a Jerry Warren cinematic atrocity ranging from The Incredible Petrified World (1959) to Curse of the Stone Hand (1965), and the worst of the lot, Frankenstein Island (1981).
As the legend goes, when he was 11 years old Carradine attended a production of The Merchant of Venice and was so enthralled he decided, right then and there, what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. But he broke into Hollywood as a set designer for none other than Cecil B. DeMille, but the job didn’t last long.
Said Carradine (-- quoted from his obit in The New York Times, November 29, 1988), “The great Cecil B. DeMille saw an apparition -- me -- pass him by, reciting the gravedigger's lines from Hamlet, and he instructed me to report to him the following day."
DeMille loved the actor’s rich baritone voice and Carradine soon became a staple of the director’s stock company. But it wasn’t until he started working for John Ford that Carradine finally broke out; first as one of the passengers in Stagecoach (1939), but he had more of a seismic impact as Preacher Casey in The Grapes of Wrath (1940). He nearly steals the movie but that film rightfully belongs not to Henry Fonda but Jane Darwell as Mother Jode.
Over the decades since Carradine appeared in films ranging from Revenge of the Zombies (1943) to The Ten Commandments (1956), and from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1960) to Sex Kittens Go to College (1960), and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) to Hillbillies in a Haunted House (1967).
But by the 1970s it was mostly schlock or exploitation -- Big Foot (1970), Horror of the Blood Monsters (1970), Terror in the Wax Museum (1973) and Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex -- But Were Afraid to Ask (1972); but there were some extremely good pieces of schlock amongst all the dreck, too, like Shock Waves (1977) and The Ice Pirates (1984). And he was absolutely terrifying as the voice of the old barn owl in Don Bluth’s The Secret of NIMH (1982).
The Carradine Clan.
One should also note over a span of four marriages, Carradine managed to sire a family, who followed the old man into the business with great success both in the As and Bs: David Carradine -- Death Race 2000 (1975), Bound for Glory (1976); Keith Carradine -- Nashville (1975), Southern Comfort (1981); and Robert Carradine -- The Cowboys (1972), Revenge of the Nerds (1984); and that’s barely scratching the surface of their careers. Oddly enough, Carradine would appear with all three sons on the Halloween themed “October the 31st” episode of The Fall Guy (S04:E07, 1984).
Now, in his later years, Carradine would make some unsubstantiated claims that he tested for the role of both Count Dracula and the Frankenstein Monster for Universal’s Dracula (1931) and Frankenstein (1931), losing out to Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff respectively.
Carradine, of course, would have an uncredited cameo in Bride of Frankenstein (1935), as one of the hunters who “rescues” the blind hermit from the Monster. And he would famously replace Lugosi as Count Dracula in the studio’s later monster rallies House of Frankenstein (1944) and House of Dracula (1945).
I have no doubt this distinction is why Case sought out Carradine to reprise his role as the Lord of the Undead for Billy the Kid vs Dracula, someone horror fans would recognize, to punch up the marquee. And to those ends, his costume sort of resembles what he wore back in ‘44 and ‘45, too.
Unfortunately, what looked good in black ‘n’ white doesn’t necessarily translate well into color, especially that floofy red cravat. Carradine was pushing 60 by then and was already suffering from crippling rheumatoid arthritis. And the weight of the cape was definitely slowing him down, making him look older than he actually was. You’d swear he was nearing his 80s. And with that costume, sadly, he comes off more as Snidely Whiplash, cheapening the promised terror and sending it down the abyss of overwrought melodrama.
Not helping matters was the red key lighting whenever Assumed Dracula went in for the kill. While meant to be terrorizing, as another critic pointed out, it makes the vampire appear to be “mesmerizing a rotisserie chicken.”
During shooting, Carradine would protest that Dracula would never use the word vampire, and subsequently used the word “undead” instead. He also had a habit of walking off the set between set-ups and would amble to the nearest bar on Melrose Avenue in full Assumed Dracula regalia for some liquid courage. I mean, it couldn’t have hurt.
“I have worked in a dozen of the greatest, and I have worked in a dozen of the worst,” said Carradine of his long and storied film career. However, “I only regret Billy the Kid versus Dracula. Otherwise, I regret nothing.” And he would later tell Ed Naha if he could burn the negatives of the film out of existence, he would. As to why he would ever star in such things to begin with, his answer was simple: “I needed the money, to be honest. Actors have to live, too, you know.”
Opposing Carradine on film would be Chuck Courtney. Courtney was a native of Los Angeles who broke in as a stuntman, had a few bit parts, and received his first screen credit in Born to Saddle (1952). He’d actually played Billy the Kid once before in an episode of Buffalo Bill Jr. (S1.E4, 1955) and played the nephew of a certain Masked Man in The Lone Ranger TV series.
About the highest he ever got on the bill before Billy the Kid vs Dracula was in the aforementioned Teenage Monster and the hot-rod thriller Teenage Thunder (1957). Courtney was good friends with fellow actor Robert Fuller, and the two were on a road tour of Diamond Lil’ after filming wrapped on Billy the Kid vs Dracula, which, for better or for worse, was the zenith of his acting career.
The Stanley News and Press (November 30, 1965).
Courtney would continue working until one of his final appearances in Pet Semetary (1989). Sadly, after a series of debilitating strokes, Courtney would take his own life in January, 2000.
Courtney was fine as Billy, affable, and handled the horse riding and gun play with nary a hiccup but he didn’t quite have enough juice to carry a film -- even a cheapjack one like this. He did, however, have great chemistry with his love interest, Melinda Plowman.
Plowman started off as a child actor, playing one of the children of Ma and Pa Kettle (1949). As she got older the actor shifted to work in TV, mostly as a semi-regular on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet (1963-1965) before landing the role of Betty Bentley in Billy the Kid vs Dracula.
As reported by John Scott of The Los Angeles Times (October 10, 1965), “During production leading woman Melinda Plowman completed a difficult scene in just one take. The delighted director, William Beaudine, who has guided many careers in Hollywood stars, kissed Melinda and offered if she could cook he would marry her. The next day, when lunch was called, Beaudine discovered a sumptuous spaghetti and meatball repast awaiting him with a note that read, ‘I can cook, too.’”
Plowman would continue acting off and on for a few more years before moving behind the scenes as a stage manager and second unit director, one of the few women to actually hold a Director’s Guild (DGA) card at the time under the name Melinda Casey.
Meanwhile, Olive Carey, as Doc Hull, had been making films since the Silents, starting with her debut in Sorrowful Jones (1914). She mostly starred in Westerns, and would marry her frequent co-star, Harry Carey, in 1920, who was sort of the Silent version of John Wayne. Speaking of Wayne, one of Carey’s best roles was as Mrs. Jorgensen in The Searchers (1956), who cemented Ford’s notions of how women of the frontier were the rock on which the genre’s foundation was built.
Olive Carey.
“When Harry Carey and I came out of stock to the movies, screen cowboys had to have three irreplaceable accessories: a horse, a pair of six-shooters, and -- naturally -- a heroine to rescue,” recalled Carey in an interview with Harold Heffernan (The Florida Times Union, July 28, 1965), explaining how the genre had evolved over the years. “Plots were all the same. Either a defenseless cowgirl was about to be cheated out of mineral rights to her ranch or she couldn’t pay off the mortgage. Always lurking was a black villain to threaten foreclosure if she did not wed him. In each case, the super-hero arrived in the nick of time to save both the land and the lady. But, the job done, he always rode off, alone, into the sunset."
Carey then continued, “50 years ago a cowgirl was expected to reflect the niceties and proprieties demanded of a Boston Back Bay debutante. Neither the locale nor the part played must keep a lady from being a lady. On top of it all, I had to ride side-saddle, real ladylike. That, son, was the killer. And now it’s all so different -- in these movies and TV shows today a cute little blonde can ride and shoot and fight as well as her leading man. Nothing like a pair of tight pants to give the girl confidence!
“The fighting in today’s westerns is rougher, tougher, and far more realistic than when Harry was blazing away with his single six-shooter and killing 15 rustlers, but now stuntmen do all the fighting for our flabby heroes. If a cowboy star of my day asked to have someone take a fall for him that would have been the end of his career.”
And now, perhaps the genre’s most formidable frontier woman had to face an undead ghoul instead of a land-grabbing carpetbagger or natives on the warpath. This film would also mark a dubious end to Carey’s film career. But Carey’s inclusion in the cast also brought in another John Ford regular, the Carey’s son, Harry Carey Jr., who co-starred with Wayne in Red River (1948), as the young cowboy killed in the stampede, and Ford’s She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) and The Searchers. In Billy the Kid vs Dracula he has a drive-by cameo as a trail boss who discovered the stagecoach massacre and brings word to town.
The Buffalo News (June 28, 1965).
“We had a good relationship,” said Carey Jr. on his connection with Beaudine (Marshall, 2005). “And when there was a part for me, he’d asked me. And I wasn’t the easiest guy in the world to cast back then. When I worked on the film, I remember I only had a few lines, but I took the job anyway because it was work.”
Rounding out the cast we have Virginia Christine as Eva Oster. And while the actor had been ringing bells in my head since first encountered, I didn’t put together where I knew her from until this recent write-up, when the quarter finally dropped and I realized where I recognized her from.
Now, Christine had been an actress, who had starred as Princess Ananka in The Mummy’s Curse (1944) as well as a pod-person in Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), and had a bit part in Don Siegel's remake of The Killers (1964), one of the best neo-noirs out there. But, nope, what I knew her from most was her 21-year campaign as the recurring character of Mrs. Olson, who appeared in over 100 TV commercials and countless adverts for Folgers Coffee, which was already in full swing in 1965 and finally came to an end in 1986. And it doesn’t take a sharp ear to hear many cast members flub and call her Mrs. Olson in the film instead of Mrs. Oster.
Other familiar faces were Roy Barcroft as the Sheriff, who appeared as the villain in many a matinee Serial of yore -- personal favorites being The Purple Monster Strikes (1945) and Manhunt of Mystery Island (1945); and Bing Russell as the dastardly ranch hand Red. Mostly known for being Kurt Russell’s dad, Bing Russell was one of those guys, whose familiar face was all over movies and TV that you couldn’t quite put a name to. He never really broke out, but he was a solid character actor and an even better baseball manager -- check out the doc The Battered Bastards of Baseball (2014) sometime. Trust me.
When filming wrapped, true to his modus operandi, Beaudine not only brought the film in on time in spite of the short shooting schedule, but also managed to finish it off with nearly $25,000 left in its meager budget coffers. Which is good for the production, but bad for the film because, to my eye, it really could have used it. And believe it or not, before the film was finally released in March, 1966, nearly 12 minutes of the film were cut out for … reasons, because who knows if these missing pieces could’ve shored things up or made the film even worse. Who can say.
The film also went through a slight title change, too, from Dracula vs Billy the Kid to Billy the Kid vs Dracula, which admittedly rolls off the tongue a little better. Either way, even more baffling, from what little I could dig up as far as critical reaction went back in the day, the majority of it was positive. Well, sort of, as most were intrigued or lured in by the premise only to be fed a giant turd-burger of a movie.
The Columbus Ledger (May 8, 1966).
“The B motion picture has a definite place in the industry, and Embassy Pictures is to be commended for its prominent contributions to the B film,” buttered-up Harry Themal of The Wilmington News Journal (May 20, 1966). Billy the Kid vs Dracula and Jesse James meets Frankenstein’s Daughter are obviously B films. Despite these factors, along with some outrageously bad dialogue and other faults, this double bill is not too bad and will probably appeal to fans of both Westerns and Monster films -- exactly the goal the producers had in mind.”“If you thought that Robin and Batman [sic] was camp, just wait until you see the newest Shockorama double bill with the titles of Billy the Kid vs Dracula and Jesse James meets Frankenstein’s Daughter. They will be the campiest of camp,” said W. Ward March for The Cleveland Plain Dealer (February 27, 1966). “For the uninitiated, camp has been defined as failed seriousness; something so far out that it is in. While missing one goal, that of impressing with terror for instance, it attains an unanticipated goal of impressing with laughter.
The Elizabethton Star (September 11, 1966).
“Whoever decided to package monsters with mesquite had a real brainstorm … Their greatest virtue is not in the script or production, although one must admit that there is a freshness and novelty in the mixture of Transylvania terrors and Wild West gunplay. Their real delight is in the direction by William Beaudine. He was a big director when I was cutting my celluloid teeth on the sprocket holes of Silent films," said March. "Both are played with a deadly seriousness by a cast which quite obviously never heard of corn. Both promise the newest in Terror-Tainment [but] it really isn’t all that ... The results are even more than (producer) Case perhaps anticipated. Both are way out, so bad that they are better than good; they’re gooder. This eminently qualifies them for camp. To play the film any other way would make it utterly valueless.”
Added Sam Hoffman of The Springfield Republican (March 31, 1966), “Two legendary western bad guy-heroes nearly get their comeuppance from two legendary monsters-and-or relatives of same and it’s a toss-up who should come out the winner. While neither are world beaters, they do represent something young folk and possibly older folk will appreciate providing they like the business of cowpokes fighting the supernatural and what not.”
The News Journal (May 20, 1966).
But Reggie Cape of The Columbus Ledger (May 14, 1966) really bared his fangs and brought all kinds of venom into his merciless review, skewering -- sorry, saying, “Western movies are okay. Horror movies are okay, too. But bad western movies and bad horror movies are boring at best. But a bad western-horror movie is really getting down in the depths of badness. Witness the two dogs that played at local theaters here this week. The titles alone are enough to discourage serious movie goers, but are curiosity stimulating at the same time. But what a letdown the combinations turned out to be.
“Although in color and apparently somewhat expensively produced, the movies’ poor acting, cliche ridden scripts and stilted action produced laughs where there were supposed to be screams. The dialogue was unbelievably bad in both films … If it is any comfort, worse films have been made, but none much worse.”
The Burlington Times-News (June 17, 1966).
The double bill of Billy the Kid vs Dracula and Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter didn’t really light up the box-office as Levine had hoped, meaning little to no chance of a follow up, denying the world the likes of Wild Bill Hickok vs the Wolfman, Buffalo Bill meets the Invisible Man's Cousin, or Calamity Jane Goes for a Swim with the Gill-Man -- though I would be first in line if anyone ever adapted Joe R. Lansdale and Tim Truman’s Lone Ranger and Tonto comics (Topps Comics, 1994), where in the 4-color pages of "It Crawls!" the dynamic duo face off against a resurrected Aztec Mummy from Outer Space that I really need to dig out and re-read again.
In fact, Case and Circle Pictures would only manage one more feature, An Eye for An Eye (1966), before folding. But Case would produce two more features: a Mondo Cane (1962) pseudo-doc swipe called Spree (1967), which focused on the seedy and not so seedy acts along the fabled Las Vegas Strip; and then pitched in on Clint Eastwood’s Two Mules for Sister Sara (1970), but odds are good he will always be remembered for this gonzo double-bill.
Now, as a fan of the actor, it gives me great pain to admit that Billy the Kid vs Dracula might’ve been better served if someone else had been cast to play Assumed Dracula. Carradine does as he always does, but for once there’s a palpable sense that the actor’s feelings over this nonsense being beneath him bled onto the screen.
Again, the juvenile script does not help, at all, as the audience is asked to wait a long time for Betty to finally accept a quarter from the others and get on the clue bus that her uncle was really a vampire out to make her his undead bride. Believe me, nobody has that kind of patience. And as the alleged hero of the piece, Billy sure does get his ass kicked a lot.
Thus, as I try to grasp for the right words to sum-up the Billy the Kid vs. Dracula viewing experience, all I can come up with is disappointing. If you go in expecting something that kind of title would imply, like I did, the film will disappoint because it is neither good enough nor bad enough to be truly entertaining, leaving it in the nebulous gray void of plain old meh. (Editor's note: the original plan was to review both features for this Halloween retrospective but one proved enough. Maybe next year? Maybe not.)
Personally, I was hoping for something along the lines of Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959), The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies!!? (1964), or even Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (1978), who all managed to cash the check their titles wrote, but all I got with Billy the Kid vs. Dracula was a Halloween episode of Bonanza -- and not a very good one at that.
Originally posted on March 2, 2000, at 3B Theater.
Billy the Kid vs. Dracula (1966) Circle Productions Inc. :: Embassy Pictures Corporation / P: Carroll Case / D: William Beaudine / W: Carl K. Hittleman / C: Lothrop Worth / E: Roy V. Livingston / M: Raoul Kraushaar / S: John Carradine, Chuck Courtney, Melinda Plowman, Olive Carey, Roy Barcroft, Bing Russell, Virginia Christine, Walter Janovitz
