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The director's recent work may have breathed new life into the idea of African American undead, but the origins of this cinematic category date back to the 1970s cultural movement. Among the most iconic early examples was the 1972 classic Blacula. In that film, William Marshall's role is turned by Dracula and burdened with the demeaning name “Blacula.” Originally written as a stereotype, Marshall elevated the part into something regal, providing his character an 18th-century backstory as Mamuwalde, a proud African prince.

Decades later, the comedic star appeared to draw inspiration from Marshall, deepening his own character's mythology in the director's take on the African American horror niche: Vampire in Brooklyn. Murphy's Maximillian is a heir of Dracula whose ancestors fled to Egypt, and later to the Bermuda Triangle, after being persecuted to the edge of annihilation. Vampire in Brooklyn proves that tales of African American undead can be funny, terrifying, and thought-provoking simultaneously, earning its place in the canon by balancing all three while honoring the heritage of the category.

Released 30 years ago on October 27th, 1995, Vampire in Brooklyn is now available on a popular platform, making it an must-see if you want a dash of humor with your scares this Halloween.

A Tale of Two Cities

Similar to Prince Akeem in Coming to America (the actor's classic from 1988), the vampire lead is drawn to New York City. But instead of journeying from a fictional kingdom to Queens, he arrives from the mysterious region into Brooklyn, seeking to locate and ensure the continuation of his vampire lineage with an heir of his clan.

The character makes his entrance in New York aboard a phantom vessel whose sailors has been mysteriously slaughtered, a nod to Nosferatu. The ship is discovered by ship inspector Silas Green (John Witherspoon) and his nephew Julius Jones (Kadeem Hardison), two of the most humorous personalities in the movie. The inspector then observes a dark creature leap from the ship, dart into an alley, and morph into a man — reminiscent of Michael Jackson's Panther Dance from the longer Black or White video. Funky 1970s-inspired soundtrack kicks in, setting the mood for a movie that handily balances horror and humor.

Directorial Ambitions

Fresh off his last installment in the iconic horror series, the director was eager to break from his scary movie image and make a more hybrid genre film (his subsequent project after Vampire in Brooklyn was Scream, which exploited scary conventions for both comedy and genuine scares). At the same time, Murphy wanted to defy assumptions by venturing into a straight horror rooted in vampire mythology. The conflict of those creative goals explains the story's detailed beginning of Max's origins and its somewhat slow commencement. But when the movie clicks into high gear, it unfolds to its assets — like its eclectic cast.

Angela Bassett, as the vampire's love interest, plays police officer Rita Veder, whose dynamic with her partner and love interest, detective Justice (Allen Payne), brings a procedural element to the story. Among Black cinema’s most praised actresses, she gives a powerful acting alongside her co-star, a well-known actor from the era. In the meantime, Murphy spends the majority of the film with Kadeem Hardison, creating a hilarious classic comedy pair as the actor's Julius Jones becomes Max’s undead lackey. (Seeing Julius sink deeper and deeper into his ghoulish role as his appearance deteriorates throughout the film is a highlight of how Murphy’s usual bag of tricks enhances the humor and fear, even when utilized by other actors).

Gothic Intrigue

When Max and Rita’s paths intertwine and Murphy and Bassett finally share the screen, the movie hits its stride — the tension heightens, the scares intensify, and their sinister attraction takes center stage. The vampire's scheme is to take away all Rita has in her life and then swoop in. He kills her housemate, drives a wedge between her and her partner, and even uses Nutty Professor-esque prosthetics to disguise himself as a preacher and undermine her beliefs.

As the story unfolds, it becomes more darkly romantic, including metamorphoses and discoveries of heritage. This leads to a third act filled with temptation, as mortality and damnation are at stake. The movie ends with a stinger suggesting a potential sequel, one that could have happened had the movie performed better. Vampire in Brooklyn earned a moderate financial success and received mostly negative reviews upon debut. As years passed, it found new life as a beloved classic, with reviewers later praising Craven’s direction, the spark between Murphy and Bassett, and its clever mix of frights and fun. The film shows glimpses of genius that could have been more prominent had everyone involved been in agreement on a cohesive approach, rather than producing the tonal hodgepodge audiences received. Still, Vampire in Brooklyn has rightfully earned its spot in the history of Black horror, an underappreciated but influential film characterized by its daring approach and memorable acting.