Ryan Coogler's recent work may have revitalized the concept of African American undead, but the roots of this cinematic category date back to the Blaxploitation era. One of the most iconic early examples was the 1972 classic Blacula. In that motion picture, the actor's role is bitten by Dracula and cursed with the demeaning name “Blacula.” Originally written as a caricature, the performer transformed the part into something regal, giving his figure an historical origin as Mamuwalde, a proud African prince.
Years afterward, the comedic star seemed to take a cue from Marshall, enriching his own protagonist's lore in the director's take on the African American horror niche: Vampire in Brooklyn. The protagonist Maximillian is a descendant of Dracula whose ancestors fled to Egypt, and later to the Bermuda Triangle, after being persecuted to the brink of extinction. Vampire in Brooklyn demonstrates that tales of African American undead can be humorous, terrifying, and intellectually stimulating simultaneously, securing its place in the canon by juggling all three while respecting the heritage of the category.
Debuted 30 years ago on Oct. 27, 1995, Vampire in Brooklyn is currently streaming on Tubi, making it an must-see if you want a little comedy with your scares this spooky season.
From Zamunda to Brooklyn
Similar to the royal character in Coming to America (the actor's classic from 1988), Maximillian is drawn to the Big Apple. But rather than traveling from a fictional kingdom to Queens, he emerges from the Bermuda Triangle into Brooklyn, aiming to find and secure the continuation of his vampire lineage with an heir of his tribe.
The character makes his entrance in New York on a ghost ship whose crew has been inexplicably killed, a homage to Nosferatu. The ship is discovered by harbor official Silas Green (the comedian) and his nephew Julius Jones (the actor), two of the film's funniest characters. Silas then observes a dark creature leap from the ship, run into an alley, and morph into a man — reminiscent of Michael Jackson's Panther Dance from the extended Black or White video. Groovy 1970s-inspired soundtrack starts, establishing the mood for a film that expertly mixes scares and laughs.
Creative Visions
Recently after his last installment in the iconic horror series, Craven was keen to move beyond his horror reputation and create a more blended comedy (his subsequent project after Vampire in Brooklyn was Scream, which mined scary conventions for both comedy and genuine scares). Meanwhile, the star wanted to defy assumptions by diving into a straight horror rooted in vampire mythology. The clash of those creative goals accounts for the film's exposition-heavy opening of Max's origins and its somewhat slow commencement. But when the film hits its stride, it opens up to its assets — like its eclectic cast.
The acclaimed actress, as the vampire's love interest, plays police officer Rita Veder, whose dynamic with her colleague and romantic lead, detective Justice (Allen Payne), adds a crime-drama edge to the story. One of African American film's most acclaimed performers, she delivers a commanding performance alongside Payne, a familiar face from the era. Meanwhile, the lead spends most of his screen time with his comedic partner, creating a uproarious classic comedy pair as Hardison’s Julius Jones becomes Max’s undead lackey. (Seeing Julius sink deeper and deeper into his ghoulish role as his skin decays throughout the film is a highlight of how the star's comedic style elevates the humor and fear, even when utilized by other actors).
Supernatural Romance
When the two leads meet and the stars finally share the screen, the movie hits its stride — the suspense builds, the fear escalates, and their darkly seductive chemistry becomes the focus. Max’s plan is to remove everything Rita has in her life and then swoop in. He kills her roommate, drives a wedge in between her and her partner, and even uses Nutty Professor-esque prosthetics to masquerade as a preacher and undermine her beliefs.
As the story progresses, it becomes more darkly romantic, including transformations and discoveries of heritage. This results in a final section packed with seduction, as mortality and damnation are at stake. The movie ends with a stinger suggesting a potential sequel, one that might have materialized had the movie performed better. Vampire in Brooklyn made a moderate financial success and received largely critical reception upon debut. Over time, it gained popularity as a cult favorite, with reviewers later applauding Craven’s direction, the spark between Murphy and Bassett, and its sharp blend of frights and fun. The film shows moments of brilliance that might have shone brighter had everyone involved been aligned on a unified vision, rather than producing the tonal hodgepodge viewers saw. Still, Vampire in Brooklyn has deservedly secured its spot in the canon of African American scary movies, an overlooked but impactful film defined by its daring approach and unforgettable performances.
