Our common goal was to survive. But what we lacked was food. We had long since run out of the meagre pickings we’d found on the plane, and there was no vegetation or animal life to be found. After just a few days we were feeling the sensation of our own bodies consuming themselves just to remain alive. Before long we would become too weak to recover from starvation. We knew the answer, but it was too terrible to contemplate. The bodies of our friends and team-mates, preserved outside in the snow and ice, contained vital, life-giving protein that could help us survive. But could we do it? For a long time, we agonized. I went out in the snow and prayed to God for guidance. Without His consent, I felt I would be violating the memory of my friends; that I would be stealing their souls. We wondered whether we were going mad even to contemplate such a thing. Had we turned into brute savages? Or was this the only sane thing to do? Truly, we were pushing the limits of our fear.8
While this shocking reality caused a clamor of judgment when the survivors told their story to the media, once Canessa and the others explained that those who were dying gave permission for their bodies to be used for nutrition, the families of those who died and were ultimately eaten worked to understand the dire circumstances and forgive those who had survived.
This modern example of cannibalism to survive once again demonstrates our inculcated beliefs that cannibalism is one of the worst atrocities to perform on another. Despite the extreme life-and-death circumstances, there was still hesitation from the survivors, as well as judgment by those who were not there.
In an interview with Bill Schutt, author of Cannibalism: A Perfectly Natural History (2017), Beckett Mufson of VICE asked why we have an “innate” repulsion of human flesh:
I’m not so sure it’s innate. It’s deeply ingrained in Western culture. We’ve been reading this memo since the time of the ancient Greeks. From Homer and Herodotus through the Romans and then Shakespeare and Daniel Dafoe and Sigmund Freud, the snowball kept growing. You’re talking over two thousand years. Cannibalism, to these writers, was the worst taboo. Add that to Christianity and Judaism where it’s important to keep the body intact and you get the knee-jerk reaction to the very mention of the word we have right now. It has historically been convenient for Westerners to stigmatize cannibalism. If you’re Columbus and you can accuse people of being cannibals, then you can treat them like vermin. They’re not human to you. You can destroy these cultures. But there are other cultures where they’d be just as mortified to learn we bury our dead as we would be to learn that they eat their loved ones.9
It seems that the profound taboo of cannibalism has been perpetuated by Western culture, ingrained in both our religion and our fear of other cultures. Perhaps this is why real cannibalistic killers, in the same vein as the fictional Hannibal Lecter, have garnered such morbid fascination. Although survival is the reason for cannibalism in both the Andes and Donner events, the notion that a human would choose to taste flesh is, well, a tough idea to swallow.
SECTION THREE
VAMPIRES
CHAPTER SEVEN
DRACULA
Year of Release: 1931
Director: Tod Browning
Writer: Garrett Fort
Starring: Bela Lugosi, Helen Chandler
Budget: $355,000
Box Office: $4.2 million
In 1885, an Irishman named Bram Stoker read a rather enlightening article in the literary magazine, The Nineteenth Century. The author, Emily Gerard, wrote of her research on the beliefs of Romanians, entitling the article “Transylvanian Superstitions.” She spoke of a creature not widely known in the United Kingdom:
There are two sorts of vampires—living and dead. The living vampire is in general the illegitimate offspring of two illegitimate persons, but even a flawless pedigree will not ensure anyone against the intrusion of a vampire into his family vault, since every person killed by a nosferatu becomes likewise a vampire after death, and will continue to suck the blood of other innocent people till the spirit has been exorcised, either by opening the grave of the person suspected and driving a stake through the corpse, or firing a pistol shot into the coffin.1
Instantly intrigued, Stoker further researched the history and fables of Romania. In his studies he came upon the legends of the notorious, and real, Vlad the Impaler. Also known as Vlad Dracula, this Romanian prince of the fifteenth century was known to be extremely cruel in times of both war and peace. For example, when a group of Ottoman envoys visited Vlad, they made the deadly mistake of not removing their turbans in deference to the prince. “Commending them on their religious devotion, Vlad ensured that their turbans would forever remain on their heads by reportedly having the head coverings nailed to their skulls.”2
It makes a macabre sort of sense that Bram Stoker combined the vampire folklore he’d learned from Gerard’s article with the imposing, historical figure of Vlad the Impaler. This amalgamation of fact and fiction became one of the most recognizable monsters in literary and film history. In 1897, Count Dracula, borne of these darkened legends, first appeared in Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula. Over a century later, the mysterious count with a penchant for blood has appeared in hundreds of adaptations.
Although it was not the first film to be inspired by Stoker’s novel, the 1931 Universal Studios Dracula, starring Bela Lugosi, was the first official film adaptation. The script was taken from the successful Broadway version of the novel, and Lugosi himself was plucked from the stage production to reprise his role as the bloodthirsty Count Dracula. It is Lugosi’s portrayal of the Count which has endured: from the slight foreign accent to the air of sophistication.
The early 1930s was a tumultuous time in Hollywood. Silent era films were going out of fashion, yet the industry didn’t know how to keep up with this creative change. Dracula straddled these two worlds, retaining markers of silent films like intertitles and highly dramatic, theater-like performances. Despite this unevenness, the Universal film was a success. And, soon, Count Dracula became an archetypal monster not only for the readers of Stoker’s novel, but for moviegoers all over the world.
Meg and I have both delighted in vampires in horror films. Meg loves Fright Night (1985) and I (Kelly) am a fan of What We Do in the Shadows (2015). Without both Stoker’s novel and Lugosi’s 1931 portrayal of Count Dracula, these later films wouldn’t exist. As we’ve re-watched our favorite vampires, we’ve been wondering about the often-used tropes of this genre. One example is that vampires will be burned to death by sunlight. Oddly enough, this was not depicted in Stoker’s novel, but the aspect of vampires not having a reflection did: