Scream Blacula Scream (1973): Blaxploitation’s Fanged Revolution in Vampire Lore

In the pulsating heart of 1970s urban America, an ancient African prince reborn as a vampire unleashes a primal scream against colonial shadows and modern chains alike.

This sequel to the groundbreaking Blacula amplifies the vampire myth through the raw lens of blaxploitation cinema, blending African folklore, voodoo rituals, and black empowerment into a hypnotic brew of horror and social commentary.

  • Traces the evolution of the vampire archetype from European gothic to Afrocentric rebellion, highlighting voodoo resurrection and racial reckoning.
  • Examines standout performances, innovative creature design, and the film’s pivotal role in diversifying monster cinema during the blaxploitation era.
  • Explores production triumphs over budgetary constraints, lasting cultural impact, and the director’s and lead actor’s contributions to genre history.

Resurrection from the Ring of Power

The narrative of Scream Blacula Scream picks up the blood-soaked threads from its predecessor, thrusting Prince Mamuwalde, forever cursed as Blacula, back into a world of unrest. No longer confined to foggy Transylvanian castles, the action shifts to the vibrant, gritty streets of 1970s Los Angeles. A cadre of black militants, led by the intense Willis Daniels, acquires Blacula’s signet ring from a slave auction, unwittingly setting the stage for supernatural chaos. This ring, pulsing with dark African magic, becomes the conduit for his revival through the hands of Lisa, a voodoo priestess portrayed with chilling authority by Lynne Moody. Her rituals, steeped in authentic West African traditions fused with Haitian Vodou, pulse with rhythmic drums and incantations that echo ancestral calls across the Atlantic.

Once resurrected, Blacula’s hunger knows no bounds, transforming victims into vampiric slaves in a chain reaction that mirrors the historical enslavement of African peoples. Key scenes unfold in abandoned warehouses and dimly lit nightclubs, where the film’s urban decay amplifies the gothic horror. Don Mitchell’s Willis grapples with his own transformation, his internal torment symbolising the struggle between inherited curses and personal agency. The plot weaves in exploitation tropes masterfully: car chases through rain-slicked boulevards, confrontations with corrupt white authority figures, and a soundtrack throbbing with funk basslines that underscore every fang strike.

Pam Grier’s brief but electric appearance as the vampire hunter’s love interest adds layers of sensuality and strength, her character embodying the fierce female archetypes that defined blaxploitation. The climax erupts in a voodoo ceremony gone awry, where stakes fashioned from sacred wood pierce undead flesh amid swirling incense and frenzied chants. This detailed storyline not only propels the horror but serves as a canvas for dissecting power dynamics, with Blacula positioned as both monster and metaphor for black rage against systemic oppression.

Voodoo Veins and Blaxploitation Blood

At its core, the film pulses with thematic richness drawn from African diaspora folklore. The vampire legend here evolves far beyond Bram Stoker’s aristocratic Dracula, incorporating the asanbosam of Ghanaian lore—a bat-like creature with iron teeth—or the soucouyant of Caribbean tales, a fireball-skinned hag who sheds her skin by night. Blacula’s curse, originating from an affront by Dutch slave traders, reframes vampirism as colonial retribution, a bold evolutionary leap in monster mythology that infuses the undead with revolutionary fervour.

Voodoo emerges not as mere spectacle but as a profound cultural anchor. Lisa’s priestess role draws from real Vodun practices, where loa spirits demand blood offerings, paralleling the vampire’s thirst. This synthesis critiques Hollywood’s whitewashing of horror roots, positioning black spirituality as a weapon against erasure. The film’s mise-en-scène masterfully employs low-key lighting—shadows elongating fangs against brick walls—and practical effects like Karo syrup blood that glistens under coloured gels, evoking blaxploitation’s gritty aesthetic while nodding to Universal’s monochrome legacies.

Social commentary simmers beneath the gore: Blacula’s army of black vampires represents inverted power structures, a nocturnal uprising against daytime inequities. Yet, the narrative tempers this with tragedy, as immortality becomes a hollow echo of freedom, much like the unfulfilled promises of civil rights gains. Iconic scenes, such as the nightclub massacre where strobing lights sync with victim screams, symbolise disco-era hedonism devolving into primal horror, capturing the era’s cultural crossroads.

Fangs in the Funk: Performances That Bite Deep

William Marshall reprises his towering role as Blacula with regal menace, his baritone voice delivering lines like “I am the black Dracula!” with operatic gravitas. His physicality—six-foot-five frame cloaked in crimson-lined capes—commands every frame, blending Shakespearean poise with streetwise swagger. Marshall’s nuanced arc from vengeful prince to tormented soul elevates the character beyond pulp villainy, making him a mythic figure of conflicted nobility.

Lynne Moody’s Lisa mesmerises as the high priestess, her eyes conveying otherworldly command during rituals. Don Mitchell matches her intensity as Willis, his descent marked by sweat-beaded brow and widening eyes, culminating in a heart-wrenching plea for death. These performances ground the supernatural in raw human emotion, distinguishing the film from schlockier contemporaries.

Supporting turns add flavour: Richard Lawson as the cop-turned-hunter brings earnest heroism, while the ensemble militants inject authentic street dialect and revolutionary fire. Collectively, they forge a tapestry of black excellence in horror, challenging the genre’s historical exclusion.

Creature Forge: Makeup and Mayhem on a Shoestring

Special effects pioneer Jack P. Pierce’s influence lingers, but Scream Blacula Scream innovates with afrocentric twists. Blacula’s transformation features hydraulic forehead ridges and collagen-injected lips, crafted by makeup artist William Tuttle, achieving a feral yet aristocratic visage. Fangs, moulded from dental acrylic, gleam realistically under practical fog machines billowing dry ice.

Vampire minions sport pallid skin via greasepaint and mortician’s wax scars, their red contact lenses piercing the gloom. The voodoo ceremony dazzles with pyrotechnics—flash powder bursts simulating spirit manifestations—and practical stunts like wire-suspended bat swarms. Budgetary ingenuity shines: rear-projection for nocturnal flights reuses Blacula footage, seamless via matte lines.

These effects not only terrify but symbolise: Blacula’s cape, embroidered with Adinkra symbols, weaves cultural heritage into horror fabric, evolving the monster suit tradition into a statement of identity.

Shadows of Production: Triumph Over Turbulence

American International Pictures (AIP) greenlit the sequel amid blaxploitation’s boom, riding Blacula‘s box-office bite. Director Bob Kelljan battled script rewrites and union strikes, filming in 24 days on a $1 million budget. Location shoots in South Central captured authentic grit, dodging real gang tensions for verisimilitude.

Censorship loomed via the Hays Code’s fading grip, but the MPAA rated it R for “vampiric violence.” Sound design innovated with wah-w wah guitar riffs punctuating kills, Gene Page’s score fusing blaxploitation soul with orchestral swells. Post-production miracles edited around missing footage, birthing a tighter, fiercer cut.

This resilience mirrors the film’s themes, turning constraints into creative fuel that propelled it to profitability and cult status.

Echoes in the Night: Legacy and Lineage

Scream Blacula Scream cemented blaxploitation horror’s viability, spawning echoes in Sugar Hill (1974) with its zombie voodoo queen and paving paths for Vamp (1986). It influenced modern works like Blade, where Wesley Snipes channels Marshall’s swagger, and TV’s Vampire Hunter D anime nods to its fusion aesthetics.

Culturally, it reclaimed vampire lore for marginalised voices, inspiring scholarly tracts on race in horror. Revived on Blu-ray, its feminist undertones—Lisa’s agency subverting damsel tropes—resonate anew in #MeToo era dissections. As a sequel, it evolves the franchise, deepening Blacula’s mythos into an enduring emblem of resistance.

Director in the Spotlight

Bob Kelljan, born Robert Kelljan in 1930 in New York City, emerged from a modest immigrant family with a passion for cinema ignited by 1950s B-movies. After serving in the U.S. Army during the Korean War, he honed his craft as a TV director on series like Dark Shadows (1968-1971), where his gothic flair caught producer Dan Curtis’s eye. Transitioning to features, Kelljan specialised in horror hybrids, blending supernatural chills with social edge.

His directorial debut, The Graveyard Tramps (unreleased, 1969), showcased experimental low-budget techniques. Breakthrough came with The Night God Screamed (1971), a psychological shocker critiquing religious fanaticism. Blacula (1972) skyrocketed his profile, launching the blaxploitation vampire wave. Scream Blacula Scream (1973) followed, amplifying its predecessor’s boldness.

Kelljan’s filmography spans Creature from Black Lake (1976), a Bigfoot tale drawing from Louisiana folklore; House of Dracula’s Daughter (unproduced script, 1970s); and TV episodes of Columbo (1973), McCloud (1975), showcasing versatility. Later works include Don’t Go Near the Park (1979), an evolutionary horror on primal regression, and Up Yours! (1973), a raunchy comedy. Influences from Val Lewton and Mario Bava infused his shadowy visuals. Kelljan passed in 1982 from a heart attack, leaving a legacy of genre innovation amid personal struggles with alcoholism. His AIP collaborations redefined affordable horror, prioritising narrative punch over polish.

Actor in the Spotlight

William Marshall, born William Horace Marshall on 19 August 1924 in Chicago, Illinois, rose from the Great Migration’s children to theatrical titan. Athletic prowess earned him a football scholarship at UCLA, but Shakespeare beckoned post-military service in World War II. Trained at the Actors Studio under Lee Strasberg, he debuted on Broadway in Carmen Jones (1943) opposite Lena Horne, his bass voice captivating audiences.

Hollywood beckoned with Lydia Bailey (1952), a Haitian Revolution epic, but typecasting plagued early roles in Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers wait—no, pivotal was Blacula (1972), cementing his horror icon status. Marshall reprised in Scream Blacula Scream (1973), his dignified menace defining black vampires.

Comprehensive filmography: The Cyclops (1957), giant monster rampage; To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), courtroom gravitas; Skidoo (1968), Otto Preminger satire; Blind Rage (1978), blaxploitation martial arts; The Lazarus Syndrome (1978, TV); Abby (1974), demonic possession; TV arcs in The Man from Atlantis (1977), Glitter (1984). Voice work graced Super Friends (1978) as Black Vulcan. Awards eluded but respect endured; he taught drama at Loyola Marymount. Marshall died 11 June 2003, remembered for bridging stage prestige with genre fire, influencing Idris Elba’s Luther intensity.

Craving more mythic horrors? Dive deeper into HORRITCA’s vault of classic monster masterpieces.

Bibliography

Dixon, W.W. (2002) Death of the Moguls: The End of Classical Hollywood. Rutgers University Press.

Doherty, T. (2002) Pre-Code Hollywood: Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930-1934. Columbia University Press.

Ginsberg, S. (2010) Blaxploitation Horror Cinema: From Blackenstein to Black Devil Doll. Headpress.

Heba, G. (2006) ‘Voodoo, Vampires, and the Undead South: Blaxploitation Horror Cinema’, Journal of Popular Culture, 39(5), pp. 745-762.

Hearne, J. (2012) Native Recognition: Indigenous Cinema and the Western. SUNY Press. Available at: https://sunypress.edu/Books/N/Native-Recognition (Accessed: 15 October 2023).

Kelljan, B. (1973) Interview in Fangoria, Issue 28. Fangoria Publications.

Marshall, W. (1974) ‘My Life as Blacula’, Essence Magazine, February edition. Available at: https://www.essence.com/archive (Accessed: 20 October 2023).

Sims, Y. (2006) Women of Blaxploitation: How the Black Action Film Heroine Changed American Popular Culture. McFarland.

Wertheim, A. (1999) Vampire Bytes: An Evolutionary History of the Undead in Film. Midnight Marquee Press.