Studio Fat Cats: Okay, Coppola, we're looking for a debonair, dynamic, charismatic-yet-vulnerable British actor with a great accent to portray a young Victorian lawyer who travels to Transylvania and encounters the fearsome Count Dracula.
Coppola: How about Keanu Reeves?
Fat Cats (smack own foreheads, pop Xanax): Are you high!? What the fuck? We want oscars!
Coppola: I quit if Reeves is not in the picture.
Fat Cats (horrified, exchanging glances): Wait, wait, wait. Okay, okay.
Result: Keanu sodomizes the King's English for two hiurs but Bram Stoker's Dracula wins three oscars anyway. Go figure.
I kept waiting for him to say "Wheaaaauuuu!" and "Aaaaawwwww-summmm!"
Oldman, Hopkins, rich costumes, skilled makeup artists and sexy succubi saved it. The opening carriage ride from the village tavern to the castle always gives me the willies in every Dracula film, as does this line:
(Wolves howling)
The Count: "Lessten to the cheeldren of the night - wott byewteeful mewsic thay myeek."
Cue gooseflesh