“Why did I dream about you last night?”

“Did you?”

“I don’t know… maybe I didn’t. Maybe you were really here.”

I’m going to take a punt here that if you’re reading this, on this website, you’re a fan of the kitsch, the charming, the not-exactly-perfect. I think we can agree that there are few offerings within the British horror films canon, particularly in the 1950s-1980s timeframe we focus on here, that could truly be called perfect. Fun, entertaining nonsense, yes. Moments of genius, truly. Fantastic performances, aye. A certain, difficult-to-define greatness, often.

Son Of Dracula has none of this. Unless you want to define its greatness in terms of how truly, astonishingly shit it is.

Yes, we’re scraping the barrel here. No misty-eyed nostalgia or so-bad-its-good goggles are saving this one.

Someone (I believe it was not necessarily the person you might think it was) once suggested that Ringo Starr wasn’t even the best drummer in The Beatles. Given Mr Starr had a fair bit to do with the creation of Son Of Dracula, you have to wonder whether that bit of shade-casting on his creative talents might have been deserved. Then again, John Lennon did sing “I am the egg man”, so perhaps everyone has their off day.

“What?” You say. “There’s a British horror film called Son Of Dracula? Why have I never heard of this film?” Well, I would answer (if this was an actual conversation, and not just me typing random nonsense into my laptop), try watching the thing and that might give you a clue. The film is so toe-curling I don’t think it ever even had a proper release, despite the talent that is technically on display. Not only do we have Ringo stinking the screen up whenever he pops up in his fright wig and Play Away outfit, but look – there’s his fellow bona fide pop star Nilsson, sleep-walking his way through proceedings (as the flippin’ lead). And what-ho, here comes Dennis Price not-trying-at-all, and Freddie Jones almost unrecognisable in his awfulness. It’s like they were doing it on purpose. Perhaps we can blame the director… who was it? Presumably some no-mark with little experience in the job? Nope, genre stalwart Freddie Francis. The film maths just doesn’t add up. I’m not going to take a pop at Suzanna Leigh (this time) because to be fair to her, she looks awesome here.

So I think it’s safe to say that this beauty, financed as it was by The Beatles’ company Apple, is quite simply a spectacular monument to pop star hubris. And drugs. Presumably lots and lots of drugs.

Cut to Ringo Starr in 1974, when he finally sits down to watch the film. “Ah, ay, la - that’s disappointing. I thought I looked boss in that outfit at the time, and that ‘Count Down’ joke was an absolute trouser-ruiner. Then again, I was off my tits, la. Perhaps the drugs don’t work, after all…”

Things start, as they often do around here, in Transylvania, sometime in the 19th century. In a change to the usual proceedings, which might perhaps suggest that this film isn’t going to be as terrible as you’re expecting it to be, the whole thing is done in first person viewpoint, with YOU as Peter Cushing! (it doesn’t actually say this, but you get the drift).

So, it’s YOU who gets attacked by Dracula, warding him off with some fire and a crucifix. It’s YOU who is approached by a freaky dwarf (Skip Martin, cornering a small (pun not intended) market in the early 70s), who leads YOU to the count’s coffin, where YOU Peter-Cushing the shit out of him.

It’s at this point you might as well turn the film off, because that bit wasn’t actually as great as I’ve just made it sound but it’s absolutely the highlight. Just in case you needed further convincing, in comes Merlin (Ringo Starr dressed as a panto wizard), non-emoting about how the house of Dracula is not yet at an end because the Countess is pregnant.

So, it’s now 100 years later, and the future (for 1973), because we have a channel tunnel, which Dracula’s progeny, the aforementioned “Count Down” (sort-of played by Nilsson) uses to come to the UK.

At Merlin‘s house, Baron Frankenstein (Freddie Jones) announces the Count is on his way, with Merlin telling him “You are all my children, Baron Frankenstein” and mumbling about crowning Count Down as something or other.

The Count wastes no time in checking out London’s nightlife, and it turns out he’s a SINGER (gasp). In fact, he’s the kind of singer who spends the rest of the film unable to walk past a piano without giving us an impromptu song.

After saving a woman from a werewolf he makes his way to “the museum of the occult” where he meets Merlin. By this point I was beginning to lose the will to live, and the commitment to note taking took a bit of a dive, but someone appears to have thought the museum, which is full of real people pretending to be artefacts, is “incredible! The whole thing is fantastic. Merlin has surpassed even himself this time!”

I’m not going to apologise for my unprofessionalism, because compared with the source material I deserve a Pulitzer.

The next scenes seem to go on forever, with Ringo, who someone should have wrestled out of shot every time he opened his mouth, being given far more screen time than you’d expect. The gist is that Merlin has realised that Count Down’s human instincts, inherited from his human mother, are taking over and the Count wants to become mortal. Which will mess up all Merlin’s plans, although the wizard seems less than bothered about this. Is there something unsaid going on? Or is Ringo Starr not really an actor as such and therefore a tad out of his depth here? Well clearly the answer is “both”. And chuck in a bit of lackadaisical filmmaking while you’re at it.

So, that’s it, then. That’s the plot. Count Down sings some more songs, meets and falls in love with Dr Van Helsing’s assistant Amber (Leigh), and decides to renounce his Draculaness by having an operation to make him human (performed by Van Helsing - Price - for some inexplicable reason).

Much shenanigans ensue, featuring an assortment of shit horror monsters, before Count Down kills them all, even though he’s really sorry to have to do it. And when he turns into a vampire bat / monster himself, it’s done through the power of cartoon animation. Which is a brave choice but only succeeds in making the film even more shit than it already was.

And it turns out that Merlin was Van Helsing all along, for a reason that is probably explained but not particularly clearly.

Logic jumps on a horse and gallops off quite early in the proceedings. Count Down has a ready-made band waiting for him in England (including The Who’s Keith Moon on drums), but one assumes even supernatural bands in shit films need to practice and have an idea of what they’re going to actually play before setting off on a tune. When did they do this? Count Down professes his love for Amber – but this is BEFORE the operation that will give him the ability to feel human love.

The entire running time is made up of incoherent stuff like this happening, and meanwhile we’re treated to the sight of supposedly first-rate actors showing exactly how well they perform when given an appalling script (NOT well, it turns out). The ending is baffling, and not at all helped by lengthy speeches that supposedly explain what’s been happening but don’t.

Finally, let’s spare a thought for the real victim here. Mariah Carey, whose warble-tastic hit song “Without You”* is used as a major plot point. Pity poor Mariah, and take a moment to think how awesome it would be if Son Of Dracula was remade now with her in the lead role. Sexy Santa outfit included. Put it this way, it would be actually impossible to make this thing any worse.

*Yes, I know.