Poised on the brink of bankruptcy, about to witness the disintegration of a dream his father had nurtured for nearly two decades, Carl Laemmle Jr. turned to the most unlikely of saviors -- a dead guy with a thirst for blood.

Sixty-eight years later, that decision still haunts the world. In a good way.

By giving the go-ahead to a film adaptation of "Dracula," Laemmle, the head of Universal Studios, did more than just keep his creditors at bay (at least until 1936, when mounting debts forced the studio's sale). He also initiated a series of horror films unmatched in Hollywood history -- dark, foreboding, sometimes erotic tales of men who have run afoul of God, brimming with wondrously Gothic atmosphere, showcasing the talents of actors and directors whose creations have become part of the world's cultural fabric.

Over the years, those Universal films -- most notably "Dracula," -- "Frankenstein," "The Bride of Frankenstein," "The Mummy" and "The Wolf Man" -- have become the stuff of which our nightmares are made.

"When you ask somebody to draw a picture of Frankenstein, they draw a picture of Boris Karloff," author David J. Skal ("Hollywood Gothic") says in the documentary "Universal Horror," celebratory look back at the first great wave of Hollywood horror (8 to 10 tonight on TCM). "When you ask any 8-year-old to talk like Dracula, they talk like Bela Lugosi. I think that's an amazing testimony to the sheer durability of these characters."

Not to mention the artistry of the films and their creators. From Charles D. Hall, the art director responsible for the cavernous chambers of Dracula's castle, to Jack Pierce, the makeup maestro who visualized both the Frankenstein monster and the Wolf Man, scores of film technicians would do some of their best work under the Universal horror banner.

Their work produced some wonderful films, as tonight's thorough and entertaining documentary bears out. Compiled by Kevin Brownlow, who with his late partner, David Gill, is responsible for some of the best film documentaries ever made ("Unknown Chaplin," "Hollywood: A History of Silent Film in America"), "Universal Horror" is that rarest of creatures -- a work that respects its subject without turning it into a museum piece. The result is as enjoyable as it is scholarly.

Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, Universal churned out a steady stream of horror flicks. All had something to recommend them, and many became minor classics -- including Lon Chaney Jr. as "The Wolf Man," Claude Rains as "The Invisible Man" and Karloff as "The Mummy."

But no two better typify Universal horror than the first two. Although "Dracula" is rightly criticized for sometimes seeming as lifeless as its title character, the opening sequences, especially the unsuspecting Renfield's coach ride to the count's castle, are chilling in the extreme. In the public's eye, at least, it remains the definitive vampire flick from among the scores that have followed.

And "Frankenstein" offers a vivid tableau for the wicked humor and fevered imagination of director James Whale -- a richly textured style of filmmaking, owing much to the German expressionists of the silent era. Although its sequel, "The Bride of Frankenstein," may be the better film, filled with everything from religious allegories (the monster is hanged from a cross) to a hairstyle on Elsa Lanchester's Bride that looks like something out of a Dali painting, it's "Frankenstein" that remains the cultural touchstone.

Universal also had the good fortune to find a pair of actors, in Lugosi and Karloff, who wore their roles like finely tailored suits. As Skal suggests, it's still almost impossible to think of anyone else in the roles, although both the vampire and the monster have been portrayed by countless actors since the original 1931 films.

"Dracula" was originally promoted as a romance, "the strangest passion the world has ever known." Nervous Universal executives weren't sure the public was ready for a monster that owed its existence to the supernatural instead of the imagination; until then, as tonight's documentary points out, most movie monsters had turned out to be dreams or fantasies.

The public, however, proved too frightened to pay much attention to the romance, but not to buy tickets. By year's end, "Dracula" had grossed an impressive $700,000 -- nearly twice its cost.

While Lugosi had been quite the hit playing Count Dracula on the New York stage, Universal chose to ignore him. Only after several other Hollywood names turned down the role, including Paul Muni ("Scarface"), did Universal relent.

Good thing it did, for Lugosi proved a sensation. With his thick, sometimes nearly impenetrable accent and old-world bearing, the Hungarian-born actor had no trouble appearing both menacing and mysterious. "I am Dracula," a black-caped Lugosi intones upon his first appearance on film, heavily emphasizing the first syllable of the name and making the "u" sound like an oo. The effect seemed almost otherworldly (it certainly wasn't American).

Lugosi's performance may seem over-the-top -- the adjective hammy often comes to mind -- but there's no denying its power. He manages to look human while never acting human, a portrayal that makes sense for the undead.

"It departs greatly from what ["Dracula" author] Bram Stoker had intended," says Skal, whose "Hollywood Gothic" traces the blood-sucking Count from the novel's publication in 1897

through the 1970s. "I don't think Stoker would recognize it. [Lugosi] is made up to be kind of a Latin matinee idol, perhaps gone slightly rancid. He's kind of a Valentino from beyond the grave. There's a romantic angle Stoker never intended.

"Lugosi's portrayal is the indelible portrait of Dracula for the 20th century," Skal says. "Nothing comes close to it. He was an actor of tremendous presence and technique."

Audiences were hooked. So was Universal, where Laemmle and his fellow executives knew a gravy train when they saw one. They quickly tried to sign Lugosi for a follow-up, an adaptation of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's novel about a doctor who creates his own man out of parts collected from dead bodies.

But Lugosi balked, primarily because the part contained no dialogue. So the executives turned to the English-born Boris Karloff, who had been knocking around in pictures for nearly 15 years, appearing in 80 films. Once again, they stumbled onto a gold mine.

For as great as the sets are on "Frankenstein," as inspired as Whale's direction is, it's Karloff's monster that makes the indelible impression. Even with all the makeup (it took five hours to put it on every morning) and shoes that weighed 30 pounds each (the better to achieve that lumbering walk we all remember so well), Karloff managed to imbue the monster with a tenderness that made the film as much tragedy as horror. His performance also helps explain why the film has remained a classic, even making the American Film Institute's list of the 100 greatest American films.

Karloff's impact proved the equal of Lugosi's. While he didn't have the benefit of top billing -- that went to Colin Clive in the title role of Henry Frankenstein, the monster's delusional creator -- there's no question who the real star is. Universal even heightened Karloff's initial impact by leaving his name off the opening credits, putting a question mark in the cast list alongside "The Monster." It wasn't until the end of the film that the name "Boris Karloff" appeared on-screen.

The actor's only child, Sara, first saw the film in 1958, on television. Then 19, she already knew how famous "Frankenstein" had made her father and had read the glowing reviews that praised him for giving the monster a depth no one suspected. What she saw didn't surprise her.

"It was my father's innate gentleness of spirit coming through," says Sara Karloff, who spends much of her time today managing the licensing of her father's name and likeness.

"My father was a very well-educated, well-read, very sensitive man," she explains. "I think he understood that the monster really was the victim, helpless, and not the perpetrator. He felt great empathy for the creature's plight."

Both actors would go on to long and storied Hollywood careers, although these initial successes relegated them to horror films for much of their lives. And while both sometimes chafed under such restrictions, they also seemed to understand it was a small price to pay for screen immortality: Lugosi was rarely seen in public without his Dracula cape and was buried in it when he died in 1956, while one of Karloff's last films was "Frankenstein 1970," yet another screen treatment of the monster he'd helped bring to life.

Universal's monster weekend

Turner Classic Movies is airing these horror films this weekend:

Tonight

"Frankenstein" (1931), 10 p.m. "The Bride of Frankenstein" (1935), 1: 30 a.m. "I Walked With a Zombie" (1943), 3 a.m. "The Walking Dead" (1936), 4: 30 a.m.

Tomorrow

"Dracula" (1931), 8 p.m. "The Mummy" (1932), 9: 30 p.m. "The Invisible Man" (1933), 11 p.m. "The Wolf Man" (1941), 12: 30 a.m. "The Mark of the Vampire" (1935), 2 a.m. "The Body Snatcher" (1945), 4 a.m.

Sunday

"The Phantom of the Opera" (1925), 8 p.m. "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" (1923), midnight "Frankenstein" (1931), 2 a.m. "The Fearless Vampire Killers, Or Pardon Me, But Your Teeth Are In My Neck" (1967), 4 a.m.

Pub Date: 10/09/98