When Vampire in Brooklyn (1995) first hit cinemas, it seemed like a sure thing. Eddie Murphy, still one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, teaming up with horror maestro Wes Craven — fresh off New Nightmare and on the cusp of Scream — for a supernatural horror-comedy that promised both chills and laughs. On paper, it sounded like a bloody good time. In execution, however, it became a messy, tone-deaf experiment caught between two creative egos and a studio unsure of what it wanted.

Murphy, who also co-wrote and co-produced the film, was eager to move beyond the wisecracking cop persona that had defined his career. He envisioned Vampire in Brooklyn as a darker, more serious take on horror — a stylish Gothic thriller with him at its centre as the suave, seductive vampire Maximilian. Paramount, however, saw something very different: a horror-comedy vehicle for its bankable star. What emerged was an uneasy hybrid that fails to find its footing, unsure whether to scare or to entertain.

Craven, ever the craftsman, tries valiantly to balance the clashing tones. There are flashes of his visual flair — an eerie opening sequence aboard a derelict ship, the crimson-lit interiors of Maximilian’s lair, and a few moments that recall his knack for the grotesque. Yet, it’s clear he’s wrestling with a script that doesn’t know what film it wants to be. The result is a workmanlike effort from a director capable of brilliance, dulled by interference and conflicting visions.

Murphy’s performance doesn’t help matters. As Maximilian, he is clearly struggling to play it straight in a film that refuses to let him. Worse still, his multiple side characters — including a shapeshifting preacher and a slick Italian hood — are cartoonish distractions that undercut any atmosphere the film manages to build. The humour feels forced, the scares are neutered, and the pacing plods.

The film’s saving grace is Angela Bassett, whose portrayal of Detective Rita Veder adds depth and gravitas where the script provides little. Bassett commands every frame with her trademark intensity, grounding the absurdity around her with genuine emotional weight. In a better film, her character’s arc — caught between duty and seduction — might have resonated as a modern Gothic tragedy. Here, it merely hints at what Vampire in Brooklyn could have been.

Wes Craven would rebound just a year later with Scream, proving his instincts were still razor-sharp when given the right material. Vampire in Brooklyn, by contrast, feels like a creative crossroads for all involved — a misfire born from too many competing intentions and not enough cohesion.

The Prognosis:

A muddled mix of horror and humour, Vampire in Brooklyn never finds its bite. Caught between Murphy’s comedic impulses and Craven’s horror pedigree, it flails when it should fly. Angela Bassett alone keeps the film from turning to dust, but even she can’t save this lifeless experiment from the shadows.

• Saul Muerte