This is a very brief working abstract for students interested in Dracula as being a rebuttal to Immanuel Kant's works and also this abstract comments on the skepticism that we find in this novel. This is put out in the public doamain and if this is used, it should be with proper citation.

Nos proponemos con este artículo, profundizar en uno de los personajes más sugerentes y enigmáticos de la literatura del siglo XIX: el vampiro, partiendo de una doble perspectiva de análisis. En primer lugar, definir las características literarias del arquetipo creado por Stoker, para posteriormente analizar cómo el primitivo arquetipo literario pasará al cine, adaptando y cambiando su visualización estética en la gran pantalla. Nos centraremos, concretamente, en dos producciones cinematográficas, que desde nuestro punto de vista, representan un gran cambio en (...) la concepción del subconsciente colectivo del monstruo: Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) de Coppola porque representa la humanización del personaje en la gran pantalla; y la última superproducción de Hollywood Dracula Untold (2014) de Shore, porque representa una mirada al mito antropológico fundacional del vampiro. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Dracula and Carmilla:Monsters and the MindBenson Saler and Charles A. ZieglerFollowing the publication of Bram Stoker's Dracula in 1897, vampire narratives proliferated in Britain and the United States.1 While many twentieth century short stories, novels, plays, and films in both countries depart from Dracula in various ways, it is our impression that that workand its close derivatives retain pride of place in the popular imagination. Yet (...) Dracula was but one of several well-known vampire stories published in English during the nineteenth century, and scholars deem certain of the other tales to be of literary merit.In noting that, we raise this question: What is it about the plot and the characterization of vampires in Dracula that make it the most famous example of vampires in English fiction? Why, in particular, has it been more influential than Le Fanu's Carmilla which preceded it in time and is of equal or perhaps greater literary distinction?2 We address that question, and by doing so we hope to gain some insight into the attraction and persistence of vampire tales across time and cultures.We begin by sketching our approach to conceptualizing the category "vampire." Nina Auerbach, a Professor of English at the University of Pennsylvania, writes that "There is no such creature as 'The Vampire'; there are only vampires."3 That declaration is in keeping with her demonstration that in nineteenth and twentieth century British and American vampire novels, short stories, plays, and films, vampires vary greatly in behavior, in apparent motivation, and in cultural significance. Different social orders and different culturally supported sensibilities [End Page 218] and sensitivities, she persuasively argues, find expression in different sorts of vampires.We deem Auerbach's literary nominalism preferable to an essentialism that would govern vampiric class inclusion by insisting on some conjunction of necessary features or conditions. At the same time, however, we think that there is a better way of allowing for differences in conceptualizing vampires and in understanding their multi-faceted significance in British and American imaginings of the last two centuries. That way combines the recognition of family resemblances with insights derived from prototype theory in the cognitive sciences.A family resemblance approach can be quite liberal in what it includes as instantiations of the category "vampire." It can encompass not only such familiar (albeit different) figures as Ruthven, Varney, Carmilla, Dracula, and Lestat, but also others, including so-called "psychic vampires," who flourish not by sucking blood but by draining vitality, will, and even experience from their victims. Some may ask, does this not create a category that is so promiscuous in what it includes as to render the category analytically useless? No, we reply, once you couple family resemblance with insights from prototype theory.Prototype theory, narrowly described, attempts to account for "prototype effects." These "effects" are differences in the judgments that people render about how well different instances of a category exemplify the category. Thus, for instance, some people may judge apples and oranges to be clearer or better exemplars of the category "fruit" than olives. Similarly, some may judge robins and sparrows to be clearer or better exemplars of the category "bird" than penguins. Judgments can be explicitly given, or they can be inferred from the order of examples that people give or from their responses to lists of examples furnished by others. Prototype theorists call the adjudged clearest or "best" examples of categories "prototypes" or "the most prototypical exemplars."4 This approach celebrates centrality and periphery rather than essence and boundary in conceptualizing categories.5 It allows that some instantiations of a category may be deemed more central to the category than others. Thus in the case of vampires, Dracula is more central to the category than, say, the shape-shifting space alien who extracts salt from victims in an episode of Star Trek, First Generation. Auerbach recognizes that centrality when she refers to "Dracula's dominance in our century" (p. 111). We contend, moreover, that while Sheridan Le Fanu's vampire Carmilla is more prototypical—that is, an adjudged better exemplar of the category—than vampiric space aliens [End Page 219] and legions of psychic vampires, she is less... (shrink)

The paper argues that historic events in the western Irish town of Sligo were more substantial in shaping Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula (1897) than previously thought. Biographers of Stoker have credited his mother, Charlotte Thornley Stoker, for influencing her son’s gothic imagination during his childhood by sharing tales of the Sligo cholera epidemic she had witnessed in 1832. While Charlotte Stoker’s written account of Sligo’s epidemic Experiences of the Cholera in Ireland (1873) influenced Bram Stoker, it is argued that (...) as a voracious library researcher he is likely to have cross-referenced it with other historical accounts. Furthermore, by viewing the text of Dracula through the lens of Charlotte Stoker’s account and the historical reportage of the epidemic, clear parallels emerge. Ultimately, the striking similarities between Sligo’s cholera are marshaled to argue that Count Dracula may be read as the personification of Sligo’s cholera. (shrink)

John C. Altmann decides whether Dracula can really be blamed for his crimes, since it's his nature as a vampire to behave a certain way. Robert Arp argues that Dracula's addiction to live human blood dooms him to perpetual frustration and misery. John V. Karavitis sees Dracula as a Randian individual pitted against the Marxist collective. Greg Littmann maintains that if we disapprove of Dracula's behavior, we ought to be vegetarians. James Edwin Mahon uses the example (...) of Dracula to resolve nagging problems about the desirability of immortality. Adam Barkman and Michael Versteeg ponder what it would really feel like to be Dracula, and thereby shed some light on the nature of consciousness. Robert Vuckovich looks at the sexual morality of Dracula and other characters in the Dracula saga. Ariane de Waal explains that "Dragula" is scary because every time this being appears, it causes "gender trouble." And Cari Callis demonstrates that the Count is really the Jungian Shadow archetype--with added Shapeshifter elements--in the journey of Mina Harker, heroine/victim of Stoker's novel, from silly girl to empowered woman. (shrink)

This book begins at the intersection of Dracula and War of the Worlds, both published in 1897 London, and describes the settings of Transylvania, Mars, and London as worlds linked by the body of the vampire. It explores the "vampire from another world" in all its various forms, as a manifestation of not just our anxieties around alien others, but also our alien selves. Unsurprisingly, many of the tropes these novels generated and particularly the themes they have in common (...) have been used and adapted by vampire narratives that followed. From Nosferatu to Alien, Interstellar, Stranger Things, and many others, this book examines how these narratives have evolved since the end of the nineteenth century. Bringing together texts and films from across the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries, from the far reaches of outer space and the distant future, it concludes that the unexpected and the unknown are not always to be feared, and that humanity does have the power to write its own future. (shrink)

Within Marxist criticism the hunger of the vampire has thus far been read as a metaphorization of the violence of capitalist exploitation. This article offers an alternative Marxist reading of vampirism, which incorporates the vampire's simultaneous demands to be fed and refusals of work into an antiwork utopian politics. This article suggests that the hunger of the vampire is usefully connected to the utopian desire for a world without work that lies at the heart of Marxist utopianism. In this way (...) this article challenges the productivist valorization of work, which often accompanies denunciations of the vampire as an enemy of the worker, while demonstrating that such denunciations frequently align Marxism with racist, queerphobic, and anti-Semitic framings of the vampire in opposition to the white Christian family. Focusing on Bram Stoker's Dracula this article deploys the critical methodology of Ernst Bloch in order to excavate the utopian potential of Stoker's text. (shrink)

Jean-Louis Schefer's study takes as its point of departure Uccello's predella, Profanation of the Host. The painting in question has generally been interpreted within the context of medieval anti-Semitism. However, Schefer argues that the meaning of the work, and of numerous other representations of this particular miracle, must be referred ultimately to the codification by Charlemagne of the dogma of the Real Presence. Uccello's painting in effect makes manifest the requirement that the profaned host should reveal its nature through the (...) gushing of blood. This also involves a political significance, since the Carolingian theology organized around the consecrated host stands in direct opposition to the Byzantine theology of the icon. Schefer's argument leads him to make a thorough investigation not only of the many iconographic precedents, but also of some key Latin texts such as the Libri Carolini, which are published in a French translation. It also advances a methodology that is strikingly at variance with some of the more simple-minded attempts of historians to crack the codes of a complex visual tradition. One of its most original aspects is the new light that the overall thesis casts upon extremely well-known texts like The Merchant of Venice and Dracula. Thus the tendency to identify vampirism as an East European phenomenon, already discernible in Western sources in the eighteenth century, is shown to be closely linked to the historical extension of the myth of Profanation of the Host. In exploring the outcomes of this doctrinal split between East and West, Schefer has identified a deep fault-line in post-antique European history whose consequences are far from being understood at the present day. (shrink)

Besides Dracula, Ceauşescu, and Nadia Comăneci, monasteries constitute a permanent Romanian brand, inextricably linked in every foreign visitor's mind to Romanianness. Specific to Moldavia and Bucovina—the Eastern and Northern parts of Romania—these monasteries have attracted visitors for the past 500 years. The person visiting a sacred site is transformed from being merely a tourist into a pilgrim. The painting “The Ladder towards Heaven” at the Pângăraţi Monastery, for example, highlights the importance of the mental and physical involvement of the (...) tourist-pilgrim as an interactive participant in the process of self-discovery. (shrink)

Drácula, Frankenstein, espíritus, asesinos en serie� el cine bebió del terror desde sus inicios como séptimo arte. El miedo y el terror son géneros capitales en la historia del cine como el "western", el cine negro o el "thriller". Su evolución a lo largo de las décadas se ha manifestado desde los títulos del cine mudo como Nosferatu a la sofisticación de El silencio de los corderos. Y siempre ha sido un cine de culto, tanto por su factura estética como (...) por sus personajes, terriblemente humanos. (shrink)

Colin Radford must weary of defending his thesis that the emotional reactions we have towards fictional characters, events, and states of affairs are irrational.1 Yet, for all the discussion, the issue has not, to my mind, been properly settled—or at least not settled in the manner I should prefer—and so this paper attempts once more to debunk Radford’s defiance of common sense. For some, the question of whether our emotional responses to fiction are rational does not arise, for they are (...) inclined to doubt that we have them at all.2 Emotions, on this view, are fundamentally linked to belief states, as in the following thesis concerning the emotion of fear: 1) We fear for ourselves only if we believe ourselves to be in danger; we fear for others only if we believe they actually exist and are in danger. When we typically engage with fiction we do not ‘suspend our disbelief’, in the sense of coming to believe that the fiction is non-fiction. No matter how engrossed I become in a Dracula movie, I do not begin to believe that I am seeing actual vampires. 2) When we watch a horror movie, we do not believe ourselves, or anyone actual, to be in danger. And so these theorists, endorsing (1) and (2), are obliged to deny the intuitive (3): 3) We are sometimes frightened when watching a horror movie. These three propositions are a version of what is sometimes called ‘The Paradox of Fiction’. For my money, since the denial of (2) is foolish, and the denial of (3) deeply counterintuitive, it is (1)—being a substantive philosophical thesis—that is most likely the culprit. Radford agrees, yet maintains that there is some intimate connection between belief and emotion. For him, the dependence is not the existential one stated in (1), but a normative one: we do not rationally feel fear unless we believe ourselves (or someone actual) to be in danger.3 This revision of the connection allows the construction of a quite different inconsistent triad: 4) We are not rationally frightened unless we believe someone actual to be in danger.. (shrink)

The first film adaptation of the story of the unmasking of the insatiable Transylvanian vampire, Count Dracula. The tale unfolds with an awesome eeriness unequalled in later versions.

Historian Arthur Herman traces the roots of declinism and shows how major thinkers, past and present, have contributed to its development as a coherent ideology of cultural pessimism. From Nazism to the Sixties counterculture, from Britain's Fabian socialists to America's multiculturalists, and from Dracula and Freud to Robert Bly and Madonna, this work examines the idea of decline in Western history and sets out to explain how the conviction of civilization's inevitable end has become a fixed part of the (...) modern Western imagination. Through a series of biographical portraits spanning the 19th and 20th centuries, the author traces the roots of declinism and aims to show how major thinkers of the past and present, including Nietzsche, DuBois, Sartre, and Foucault, have contributed to its development as a coherent ideology of cultural pessimism. (shrink)

This article illuminates Henry Irving’s production of Shakespeare’s Cymbeline (1896) as a major contribution to fin-de-siècle Gothic culture. Cymbeline (1896) was one of the most popular Victorian Shakespeare productions, running to wild acclaim for more than seventy-two performances. In Cymbeline’s sexually-charged bedroom scene, Imogen, played by beloved Victorian actress Ellen Terry, was preyed upon by Henry Irving’s villainous Iachimo. Terry and Irving were at the zenith of a twenty-year partnership at London’s Lyceum theatre, and Victorian Britain’s greatest star actors. Ellen (...) Terry’s Imogen became an ideally desirable heroine for both audiences and critics of Victorian Shakespeare. Simultaneously, Cymbeline, and the acclaimed performances of Terry and Irving, became a source for literature’s most famous Gothic vampire novel: Dracula, published by Bram Stoker in 1897. Bram Stoker was Henry Irving’s business manager, and intimately involved with Irving and Terry’s professional lives at the Lyceum theatre. This article reveals the relationship between Shakespeare and Dracula, especially Ellen Terry’s Imogen as an inspiration for Lucy Westenra. Textual evidence includes Terry’s correspondence and unpublished promptbooks, as well as Stoker’s biography of Henry Irving, and facsimile notes on Dracula. Examining Cymbeline (1896) and Dracula (1897) offers a new reading of Dracula, given Cymbeline’s obsession with liminal states and female vulnerability. Moreover, Victorian responses to Ellen Terry’s Imogen in the bedchamber scene highlight fin-de-siècle eroticisations of the sleeping woman, and Victorian fantasies of sexual access to the actress. Examining Terry’s reception illuminates the disjunction between performed female passivity as Imogen, and the professional, creative activity that underlined Terry’s stage practice and agency as a Victorian actress. (shrink)

Ce dictionnaire propose de réunir des portraits de brutes et de mégères dans le but de s'interroger sur les causes et les raisons de cette perception négative. Pourquoi certaines figures évoquent-elles la méchanceté? Que peut nous dire cette méchanceté dénoncée de nous-mêmes et de l'époque qui l'a engendrée? Il s'agira de retracer les portraits de ceux et celles ayant marqué l'Histoire et la fiction par leur cruauté, leur perfidie, leur machiavélisme, leur art de la dissimulation ou de la manipulation. S'attarder (...) sur la méchanceté et ses possibles, décliner les façons de la penser et de la vivre, de la subir ou de l'exercer, c'est s'intéresser à une facette peu valorisée de la sensibilité d'autant plus importante que chaque individu, de près ou de loin, est amené, un jour, à se montrer méchant. La méchanceté et ses manifestations, qu'elles soient conceptuelles ou biographiques, nous invitent donc à une introspection globale, à une immersion dans les affres de la noirceur des âmes dont la bouche n'est autre que celle de la méchanceté Le champ de cette entreprise est vaste et recouvre notamment : La Malice, le Machiavélisme, Orangina Rouge, Barbe Bleue, le cinéma d'Alfred Hitchcock, Marie-Antoinette, la Mauvaise conscience, Gilles de Rais, Harry Powell (La nuit du chasseur) Salomé-Hérodiade, Dracula, Tatie Danielle, Marie Tudor, la Perversité, la Mégère Grecque, Dark Vador, Mildred Ratched (Vol au-dessus d'un nid de coucou)... (shrink)

In his recent book, Jae-Seong Lee argues that not only Eastern thoughts but also Western philosophy lead us to transcend our ordinary, binary, reflexive thought and become one with the truth, namely, Emptiness, or the true self. But this aspect has not been thoroughly considered in Western metaphysics. After considering Heidegger’s failure to get to the bottom of transcendence through his “Dasein,” Lee looks to the French postmodern ethicists, in particular, Levinas, in this regard. Just like the Mahayana Buddhist philosopher (...) Nāgārjuna did almost two thousand years earlier, Lee suggests that Levinas too may have hit upon the insight that genuine subjectivity can be reached through an openness to the Other as the wholly exterior. Throughout the entire book, Jae-Seong Lee shows a strong interest in postmodern ethics, Daoism, Buddhism, theology, and literature, but in the end, he concludes that Buddhist philosophy, with its focus on Emptiness, would be the best approach to a merging of Eastern and Western Ways of thinking in our search for the ultimate and absolute. Finally, Lee suggests that the general philosophical theory he introduces and develops actually works for literary works including the Book of Job, Count Dracula and Frankenstein. (shrink)

Frankenstein é um dos personagens mais populares da ficção. Nascido no romance de Mary Shelley, ele está completando 180 anos, mas já transcendeu as fronteiras da literatura. Há 65 anos, é encontrado nas telas cinematográficas, somando 117 aparições, perdendo apenas para o Conde Drácula, com 161, no gênero de filmes de terror. Este ensaio, atravessado por suas precariedades e limitações históricas, procurará respostas sobre o mito de Frankenstein. É importante investigar as significações desta experiência de alma, que lhe asseguram atualidade (...) e permanência às vésperas do terceiro milênio. Para tanto, serão usados os pressupostos da Psicanálise, compatibilizados com os do filósofo Louis Althusser. (shrink)

In 1883 Friedrich Nietzsche published parts I and II of Thus Spoke Zarathustra. The Prologue contains the famous—or infamous—assertion that “when Zarathustra was alone, he spoke thus to his heart: ‘Could it be possible! This old saint has not yet heard in his forest that God is dead!’”1 Fourteen years later, Bram Stoker, in Dracula, has the mate of the cargo ship, Demeter, write in its log: “we are now off in the North Sea, and only God can guide (...) us in the fog, which seems to move with us; and God seems to have deserted us.”2 Much later in the novel, Jonathan Harker expresses his anxiety over his wife, Mina, in terms of faith but also of drift: “Surely God will not permit the world to be the poorer by the loss of. (shrink)

Not that long ago, any thought of transferring body parts, or fluids like blood, among individuals was expressed in terms of a nightmare. Consider the problem of involuntary blood transfusions to Count Dracula! Or recall the infamous brain transplant to the brutish body under Dr. Frankenstein's ministrations. The very thought of bodily transference stimulated writers to create monsters. The stuff of evil seemed to surround any attempt. Hubris was considered the evil that exceeded the normal limits of scientific research (...) and development. Transplantation seemed to make humans into gods who defied death but who, like Icarus and his wax wings, flew too close to the sun. (shrink)

In The Devil and Philosophy, 34 philosophers explore questions about one of the most recognizable and influential characters (villains?) of all time. From Roman Polanski's The Ninth Gate to J. R. R. Tolkien's The Silmarillion to Bram Stoker's Dracula to Darth Vader to Al Pacino's iconic performance in The Devil's Advocate, this book demonstrates that a little devil goes a long way. From humorous appearances, as in Kevin Smith's film Dogma and Chuck Palahniuk's novels Damned and Doomed, to more (...) villainous appearances, such as Gabriel Byrne's cold outing as Satan in End of Days, The Devil in Philosophy proves that the Devil comes in many forms. Are there any good arguments for the actual existence of the Devil? Does demonic evil thrive in Gotham City? Can humans really be accountable for all evil? Which truths about the Devil are actual facts? Is Milton correct, in that the Devil believes he is doing good? Through the lenses of Jung, Kant, Kundera, Balkan, Plato, Bradwardine, Aristotle, Hume, Blackburn, Descartes, Lavey, Thoreau, and Aquinas, The Devil and Philosophy takes a philosophical look at one of time's greatest characters. (shrink)

Analyse de la perception au travers des notions d'invisible et d'intangible. L'auteur envisage une phénoménologie imaginaire, voire de l'imaginaire : les anges, l'homme invisible, le yéti, Dracula, et même Dieu sont des êtres possibles, ayant de fait une portée ontologique.

A Byzantinist specializing in the history of the Empire of Trebizond, the author presents four books of different genres written in English and devoted to the medieval state on the south coast of the Black Sea. The most spectacular of them is a novel by Rose Macaulay, Towers of Trebizond. Dąbrowska wonders whether it is adequate to the Trebizondian past or whether it is a projection of the writer. She compares Macaulay’s novel with William Butler Yeats’s poems on Byzantium which (...) excited the imagination of readers but were not meant to draw their attention to the Byzantine past. This is, obviously, the privilege of literature. As a historian, Dąbrowska juxtaposes Macaulay’s narration with the historical novel by Nicolas J. Holmes, the travelogue written by Michael Pereira and the reports of the last British Consul in Trabzon, Vorley Harris. The author of the article draws the reader’s attention to the history of a rather unknown and exotic region. The Empire of Trebizond ceased to exist in 1461, conquered by Mehmed II. At the same time the Sultan’s army attacked Wallachia and got a bitter lesson from its ruler Vlad Dracula. But this Romanian hero is remembered not because of his prowess on the battlefield but due to his cruelty which dominated literary fiction and separated historical facts from narrative reality. The contemporary reader is impressed by the image of a dreadful vampire, Dracula. The same goes for Byzantium perceived through the magic stanzas by Yeats, who never visited Istanbul. Rose Macaulay went to Trabzon but her vision of Trebizond is very close to Yeats’s images of Byzantium. In her story imagination is stronger than historical reality and it is imagination that seduces the reader. (shrink)

Noël Carroll has suggested that scary films scare because our emotions are structured by the disgusting and dangerous properties of the films’ monsters. By contrast, this essay argues that some scary films scare through more direct means than can be explained by entertaining in thought, say, the impure properties of Count Dracula. It is the film itself that disgusts and frightens, by ‘taking over’ the spectator so that their consciousness of the film is ‘contaminated’ by the ‘spirit’ of horror. (...) In this essay, I discuss this state of ‘being done by disgust-horror through Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1965). In my reading, Repulsion is about ultrasensitivity to the world and the subsequent, insane fear of intimacy that the film itself directly induces in its spectator. The spectator is threatened with possession in a fashion analogous to the way in which Carole’s apartment (her own mind) keeps her captive in her own disgust. This disgust that Carole feels is not merely disgust towards men, but disgust towards the world in general. The effect of this is the devastating, disgusting, schizophrenic terror of being unable to trust one’s own senses. (shrink)

There is surprisingly scant research on queer subtext in The Wicker Man (1973). I suggest Lord Summerisle, who was portrayed by Christopher Lee, is a queer-coded villain. On the night Willow MacGregor deflowers an adolescent named Ash Buchanan, Summerisle observes a pair of copulating snails, quotes Walt Whitman, and envisions Howie alone in his bedroom. Most terrestrial snails are considered hermaphrodites and liking Whitman, who was probably queer, was historically a code for homosexuality. Summerisle recites Whitman’s poem celebrating animals that (...) ‘do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins’ or make him ‘sick’ discussing their ‘duty’ to the Christian God. The scene implies Summerisle wishes to deflower Howie the way Willow deflowers Ash, and mate with him like the snails. Summerisle resents Howie because his conservative Christianity prevents them from becoming lovers. Summerisle wants to believe Howie will reincarnate as his apple crops; he and his followers intend to consume his flesh and drink his blood in the form of fruit. Like Dracula, whom Lee was famous for playing, Summerisle seeks to penetrate Howie with his teeth in a metaphor for sex. (shrink)

We all know vampires. Count Dracula and Nosferatu, maybe Blade and Angel, or Stephenie Meyer’s sparkling beau, Edward Cullen. In fact, the Euro-American vampire myth has long become one of the most reliable and bestselling fun-rides the entertainment industries around the world have to offer. Quite recently, however, a new type of fanged villain has entered the mainstream stage: the American Indian vampire. Fully equipped with war bonnets, buckskin clothes, and sharp teeth, the vampires of recent U.S. film productions, (...) such as Blade, the Series or the Twilight Saga, employ both the Euro-American vampire trope and denigrating discourses of race and savagery. It is also against this backdrop that American Indian authors and filmmakers have set out to renegotiate not only U.S. America’s myth of the racially overdrawn “savage Indian,” but also the vampire trope per se. Drawing on American Indian myths and folklore that previous scholarship has placed into direct relationship to the Anglo-European vampire narrative, and on recent U.S. mainstream commodifications of these myths, my paper traces and contextualizes the two oppositional yet intimately linked narratives of American Indian vampirism ensuing today: the commodified image of the “Indian” vampire and the renegotiated vampire tropes created by American Indian authors and filmmakers. (shrink)

As they say in the Scripture, the directors of AvtoZAZ and AvtoVAZ are baptized the same way, and both prefer the Mercedes. Mr. Gundyaev, better known as Patriarch Cyril, prefers the "Mercedes" Cadillac. And he himself, and his parable or canonical Bible did not read, or they are familiar with an exceptionally rare version of this book, where the main character does not seem to be Jesus of Nazareth, but Dracula in Leslie Nilsson's performance. The subordinates Gundyaeva and he (...) himself are the best experts in the world to discredit the image of Orthodoxy and the inevitable dispersal of believers in other faiths. (shrink)