Retro Reel Review: Vampire in Brooklyn (1995)

There are some movies that stick with you not because they’re masterpieces, but because they hit you at the right moment in life. Vampire in Brooklyn is one of those movies for me. It’s the kind of film you remember catching on cable late at night, or renting from the video store because the cover looked cool and you were in the mood for something spooky but not too serious. It’s got that unmistakable mid‑90s vibe, the kind that feels like a mix of fog machines, neon lights and a soundtrack that’s just a little too dramatic. And honestly, that’s part of why I still enjoy revisiting it.

Eddie Murphy plays the vampire Maximillian with a surprising amount of restraint. If you grew up watching Murphy’s big comedic characters, this performance feels almost calm by comparison. He’s smooth, collected and quietly menacing, which gives the movie a tone you don’t expect. There are jokes, sure, but he’s not bouncing off the walls or doing wild voices. He’s playing it straight, and that choice gives the movie a strange charm. It’s like Murphy wanted to try something different, and even if the movie around him gets a little chaotic, he stays locked into this cool, mysterious energy.

Angela Bassett is the real anchor of the film. She brings a seriousness and emotional weight that keeps everything from floating off into pure comedy. Her character, Detective Rita Veder, is dealing with trauma, identity and a sense of being pulled between two worlds. Bassett sells all of it. Even when the movie leans into its sillier moments, she grounds it with a performance that feels honest. Every time she’s on screen, the movie feels steadier, like it suddenly remembers it has something real to say.

Watch Vampire in Brooklyn on Amazon Prime

And then there’s Wes Craven. Seeing his name attached to this movie still makes me smile. You can spot flashes of his style here and there, especially in the darker scenes or the way certain shots linger just long enough to build tension. But this isn’t A Nightmare on Elm Street or Scream. It’s more like Craven decided to take a vacation from pure horror and try something playful. The movie never fully commits to being scary, and it never fully commits to being a comedy either. It lives in this odd middle space, and that’s part of what makes it memorable.

The tone jumps around a lot. One minute it’s spooky, the next it’s cracking jokes, and then suddenly it’s trying to be romantic. Normally that kind of tonal whiplash would bother me, but with Vampire in Brooklyn, it just feels like part of the experience. It’s a movie that doesn’t quite know what it wants to be, and somehow that confusion becomes part of its charm. It’s messy, but it’s fun. It’s weird, but it’s entertaining. It’s the kind of movie you watch with a bowl of popcorn on a cool October night and just enjoy for what it is.

The supporting cast adds to the fun. Kadeem Hardison steals scenes with his goofy, undead sidekick routine, and John Witherspoon brings the kind of comedic energy only he can deliver. Their presence reminds you that the movie isn’t trying to be high art. It’s trying to entertain. It’s trying to give you a good time. And if you’re in the right mood, it absolutely does.

Visually, the movie is pure mid‑90s. Foggy docks, dimly lit alleys, dramatic shadows, and that unmistakable Brooklyn grit. It’s the kind of aesthetic that instantly transports you back to a certain era of filmmaking. You can practically smell the VHS tape. You can picture the clamshell case sitting on a shelf at Blockbuster. You can remember flipping through channels and stopping because Eddie Murphy looked cool as hell in that long coat.

Is Vampire in Brooklyn perfect? Not at all. Some jokes land, some don’t. Some scenes feel sharp, others feel like they wandered in from a different movie. But when nostalgia gets involved, those rough edges soften. You stop judging it like a critic and start remembering how it made you feel the first time you saw it. And for me, it’s always been one of those movies that brings back a certain warmth. A certain memory. A certain slice of 1995 that I’m happy to revisit.

It’s fun. It’s strange. It’s got personality. And it still feels like a little time capsule every time I watch it.

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