By Emma Cole

The lasting legacy of Universal’s monsters reaches far beyond remakes and retellings of the original stories. These films helped to expand many of the horror subgenres we know and love, including one that’s seen an expansion over the last few years: monster romance. In publishing, there’s been a huge uptick in monster romance, a genre that has branched off from paranormal romance and become more inclusive, featuring everything from more traditional vampires and werecreatures to minotaurs, krakens, demons, and even the Grinch (yes, really). Movies like Your Monster, Lisa Frankenstein, and (to some degree) Nosferatu take the themes and tropes of monsters in love with humans and vice versa, and the Universal Monsters were precursors to these recent films. Tod Browning’s Dracula, Karl Freund’s The Mummy, George Waggner’s The Wolf Man, and Jack Arnold’s The Creature from the Black Lagoon all contribute to a legacy of paranormal romance that is enjoying another round of popularity in modern media.

Tod Browning’s Dracula is one of Universal’s first forays into the monster movie genre, adapting Bram Stoker’s novel with permission from the Stoker estate (in contrast to F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, which was unauthorized). Vampires and the humans who love them (or at least are seduced by them) might not have begun with Stoker’s novel, but the book and the subsequent adaptation have inspired films, books, and television shows since 1931. Browning’s production is referenced even in non-horror media; Barry Sonnenfeld’s lighting of Anjelica Huston’s eyes in The Addams Family is an echo of Lugosi’s hypnotically highlighted stare, for example. I don’t have room to list all the vampire movies and books that have grown out of Universal’s successful franchise, but I’d argue the romantic aspects of the story are part of why the vampire myth has been so popular. It goes beyond just horror and attracts audiences who are also primarily romance enthusiasts. Harlequin’s paranormal romance Nocturne imprint and Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter series were part of the 90s vampire boom, and we’re seeing a similar rise in vampire stories in romance now, not only in books like Kiersten White’s Lucy Undying but also in films, with relatively recent entries like The Invitation, 2019’s Carmilla, and the AMC television adaptation of Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire all exploring the romantic side of vampirism (though not all of these stories have happily ever after endings). 

Vampires are inherently sexual monsters, and thus the perfect creature for a monster romance. Although this early film is less focused on the love story than the Hammer Dracula films with Christopher Lee, John Badham’s 1979 version starring Frank Langella, or my favorite, Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula from 1992, the dark and brooding Bela Lugosi wasn’t unromantic. In fact, Universal decided to play up the romance aspects in ads before the film was released, calling it “The story of the strangest passion the world has ever known!” There’s a love triangle between Jonathan Harker, his fiancee Mina, and the Transylvanian Prince Dracula (a love triangle that is much more explicitly laid out in the Coppola remake). The hypnotic hold Dracula has on both Mina and her friend, the vulnerable Lucy (who is seduced by Dracula before he turns his gaze to Mina) means this “romance” isn’t exactly on a level playing field, and that’s typical of many of these early horror films. The women were objects of the monster’s attraction, and often they only reciprocated because of a curse or magical means. The issue of dubious consent comes into play in many of the early monster romance films, and we see the same thing in Robert Eggers’ update of Nosferatu. Lily-Rose Depp’s Ellen Hutter may seem to have called the vampire to her willingly, but both the vampire’s coercion as well as the societal pressures and dismissal of women’s thoughts and desires means that she never really has much of a choice when it comes to the culmination of her relationships. 

This same sense of woman as a prize to be won or an object to be used shows up again and again in the Universal films. The Mummy centers around the ancient mummy Im-ho-tep (played by the fabulous Boris Karloff), who is resurrected as Ardath Bey and searches for his long-lost love Anck-es-en-Amon, and discovers what he thinks is a reincarnated version of her in Helen (played by Zita Johann). His single-minded pursuit of Helen is where the real horror is revealed, as any woman who’s felt like she can’t get away from an ardent suitor can attest. There’s also the whole killing and mummifying thing, which definitely doesn’t help. 

Karloff as the mummy is fantastically menacing, his silent stalking lending wonderful suspense to a movie that on its face seems rather tame. The film ends not by Helen rebuking Im-ho-tep or by her present-day love saving her, but by her invocation of the spirit of the goddess Isis as she reclaims her ancestry and destroys the mummy. The update of The Mummy in 1999 uses a very similar plot but definitely plays up those romance and adventure cues. There’s a real love story between Rachel Weisz’s Evie and Brendan Fraser’s Rick, that unfolds alongside Imhotep’s pursuit of Evie, who has been targeted for human sacrifice in order to bring the mummy’s lover back to life. There’s a lot less outright horror in the remake, but a lot (a lot!) more beautiful people. So many beautiful people. I’ve seen a lot of monster romance novels in recent years, but there are definitely fewer Mummy-human romances out there—perhaps it’s time for an update?

The Wolf Man features a romantic storyline of a sort alongside the horror of werewolf transformation. Lon Chaney, Jr. (the son, of course, of Lon Chaney, the Man of a Thousand Faces and the original Phantom of the Opera) plays Larry Talbot, a man returning to his home in Wales after the death of his brother. When Larry meets Gwen, a local villager, he is smitten with her, although she doesn’t seem to reciprocate his affections. In fact, she tells him she is already engaged, but Larry pursues her anyway, refusing to take no for an answer. And he hasn’t even been turned into a monster yet. The imbalanced power dynamics between Larry and Gwen are amplified by the class system in place: Larry is the son of the lord of the area, John Talbot (played by Claude Rains), and he doesn’t seem to be used to taking no for an answer. Does Gwen reluctantly agree to meet with him because she feels she has no choice? It’s not made explicitly clear, but it’s certainly implied that a person of lower social class would be expected to cater to the aristocracy. There’s some similarity here to many of the billionaire romance novels that remain popular: A persistent, confident, wealthy man who sets his sights on a particular woman and through force of will (and often, especially in older novels, through more insidious means of coercion) ends up with a wife. 

As in Cat People, another were-creature movie of the same era (though it was directed by Jacques Tourneur for RKO), the transformation to wild beast can be interpreted as the main character becoming overwhelmed by lust and impulsive behavior. Larry can’t control his desire to kill those who stand in the way of his pursuit of Gwen, just as Irena in Cat People can’t control her jealousy. But Irena is fully committed to repressing her murderous feelings as long as she can, whereas Larry can’t or won’t make the same effort. Perhaps this is the difference between the perception of gender roles at the time: women are not allowed to give into those lustful feelings, because they would be shunned for being too brazen. Men, on the other hand, could let their animalistic sides out, provided they were properly contrite once they came to their senses. 
Of all the Universal monsters that have inspired love stories, werewolves are one of the more popular tropes, despite the lack of a fully realized romance in the 1941 film. What first gained popularity in places like AO3 has become mainstream, and a cursory glance at Kindle Unlimited’s horror section will turn up dozens of novel series showcasing a variety of werewolf romances. The 1980s saw a spate of werewolf films with varying levels of love story, including Wolfen and The Howling, and werecats got their turn in the spotlight as well, with Paul Schrader’s remake of Cat People in 1982. But many recent were-creature films seem to be more focused on the violence and transformation aspects of the genre, like 2024’s Werewolves and the upcoming Wolf Man from Leigh Whannell. It’s a curious evolution, where books and film have diverged in a much different way than vampires and Dracula.  

Creature from the Black Lagoon is my favorite of the Universal monster movies. Sometimes described as the catalyst for future monster horror such as Alien, the Gill-Man is a relentless and mysterious creature. The audience never gets a true sense of his motivations or feelings; the characters guess at his intentions, but they’re really just projecting. The two men leading the expedition into the Amazon, Mark, and David, are ostensibly both men of science. But Mark is in it for the glory, whereas David (and his girlfriend, Kay) are there to learn and research, and the two clash as a result. Much of the film is spent arguing over whether the team should kill the creature and bring him back as a trophy or let him live unbothered by the humans encroaching on his territory. 

I don’t think Creature from the Black Lagoon is a full-on monster romance (Kay certainly doesn’t seem too interested in the Gill-Man as anything more than a scientific anomaly), but there is some romantic conflict that bubbles up to the surface throughout, in addition to the Gill-Man’s pursuit of Kay. Mark surprises Kay and David as they share an intimate kiss, and the camera lingers on his irritated face just long enough for the audience to wonder if there’s more to his annoyance than simply feeling like it’s unprofessional to be making out on the job. Kay comments to David acknowledging the awkwardness between the three of them and hints that Mark may have made his feelings known to her in the past, and either she brushed him off or it didn’t work out. That extra tension adds more suspense to many of the underwater scenes, particularly when the two men are diving together. Will Mark try to harm David so he can get the girl? Will they leave the other to a terrible fate, attacked by the creature? Not knowing how the two men will react when they’re away from the rest of the crew adds a fascinating little layer to this story. 

The romance between Kay and David is refreshingly equal, as David confides in Kay, asks her opinion, and generally treats her as a person and not just a trophy. They’re not married and both seem okay with that, which is a departure from films like Cat People (or many romance novels) where folks get married at the drop of a hat. The Gill-Man surely doesn’t understand the nuances of their relationship, or a least we’re not given any indication that he thinks of Kay as anything other than a prize, but I know when I rewatched the film recently, I felt much more sympathy for the monster’s plight. He’s clearly alone and seems to just want some companionship, but doesn’t know how to communicate that. The idea of humans invading the Gill-Man’s space and wanting to destroy his habitat kind of makes you want to root for the monster, something Guillermo del Toro does incredibly well in his lovely The Shape of Water. 

These early Universal monsters are not only entertaining in their own right, but clearly they’ve inspired generations of filmmakers and authors who have expanded on their original premises. While some of those artists have chosen to focus on the horrific angle, there are just as many who lean into the themes of romance, attraction, and lust that simmer beneath the surface of these Universal films. With the future of horror in both books and movies seeming very bright, it will be interesting to see where these iconic monsters will take us in the future.