Castlevania: Nocturne has very quickly become a show of diminishing returns. While its second season is reasonably well-stocked with both charm and thrills, it can't help but feel less committed to the depth and darkness we've come to expect from animated adaptations of the Belmont family’s vampire-hunting exploits. It isn’t all bad, though: Superb voice performance and a handful of inspired fight sequences help offset the season's oppressive dullness. But gone are the first season’s impression that Nocturne would only improve as it made its way deeper into the plots of Castlevania: Rondo of Blood and Castlevania: Symphony of the Night – same too for the feeling that this slick, layered sequel series was poised to match the original Castlevania series’ potency.
As the French Revolution escalates, Richter Belmont (Edward Bluemel) and the formerly enslaved Annette (Thuso Mbedu) team up with Dracula's son, Alucard (James Callis, reprising his voice role from Castlevania) to defeat a cabal of power-hungry vampires. Their leader, self-proclaimed “vampire messiah” Erzsebet Báthory (Franka Potente), is at her strongest and most ruthless, and it'll take more than the Belmonts and Alucard to take her down. The creatures' schemes are hardly novel as far as villainous plots go, but Nocturne mines its familiar endgame for just enough body horror, action, and scaled-up bloodshed to distract from just how slight and shallow it becomes.
Meanwhile, Richter's adoptive sister Maria Renard (Pixie Davies) grapples with her father's many, many sins, while Juste Belmont (Iain Glen) does his best to protect her from herself. Halfway into the season, Maria commits a pretty damning no-no, supposedly teeing up an extended emotional tug-of-war between the part of her driven to do the deed and the part wracked with guilt. Frankly, it's a perfect conundrum for a Castlevania character, because the series is at its best – and most profound – when it’s forcing its characters to face the ickiest parts of themselves. But creator Clive Bradley and company don't see it through. They throw us only a handful of scenes dealing with Maria's emotional state after the fact, and the ensuing dismissal of this potentially defining moment contradicts the franchise’s eagerness to engage with uncomfortable choices.
Indeed, Nocturne pays its violence more mind than its characters’ existential crises. Mindless action and nonsensical power fluctuations cheapen the conflict, making every battle they win, every tide they turn, feel completely unearned. How does Richter, having spent every bit of energy he has left, manage these mighty, vampire-bursting flare-ups he hadn't seemed capable of moments before?
Let's be clear: Dragon Ball-esque poses and power-ups aren't unwelcome. But surface-level payoffs without depth don't suit a show as meditative as Castlevania: Nocturne, and by the time the season wraps up, it's difficult not to feel like a key part of what makes this franchise special is lost. Yes, there's resolution. And sure, a key relationship finally blossoms into a romance. But closure and fulfillment don’t always go hand-in-hand, and Nocturne is that much worse off for not realizing the difference.
In tackling Rondo of Blood and its sequel, Symphony of the Night, Nocturne tries to fold vampire-hunting hijinks into the harrowing implications of the French Revolution. These attempts are largely unsuccessful, mainly because the era-specific details aren’t reconciled with its fantastical sensibilities. Throwing revolutionaries into conflict alongside Alucard, public beheadings – none of this is enough to truly put us in this place, at this time. As a result, the supernatural stuff with which Nocturne excels overwhelms other, equally rich facets. The vampires never feel completely integrated into their setting, leaving us with a lopsided sense of immersion and the nagging feeling that this story could have taken place at any time, during any conflict, and it wouldn't change much.
Closure and fulfillment don’t always go hand-in-hand, and Nocturne is that much worse off for not realizing the difference.
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Let’s be grateful for the performances, then. The dialogue could be better, but stepping back, we see a cast elevating the material with endearing earnestness. Glen and Davies are exceptional in their respective roles, the latter so deft with line delivery that it’s easy to forget she stars in the season’s worst arc.
