Put a wooden stake in it, it’s done.

The undead production of Dracula currently playing at the Little Shubert Theater is bad enough to put an end to the seemingly inexhaustible craze for all things vampire, that is, if anyone bothers to see it. Clearly hoping to cash in on the current frenzy engendered by True Blood, the Twilight series and the endless other examples of its ilk--not to mention older theatergoers’ fond memories of the superb 1977 production starring the sexily charismatic Frank Langella—this revival of Hamilton Deane and John L. Balderston’s adaptation of Bram Stoker’s novel falls short on all counts.

Resembling summer stock in its cheesy production values and mostly amateurish performances, this staging by director Paul Alexander runs a mere two hours, but feels as long as its titular character’s centuries-old existence. Granted, the play itself is quite old-fashioned, filled with talky exposition about the minutiae of vampire characteristics that we’ve all come to know by heart.

But there’s no doubt that the material could still work if done with any degree of flair, a quality that is sadly lacking here. Where to begin? The cheap looking sets, which seem made out of cardboard and contains gaps large enough to provide glimpses of stagehands scurrying in back (Willa Kim’s stylish costumes provide some compensation); the absurd use of classical music that makes one think that the proceedings are about to morph into ballet; the comical special effects, including “bats” flying about like errant kites.      

But the real problem is the performances. Emily Bridges’ Lucy is even more wan than the literally bloodless character should be, but the actress at least has an excuse: she was a last-minute replacement for original star Thora Birch. John Buffalo Mailer, as the unhinged, fly-eating sanitarium patient Renfield, seems to be amusing himself far more than anyone else, although he does have a nice bit when—aided by Flying by Foy—he crawls headfirst down a wall.

Timothy Jerome is reasonably professional as Dr. Seward, but the veteran George Hearn, as the vampire killer Van Helsing, mainly looks confused, as if wondering why in the world his agent got him into this mess.

And then there’s Michel Altieri as the bloodsucking count. A theater star in Italy, where he was apparently discovered by Luciano Pavarotti, the performer, sporting silly shoulder-length hair, is about as sexy and threatening as Christopher Walken’s “The Continental” character on Saturday Night Live. Barely intelligible with his heavy accent and fumbling all of the best-known lines (“I never drink…wine”), the young actor plays Dracula as if he was Eurotrash lounging around in a seedy disco.

Ah, well. This Dracula will undoubtedly soon be gone. But as we all know, the immortal character will undoubtedly rise again, hopefully under more felicitous theatrical circumstances.

Little Shubert Theater, 422 W. 42^nd St. 212-239-6200. www.Telecharge.com. Through Mar. 13.