Robert Eggers delivers a terrifying, graphic, and atmospheric take on the classic vampire tale, managing to inject fresh horror back into a story that has spent decades being sanitized by sedutive pop culture bloodsuckers.
Remaking a film that is the progenitor of modern vampire cinema is an interesting undertaking; it's also been done before (Herzog's 1979 Nosferatu). So why did Robert Eggers —director of The Witch and The Lighthouse— feel compelled to put his own spin on the story?
Because he loves it. Like, really loves it. As a kid, he saw an image of Max Shreck's Orlok and became infatuated. As a teenager, he directed a stage version of it, and has been consumed by the tale ever since. If there was anyone going to develop a new (and different enough) film version of Nosferatu, it could have only been Eggers. His production design, especially, as well as immaculate choice in casting, are two primary reasons why this film works, and they're superb. Seeing a Depp in a desaturated and gothic town hasn't been this fun since 1999's Sleepy Hollow, which is a master class in horror vibes (Eggers is the heir apparent to Tim Burton, harnessing all of the atmospheric darkness of Gothic ambience without the tweeness).
I won't recount the plot bit by bit as literally everyone knows the story, but I do want to focus this review on what's different and great about this new version.
Depicting Orlok as a gruff, disgusting, and aggressive Transylvanian folk vampire
While Max Shreck originated the concept of the tall, lanky, creepy and quiet vampire, Hollywood in the intervening years has gotten really into sexy and dashing anti-heroes with its Gary Oldmans and Robert Pattinsons. Eggers bucks both of these and goes in an opposite direction with a festering, (literally) maggot-ridden, butch, and mustachioed Orlok. He is cloaked in shadow for the vast majority of the film, and you never get a really good look at him, which perhaps adds to his unsettling countenance. This Orlok is more Vlad the Impaler and Nandor the Relentless than Bela Lugosi.
In an interview with Eggers, he talks about all the research he did prior to making Nosferatu, and how he wanted to move away from more contemporary and well-known details that people are familiar with. A perfect example of this is the way Nosferatu feeds in his version —instead of the picture-perfect two fang marks on the soft part of a neck (the "I vant to suck your blood" marks), we get a viscerally disturbing scene of Orlok crouched over his victims and sucking the blood straight from their chest. The lore of vampires and cool and seductive sexiness is not here— it is crude copulation and a bodily hunger that results in death.
Placing all the agency in Ellen's story and giving her a powerful physical presence
Eggers makes a great choice and starts the film off with a young Ellen Hutter, who we learn is psychically connected to Orlok from the very beginning. This simple decision not only better bookends the narrative, it also makes the story make more sense. Why does everything transpire as it does? Because of the unearthly power of Orlok and the power of their horrible bond. But Ellen, as an upper-class woman in a repressive German Victorian society, literally has no power. Throughout the film, Ellen reveals her feelings multiple times to her husband and to Friedrich, and each time is rebuffed. Her seizures and literal possessions don't serve to showcase that she's telling the truth—instead she is ignored, tied to beds, and silenced with ether. Ellen knows that Orlok can only be destroyed by a fair maiden who offers herself to him willingly, and she does so. While the 1922 version originated this sacrifice requirement, it doesn't really make sense to the story because we know nothing about her. Eggers' version sets it up from the beginning, and the payoff works.
Showcasing the plague narrative in a way that shows the utter devastation Orlok brings
My issue with the prior two Nosferatus (Nosferati?) is that they feel so claustrophobically self-contained. The first, of course, because it's more than 100 years old and the technology simply wasn't there to tell an expansive, wide-ranging story. When Orlok boards the ship and brings forth the plague —both to the ship's crew and the people of Wisberg— you really see how horrible the disease is and its effects on society. The oozing and infected rat bites, the hysterically screaming patients in the hospital hallways, and the frightened populace hiding behind shuttered doors paint a picture of depravity and emergency that build to the climax. Ellen must put an end to this plague (both the literal one killing people and the figurative one stalking her) and only she can do it.
Finally, to return to the question of whether another Nosferatu needed to be made—I pose you this question: Do we need more Spider-Man movies? Is another Superman reboot wanted? This year, for the first time in history, the top ten grossing movies were all sequels. No film is ever truly needed. But if a filmmaker can expand on a story that's known and loved, resulting in you liking both the new one and the inspiration a little bit more, then it's successful. I dug this version, and look forward to seeing it again to really revel in the set design and the characters a bit more.
The Math
Baseline Score: 8/10.
Bonuses: Bill Skarsgard as Orlok is a novel and terrifying take on Dracula; Lily-Rose Depp's physical acting is captivating; the cinematography stuns you shot after shot.
POSTED BY: Haley Zapal, new NoaF contributor and lawyer-turned-copywriter living in Atlanta, Georgia. A co-host of Hugo Award-winning podcast Hugo, Girl!, she posts on Instagram as @cestlahaley. She loves nautical fiction, growing corn and giving them pun names like Timothee Chalamaize, and thinking about fried chicken.
