Nosferatu
Director ~ Robert Eggers
Writers ~ Robert Eggers, Henrik Galeen, Bram Stoker
2024, United States - United Kingdom -Hungary
Stars ~ Lily-Rose Depp, Nicholas Hoult, Bill Skarsgård, Willem Defoe,
Aaron Taylor-Johnson
And with the greyscale and cinematography of the first few minutes, I was hooked, wondering if it would continue. And it does: Jarin Blaschke’s cinematography is exceptional, and the layers, the depths of the darkness and shadowplay captured are stunning. (The shot of the forest crossroads early on is a favourite.) It’s a lush and gorgeous-looking film throughout, although Eggers’ visual command has never been in doubt.
F.W. Murnau’s 1922 original has an uncontested legend and influence as a visual horror tone poem, and so there will always be that “remaking is sacrilegious” and “Why??!!” objections, as if remaking hasn’t always in cinema’s DNA. So that aside, the criticisms I have noted are: there’s no colour; it’s boring; it’s just a ‘Dracula’ rip-off (!); and for Robin from Dark Corners, it’s laughable with bad dialogue and acting, and he’s not the only one. None of which landed with me or challenged my enjoyment and sense of being impressed. (Robin is more chastising Eggers’ film for being not the film he wanted rather than what it is, which is a starting point that rarely gets off the runway for me: his summary is that the film is bad, unnecessary and laughable. I enjoy Dark Corners, but we disagree here)
The performances stand out. Nicolas Hoult is great at conveying a man out of his depth but trying to fall back on patriarchal constructs to convince himself he’s in control, especially with his wife. Willem Defoe is reliably ornate, but not as gung-ho as Simon McBurney as Knock, biting off pigeon heads and scenery with equal gusto. Lily-Rose Depp gives it her all, certainly giving Ellen Hutter an agency, with the moment where it all goes ‘The Exorcist’ both a high-point with her physical contortions and most groan-worthy when it goes all Demonic Voice.
Speaking of voices: Bill Skarsgård’s Count Orlok provides a most thick and mannered accent. Skarsgård trained to lower his voice an octave and speaks a likeness of the dead language of Duncian, and where I was left in wonder at the topography of his pronunciation, others apparently found it ridiculous. The look is daring in that Orlok looks exactly like the corpse of a period nobleman, neither as monstrous as Max Schreck – a true otherworldly nightmare that makes you wonder how he would convincingly move in the real world – or as seductive as many others. Manuel Batencourt says that “In choosing to make Count Orlok repulsive, you sap it of both the metaphorical potential and the effect you want on your audience.”, but Schreck is the yardstick here rather than Lugosi or Reeve, and the effect is to present something more probable than either: a regal strigoi, if you will. It is obsession and decay rendered here rather than temptation and ravishment and the reeking charmlessness is all to the point.
In performances, the hidden treat here is the impressive turn by Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Friedrich Harding, providing as a character a touchstone to the normality under siege by the supernatural, and losing. In many ways, he does as much to carry the baggage as Depp, chapping at the bit as his domestic bliss is increasingly under siege.
It is a pretty, lush film, full of nuance, a few shocks and a pleasing depth of Craig Lathrop’s set design and period detail. The altitude of Gothicism and melodrama here falls between Eggers’ meticulousness of ‘The Witch’ and the plunge-ahead romp of ‘The Northman’, a taste both sombre and ripe with hints of black humour. It’s almost as if Eggers has found the balance now to be both mainstream and true to his esotericism. A labour of love for a project that seems to have defined his career from the very start when he put on a theatre production of ‘Nosferatu’, Eggers says he saw this as a chance to tackle the weaknesses of Bram Stoker’s novel. Indeed, by the second half, it becomes not only an allegory for the pestilence and pandemics of the era but reads like the upper-class male fear of foreign seduction of English women in which the men bond almost homo-erotically to fend off immigrant brutes. By the time the novel gets to Van Helsing’s effusing about male camaraderie, any melodrama conveyed by the films are totally in situ. Eggers speaks of using this as an opportunity to accentuate female agency, and certainly his ‘Nosferatu’ is the Ellen Hutter show with Van Helsing conceding patriarchal authority to her self-sacrifice for the greater good. Also note that it is ultimately Count Orlok that comes across more as an addict.
All these facets are agreeable, searching explorations of the original, and if adaptions of well-worn text are to probe weaknesses and a few nuances instead of being comforting facsimiles, then ‘Nosferatu’ is a noble effort. Not least, it is full of arresting imagery and accumulating to an unforgettable final horror portrait. If it speaks to you, it’s just very enjoyable and the artistry makes it just a bit special.
