It’s hard to tell old stories in new ways. That’s especially true when the story in question is one that’s been told countless times since the 1890s.
If you’ve never read Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897), you’re still likely familiar with the story in some form or another. If not that, then you’re surely familiar with the legacy of vampire storytelling that the novel ushered into the 20th century. How could you not be?
Nosferatu is not, strictly speaking, an adaption of Dracula. It’s a remake of the silent German expressionist masterpiece Nosferatu, directed by F. W. Murnau in 1922. But the Murnau film is itself a thinly veiled adaptation of Stoker’s novel (Stoker’s widow sued Murnau for copyright infringement and won). Nosferatu had already been remade at least once before by Werner Herzog in the 1970s, while the original Dracula story has been remade and reimagined over and over again in the last hundred or so years.
So, why would anyone remake Nosferatu in 2024?
This is undoubtedly a passion project for Robert Eggers. In almost every interview on the Nosferatu press tour, he’s mentioned that he first saw Murnau’s Nosferatu when he was 9 years old and it left a big impression on him. Then, when he was 17, he put on his own stage adaptation, in which he played Count Orlok, and that project apparently propelled Eggers into wanting to become a director.
Eggers’ take on Nosferatu isn’t radically new if you’ve seen any other adaptation of this story, but that’s okay. It would be almost impossible to do something completely new at this point, especially when vampires are involved.
What his adaptation does do, however, is bring Nosferatu back to its folkloric roots. Eggers has proven with his previous films that he is a master of bringing ultra-specific period settings to life. His obsessive attention to detail and devotion to historical accuracy are perfect for a film like this.
Some might argue that he’s even a little too interested in the details. Count Orlok’s period-accurate mustache (he is an undead 17th-century Transylvanian nobleman, after all), for one, has been the subject of much online debate and memes. Personally, I loved the ‘stache and thought it was a unique costuming choice that sets this Count apart from previous versions. But I can also see why some people found it strange or funny (along with Bill Skarsgard’s voice and accent work), and why that kind of reaction isn’t necessarily what you want out of a horror movie.
Likewise, there are some scenes in the movie that serve no purpose in the narrative, other than to showcase some of the folk mythology around vampires. I’m thinking in particular of a sequence in which Nicholas Hoult’s Thomas Hutter follows a group of Romani travellers into the woods. It’s an atmospheric and interesting sequence, and it sets the mood for Hutter’s journey into Orlok’s castle, but with the movie’s somewhat drawn-out pacing, a scene like this could easily have been cut without losing anything essential. It’s only there, really, because Eggers is so devoted to showcasing historical vampire lore.
Eggers interest seems to lie much more in recreating a world and an atmosphere and an image, as opposed to really digging deep into his characters or thematic concerns. The film’s protagonist, Ellen, is played well by Lily-Rose Depp, especially in her physicality, but certain character details are kept deliberately vague (her past trauma, her desires, her feelings of being an outsider in her time and place)—we get glimpses that could be explored further but aren’t really beyond the more ambiguous way these details are presented.
But really, I’m nit-picking here. That surface-levelness adds to the almost fairytale-like quality of the movie. Beyond that, this film is also impeccably crafted. Everything from the costumes and sets to the use of natural lighting to the dark sumptuous cinematography makes this adaptation feel special, even if the beats are all familiar.
It’s Gothic horror through and through, dark and operatic and nightmarish. While I wasn’t exactly scared by the film myself, it exudes a pervasive sense of dread that feels like it honours the source material.
At one point, Count Orlok tells Ellen, “I am an appetite. Nothing more.”
This version of Nosferatu is frightening precisely because he isn’t at all humanlike in his desire. He’s not a suave calculating gentleman with teeth—he’s a decrepit monster driven by an insatiable primal need to consume. There’s no sexualized caressing of pristine, untouched skin on a pale, outstretched neck. This Nosferatu is all writhing bodies and visceral, animalistic leeching from the chest (closer to the source—another great detail taken from vampire folklore).
While the film gestures toward the romantic with the preternatural bond that Ellen shares with Orlok, and while it has a whole psychosexual thing going on the surface (Ellen’s moaning when she’s under Orlok’s spell; her diagnosis of hysteria, a condition historically weaponized against women who exhibited sexual agency; Nicholas Hoult’s frantic sweaty shirtless desperation), this is a largely bloodless vampire movie, in the sense that it’s much more grounded in the earth. It’s more interested in moldering rotting corpses and filthy hordes of rats and contorted bodies and faces, with blood leaking from the eyes. While there’s a fair amount of sex here, the film is far from being sexy.
In the long history of vampire stories, we’ve reached a saturation point, and the vampire has arguably been defanged in pop culture ever since Twilight. So, I’m glad to have another vampire story in which vampires are not just scary again, but truly monstrous.
Verdict
No one asked for or needed another take on Dracula—yet I’m glad this dark Gothic nightmare of a film exists. Robert Eggers’ incredible eye and attention to detail bring some fresh blood to a story as old as the medium of film itself. The unsettling atmosphere, impeccable craft, and very committed performances—especially a physically demanding turn from Lily-Rose Depp—make this adaptation of the 1922 classic well worth your time.
Shea Angus