Nosferatu (2024) review

Dir. Robert Eggers

By: Steve Pulaski

Rating: ★★★

When F. W. Murnau sought to make an unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel Dracula, the ensuing backlash, litigation, and fallout seemingly put a curse on himself. The 1922 silent film Nosferatu changed the names of its characters — the named “Nosferatu” is believed to have been spawned from the archaic Romanian word “Nesuferitu,” meaning “the offensive one” or “the insufferable one” — but prioritized slowburn tension and choking fear. Stoker’s heirs were disgusted, and sued Prana Film, resulting the court ordering all copies of the film be destroyed. Thankfully, many prints survived, and Murnau’s work is as foundational to the horror genre as Hammer Horror films and anything that came before or after it.

Almost immediately after the release of his directorial debut The Witch, filmmaker Robert Eggers was connected to a remake of the film. Even he admitted at the time that making such a follow-up to his debut, at only 31-years-old, felt “ugly and blasphemous and egomaniacal and disgusting.” Deep down, Eggers knew he wasn’t ready to tackle such a project. A failure might’ve made him the next Josh Trank, a cautionary tale of a director whose mega-hit gave him the keys to a massive project while he was still finding his own voice.

For the better too that we, as an audience, got to know Eggers better after the German expressionist tinged The Lighthouse, which became his true sophomore film, and the vengeful and violent The Northman. With those projects dazzling in their own rights, the New England filmmaker, whose propensity for folkloric horror and infusing it with mythological subtext has become his staple, felt even more fit to make Nosferatu. The highest compliment I can pay the film is one that would probably make Eggers smile and nod: this film comes from the bowels of Hell.

Eggers’ Nosferatu plays like a nightmare the way it arrests you with moody colors, torrential rainfall, consuming fog, and horrific visuals. Its biggest difference from Murnau’s film is its illustration of the demon known as Count Orlok as a virile, sexual being; something that would’ve been impossible to showcase in 1922 due to censors and the prudish sensibilities of the era. Who else but Bill Skarsgård could play such a cretin? Whether it’s Pennywise the Clown or a modern version of the Crow, Skarsgård always appears game to disappear completely underneath a swath of prosthetics, makeup, and costumes that weigh as much as himself. Matching his freakish physique is a voice that penetrates the eardrums with a reverberating bass that ratchets up the dread in a project that has enough to overwhelm your senses.

It’s a young man named Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult), an understudy sent on a cross-country business trip, who encounters Count Orlok deep in the Carpathian Mountains. His goal seems simple: close a housing deal with the decrepit elder and escort him back to Germany and he will become an official partner in a local estate business. In embarking on the trip, he leaves his wife, Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp), behind, vulnerable not only to boredom but to a force with which neither of them can reckon.

Thomas has all he can do to even find Orlok in such a recessed armpit of the world. When he does, however, he’s nearly assaulted and killed by the beast before the Transylvanian tyrant travels back to Germany to seduce Ellen with his dark sexual prowess. Thomas enlists in the help of Albin Eberhart Von Franz (Willem Dafoe), a science professor with expertise in the occult, who is more confident in his ability to contain Orlok as opposed to defeat him.

Nosferatu is sexual without ever being the least bit erotic. This is a film too odious to be the least bit arousing. If you’re a frequent viewer of supernatural flicks, you might not even recognize Ellen’s choking, wailing, and moaning as signs of pleasure, for the line between violent possession and sexual gratification is razor thin in Eggers’ world. On that note, the world in which we’re dropped feels absolutely massive. Jarin Blaschke’s cinematography captures towering cityscapes and old-world architecture with stunning atmospheric detail. When Blaschke pivots and brings us into Orlok’s castle, you’re liable to feel small and vulnerable when surrounded by labyrinth-like catacombs.

Robin Carolan’s score is also massive and masterful. Carolan draws inspiration from Eyes Wide Shut and other pictures predicated on being large yet entrapping. His talents really breathe in the third act when the pace of the music picks up, and the hunt for Orlok truly begins.

Nosferatu is a film that feels every bit as long as its runtime (132 minutes); maybe even longer. The new Bob Dylan biopic, A Complete Unknown, is technically ten minutes longer but simultaneously felt shorter. I’m not going to go as far as to pin that on the story’s glacial pacing as much as I’m just going to admit that this is a movie that can fittingly be described as overwhelming. It’s heady and dimensional with a deep respect for its subject, source material, and the cast involved, all of whom are game to lose themselves in physically exhausting performances. Where The Northman felt a little light in the subtext department for Eggers, Nosferatu is the work of a filmmaker who has spent a lot of time deconstructing the appeal of the story and its characters in a personal and external sense.

That’s not necessarily fatigue you’re feeling when watching Nosferatu. It’s the oppressive chokehold of dread and unrelenting ugliness that makes this one of the year’s most visceral cinematic experiences.

My review of Nosferatu (1922)
OTHER REVIEWS OF ROBERT EGGERS FILMS:
My review of The Witch
My review of The Lighthouse
My review of The Northman

Starring: Bill Skarsgård, Nicholas Hoult, Lily-Rose Depp, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Emma Corrin, and Willem Dafoe. Directed by: Robert Eggers.