As far as horror goes, we have never had any shortage of films about vampires, which stretch right to the dawn of the silent era (where the term “vampire” wasn’t even widely used in the same way it is now), and extend to the modern day, where filmmakers attempt to establish their own voices within the genre by crafting what they hope will be another original account of these creatures and their bloodthirsty nature, asserting them onto just about every milieu imaginable. However, as we’ve seen over time, there is value in cherishing the canonical works, and ultimately everything goes back to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which is not only the definitive text on vampirism, but one of the most important works of literature as a whole, being continuously in print since its original release in 1897. Along with a couple of other notable novels and stories, this essentially set the foundation for the following century in horror, inspiring countless artists to explore some of these themes by reworking the overall ideas and adding their own flair, which has made it arguably one of the most influential texts in the history of the genre. One of the most fascinating adaptations is also one that came about solely because of the inability to get permission to adapt the novel as it was, coming in the form of F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, a very loose reworking of Stoker’s narrative, with only character names and settings being changed to prevent any potential conflict with the original author. What started as an attempt to cut corners became an experimental masterpiece that redefined the parameters of cinematic horror, something that was still in its infancy at the time and made enormous leaps as a result of the sheer ambition that went into its creation, which in turn inspired a few remakes that followed Murnau’s vision and presented a fascinating combination of his ideas with those found in the pioneering novel. Werner Herzog made his own version in 1979, and now nearly fifty years later, we once again revisit this world, with Robert Eggers being the one at the helm in this instance. His version of Nosferatu is an astonishing, disquieting existential odyssey that is as outrageously scary as it is deeply hypnotic, crafted in communion with the two previous versions of this story, as well as taking cues from a number of other wildly audacious works of horror, becoming an incredible piece of terror in its own right.

Since his remarkable debut with The Witch, Eggers has made it clear that he intended to make his version of Nosferatu, which he claimed was an enormous inspiration to him, and was influential in how he developed his personal artistic style. The very definition of a passion project, it took him nearly a decade to finally take the leap, which resulted in an extraordinary piece of cinema that is intricately woven with references, each one paying tribute to different eras of not only horror storytelling but a range of artistic principles that guided its creation. A simple remake or reimagining was not enough for the director, and much like his previous film The Northman acted as a ferocious collision between an ancient Nordic myth and Hamlet (which was inspired by that piece of folklore), this film is driven by Eggers’ desire to forge his vision from the raw material. It’s arguably much closer in terms of its story to the original text than his previous work, but he makes it quite clear that he’s not bound by these elements, but rather guided by them since he intends to make a film that exists in dialogue with the previous two versions of this story, as well as the plethora of works that take inspiration from Stoker’s novel, whether directly or simply through the most subtle of elements. We find several filmmakers being referenced throughout this film, with Nosferatu being as much an ode to German Expressionism and the silent era as it is to Luchino Visconti and Ingmar Bergman, two filmmakers we don’t normally associate with the genre, but whose work (whether intentionally or not) seem to be inspirations to both the visual and conceptual components of this film, certain moments evoking their work, as well as a range of other unexpected artists who form the tapestry of inspiration for this film. Eggers is equally a student of the medium as he is someone intent on making his impression within it, so, understandably, he’d be drawing from innumerable sources, which serves a dual purpose: it prevents his version of Nosferatu from being unfairly compared to previous adaptations of the material, and it allows him to explore certain elements of the text without needing to be bound by the strict confines of previous versions. It ultimately represents an astonishing level of ambition and artistic integrity, both of which are cornerstones of Eggers’ directorial career, and precisely why he is steadily coming to be seen as an essential voice in contemporary horror.

Despite its prominence within the culture, Dracula is still often misunderstood – or at the very least has its underlying themes massively reduced to the point where they are often passed over in favour of the more obvious elements. Something that Eggers was insistent on doing was redefining Nosferatu as a story not only about vampirism, but exploring what it represents, both in terms of the original material and how it has been perceived since, creating a very layered interpretation of the text and its various versions over the years. More than anything else, this is a film about desire, which is a common trait in many adaptations, but rarely viewed outside the confines of the erotic or romantic, neither of which are the focus here. Instead, Eggers is more concerned with a more raw kind of sexuality, the visceral and animalistic in which those in the throes of passion begin to lose all resemblance to humanity, and instead take the form of barbarous entities seeking to satiate their carnal cravings, losing all composure and instead succumbing to the most lecherous, venereal of desires. Eggers intends to both repulse and arouse the viewer, and every decision made throughout the film seems to be pandering to this grotesque salaciousness, which turns out to be the most alluring aspect of the film, particularly in how it is used to comment on how we process our innermost desires and allow them to influence our waking lives. Coupled directly with this is the theme of monstrosity, particularly the very narrow boundary that divides us from becoming these sinister beings, and where we see the only element that separates us mortals from the realm of such immense malice is not life or death, but rather how we handle our lust, which Eggers implies is innate in every living being. The concept of monsters lingering in our world, encroaching on our domestic spaces and slowly weaving their way into our lives has been widely explored, but Nosferatu examines them closely and with immense attention to detail, investigating the razor-thin division between desire and malice, and how one can ultimately influence the others. This film is one of the most overtly venereal in both form and concept, and some of the decisions the director makes (such as foregoing the idea of vampires extracting blood through a demure bite to the neck, and instead depicting the feeding as being far more animalistic and brutal) create an uneasy atmosphere that is somehow both revolting and scintillating, evoking an underlying feeling of curiosity and lechery that many may not have realized lurks within them, and which this film gleefully exploits as it plunges us into this terrifying narrative.

Eggers has been exceptionally smart when it comes to selecting the actors with whom he wants to collaborate, forming an extensive coterie of regular performers who he often draws from when making a new film, while also introducing new actors into the stable. Nosferatu features both returning collaborators and newcomers, all of whom surrender their skills to the director, knowing that he will be putting them through the emotional and psychological wringer, albeit to create something memorable. The primary roles of Ellen and Thomas Hutter are occupied by Lily-Rose Depp and Nicholas Hoult, both of whom work with Eggers for the first time, but prove to be exceptional matches for his unorthodox vision, and who commit wholeheartedly to playing characters who are technically the least interesting in terms of what they represent (since they are ultimately just the narrative devices around which the story occurs), but they nonetheless prove to be extraordinary leads, carrying the weight of terror that lingers through every frame of the film and making sure that their work reflects something much more profound than simply acting as the star-crossed lovers who fall victim to the malice of a sinister entity. Willem Dafoe and Ralph Ineson, both veterans of Eggers’ films, take on supporting parts as the eccentric paranormal expert and dedicated physician respectively, while Aaron Taylor-Johnson is a solid voice of reason as the patrician friend of the protagonists who finds himself shattered beyond recognition once he realizes the supernatural forces he refused to believe in are indeed real and pose a genuine threat to the society that he values. However, the anchor of Nosferatu is not any of these characters (all of whom are interesting and performed very well but are ultimately secondary in terms of the narrative), but rather Bill Skarsgård, who has the central role of Count Orlok, and serves as the main attraction for the film. Every actor who has played the role (or any version of Dracula, from whom this character is derived) makes an effort to bring their interpretation, and there have been some exceptional ones over the years, meaning that it takes quite a bit of effort to be seen as providing an original approach. There has never been a version of the character that resembles his interpretation, both physically and psychologically. His transformation is astonishing – an enormous, lupine wretch that only slightly resembles a living creature, the very sight of him is enough to stir a sense of panic and despair in the viewer, and Eggers is intelligent enough to know that such a harrowing creature needs to be used sparingly, with most of his performance taking place in the shadows, from which he gradually emerges as the film progresses. It’s an unquestionably daring transformation from an actor who is steadily becoming one of the most exciting in the medium, which is the main reason the film manages to be so extremely unsettling.

The strong performances only enrich the film further, since Nosferatu is as much about the characters as it is the world in which they inhabit. Horror cinema has seemingly lost the ability to embrace excess, and while Eggers is certainly not someone known for showboating or boasting his skills, he does focus on creating memorable depictions of the past, doing so in economical ways while still retaining the ability to craft a very unique spectacle. The design of Nosferatu is incredible, and it could quite possibly be the most visually stunning vampire film of the century (and maybe the most striking since Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula, another definitive version of the novel), precisely because of how it deviates from what we’d expect. Much like his other films, Eggers makes very careful use of colour and composition – Nosferatu takes place in a world lacking in vibrancy, with almost the entire film being immersed in shades of grey and black, which the director weaves together to create a more disquieting version of the past, albeit one that still has its beauty. Shot mostly on location in Romania, Germany and the Czech Republic, the film makes incredible use of European landscapes and architecture, reworking them to carefully replicate the past without becoming distracting or drawing our focus to the elements that are merely supplementary to the story, despite their importance in creating a very clear mood. Nosferatu continues Eggers’ trend of making films that are driven as much by the aesthetic as they are the atmosphere, and working with a team of exceptional artists, including his fourth consecutive collaboration with cinematographer Jarin Blaschke (who has already established himself as a master of his craft over the past decade), the director creates an unforgettable work that we find ourselves being drawn into, despite the feeling of peril that envelopes the entire narrative. To make something that looks this visually bleak and unsettling, and still be able to create a sense of insatiable curiosity in the viewer is a difficult skill, and it proves to be just as meaningful an artistic and technical achievement as it is a narrative one, which is one of the primary reasons Eggers has come to be seen as a revolutionary auteur within the genre, proving that horror is not able to be merely reduced to a couple of quickfire elements, but rather entails something much deeper and more provocative in terms of how its different components blend, and that there is always the possibility to find beauty in the unsettling, and vice versa. 

Nearly every element of Nosferatu borders on absolute perfection – the narrative is kept quite simple as far as plot development goes, following the general structure of Stoker’s novel and the overall folklore associated with the story to a reasonable extent, while also not being entirely bound to its themes, allowing the director to go in his direction where it is appropriate, which includes some astonishing writing that we can easily miss when presented with these unsettling images, but which ultimately lay the foundation for the film as a whole. The performances are exceptional, being perfectly assimilated into the narrative, while still standing out when necessary – the entire cast commits wholeheartedly to what was likely quite a challenging project and works laboriously to ensure that they align with Eggers’ vision and everything that he intended to say with this film and its multitude of complex ideas. There could be an argument made that vampire films, especially those based on this iconic novel, are beyond saturated and there is rarely any need to revisit this story when we’ve had so many definitive retellings and adaptations over the decades. Yet, Eggers proves that there are still ways to infuse life into an archaic yarn and that it is possible to create an almost entirely original approach that not only reworks the original text but redefines the genre in a small but substantial way. The technical scope, with the cinematography and the music (composed by Robin Carolan, who crafts one of the most hauntingly beautiful and unsettling scores of the past decade), coupled with the striking locations, sets the stage for a film that keeps us entirely enthralled, allowing us to surrender to the lingering mystique that enshrouds this film, immersing us in a story that is somehow both revolting and entrancing, placing the viewer in a trance from which escape is seemingly impossible. It’s an ambitious, daring work that once again proves that Eggers is one of the most exciting voices in contemporary horror and someone whose artistry is only matched by his steadfast passion for the genre and how it manifests. The attention to detail and the dedication to creating a terrifying exploration of the past, evoking the dormant legends that defined it and continue to play a part in our culture, all work together with the striking creativity, creating a film that simultaneously delights and horrifies, a rare combination that tends to only be achieved by the most exceptional of cinematic voices.