Modern horror legend Rober Eggers’ long-awaited interpretation of the silent horror classic, Nosferatu, has finally come to the silver screen.
In 1922, German director F.W. Murnau released what would come to be known as one of his best works and one of the greatest films of the silent era. Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror tells the tale of Count Orlock, a terrifying Transylvanian nobleman who holds a terrible secret. No points for guessing this one, Orlock is a vampire who, with the unwitting help of real estate agent Thomas Hutter, is moving to the idyllic German village of Wisburg. Orlock has his eyes (and fangs) set on Thomas’ young wife, Ellen, and develops an obsession with her over the course of the story, something which ultimately spells the vampire’s end. The film premiered in Berlin to widespread acclaim and fear, earning Murnau heaps of praise.
There was just one problem, Nosferatu was a blatant and unlicensed adaptation of Bram Stoker’s 1898 novel, Dracula, a fact which nearly destroyed the movie. Bram Stoker’s widow, Florence Stoker, sued Murnau mere months after the initial screening. What followed was a lengthy legal battle of which few records remain but which concluded decisively in Florence Stoker’s favor. A German judge ordered that all prints of Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror be destroyed. However, this proved easier said than done; Nosferatu was a resounding success, and prints of the film had found their way into numerous private collections around the world. And so, over the course of the ensuing decades, Nosferatu, like its eponymous monster, rose from the dead.
Much of the film’s staying power is likely owed to its unique identity, because despite Nosferatu’s borrowed origin, Count Orlock is not Count Dracula. Where Dracula is careful, conniving, and seductive, Orlock is brutish, animalistic, and aggressive. While Dracula can walk in the light of day and arouse no suspicion from his would-be victims, Orlock must hide in the shadows, both to shield himself from the sun’s rays, which to him are deadly, and to conceal his grotesque, inhuman appearance.
And so, it’s little wonder that a story with such a distinct and resonant identity would lend itself to new adaptations and interpretations. Eggers’ new take on the story is not particularly groundbreaking; the film doesn’t step far outside of the original’s shadow and the list of substantial changes is short. Rather, Eggers chooses to develop and expand upon its predecessor while maintaining the same core ideas and themes. Nosferatu (2024) essentially functions as a vast expansion of the 1922 film, updated and revarnished by the advent of a century of filmmaking advancements. This privileged position allows the film to bring new clarity to ideas and concepts that were a little hazy in the original. And the area of the story that is most visibly affected by this new clarity is undoubtedly the sexual aspects.
While sexual themes have, since the genre’s inception, been an integral part of vampire fiction, most authors have been either unwilling or unable, due to the limitations of the times in which they were writing, to explore these themes in any sort of detail. Nosferatu (2024) is unburdened by such restrictions and says the quiet part out loud, making the psychosexual relationship between Ellen and Orlock the explicit focus of the story.
The intensity of the sexual elements of the story will likely turn off many prospective viewers, and make no mistake Nosferatu (2024) earns its R rating. But none of it is senseless or unimportant, it is simply how the film communicates a number of its themes. Eggers has brought Nosferatu into the 21st century, layering on a beautiful new coat of paint while preserving the heart of the original.
