February Issue
Maia Zasler
February
WARNING: This article contains many spoilers for the film, Nosferatu. Read at your own risk. Also, descriptions of sexual assault.
I hate horror movies. Truly, I avoid them like the “plague.” So, when my friend—who is aware of my aversion to this genre of film—proposed going to watch Nosferatu in theaters, I did not fully register what I would be getting myself into. To be frank, I am still acquiring film cultural capital. The name of the 1922 Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, the unofficial adaptation of Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel, Dracula, rang absolutely zero bells. I made the error of assuming that this Nosferatu, packed with an A-list cast and supported by a $100 million USD budget, was actually the (relatively) new Aaron Taylor Johnson (ATJ) film, Kraven the Hunter. Call me shallow if you must, but I agreed to my friend’s invitation without looking into the movie—and without hesitation—because of the prospect of seeing ATJ on the big screen.
By the time it became evident that my assumption was, in fact, just an assumption, it was too late. My friend had already purchased the tickets. There were plans in place to watch the original film, and then to drive to the theater to see the recreation of almost 100 years later. I put on my shoes, tried to muster up some courage, and headed out of my house.
The original movie was, I must admit, very good… as horror-filled as a horror movie from the beginning of the 20th century could be. I learned that Nosferatu, a German production, was born out of the myriad horrors of World War I. Many film buffs and critics have analyzed the story’s messaging. In both versions, the vampire, Count Orlok (a “copyright-friendly” Dracula), is infatuated with and preys on Ellen, the fiancée of an estate agent, Thomas Hutter. Hutter is dispatched to Transylvania to deal with a peculiar client (Count Orlok), who insists on signing papers acquiring property in person. In their first encounter, it is clear that Count Orlok is something beyond human. What is not initially clear is that this paperwork actually signs Ellen over to him. Through the poisoned consecration of Ellen and Count Orlok’s “bond,” he makes his way over to her village, bringing terror and the plague along with him—to paraphrase, he is coming. In this world, geography doesn’t matter… The vampire, Count Orlok, arrives via ocean from Transylvania (Romania) to Germany—unfortunately, such an ocean in this instance is actually Poland, which is not an ocean at all. This (minor) plot hole was part of the German production’s effort to avoid a lawsuit from the Dracula franchise, as that book is set in England.
In 1922, German actor Max Schreck played Count Orlok as an animal-like figure. It was a silent film, so obviously no technical opportunity to play up the plethora of our modern tropes of vampires (e.g., “bleh bleh bleh” or “I vant to suck yer blood”). The title, Nosferatu, adds a layer of eeriness. A masculine Romanian name meaning “troublesome” or “unbearable,” the call of Nosferatu brings with it a chill and sourness unmatched by “Dracula.” The 2024 remake leaves little to the imagination. Bill Skarsgard, at this point an expert in playing larger-than-life villains, uses his real voice as Count Orlok, making the monster all that more menacing. And it was, well, epic, when he referred to himself as “an appetite, nothing more.” The Count’s breath became an integral element in the movie. Anytime I heard the heavy wheezing, a call of impending coldness and darkness, I knew to hide in my sweatshirt hood.
There were some humorous moments, I will admit. When Count Orlok’s henchman, Knock, played by Simon McBurney, bites off the head of a pigeon in a psych ward, the psychiatrist-doctor-man, Dr. Wilhelm Sievers (Ralph Ineson), asks: “Now why did you do that?” Sporadic snorts of laughter speckled the theater room. Being deeply disturbed as a group does promote cohesion, in a way. I will say that the viciousness in which Count Orlok devours the blood of his victims and the immense grief of ATJ (in this film, Friedrich Harding, the friend of the Hutters (Nicholas Hoult and Lily-Rose Depp)) at his wife (Emma Corrin) and daughters’ demise, inflicted collective dismay and disgust among audience members.
Depp’s performance as Ellen was truly stellar. I will say that her intense stare and cries, violent shakes and gasps, really called on all of the performances of tortured damsels that have come before her. I felt that the new version of the film made the sexual undertones of Nosferatu’s storyline, the concept of possession, of assault (of Count Orlok on Ellen), undeniable. This was part of Director Robert Egger’s efforts to give Ellen more of a backstory. The tale is reframed from her perspective. In doing so, the allegory for assault, clearly present in the case of Ellen, is also echoed by the ultimate death of Anna Harding, who is consumed by rodents. The rodents serve as the furry, flea-ridden entourage of Count Orlok who sets them on the Harding family when Ellen refuses his advances. As the IMDb “Parents guide” phrases it: “Lengthy & explicit female breast nudity with graphic bloody sucking by a male beast. Female breast nudity of a woman being ravished by rodents.” I felt that this exposure was almost gratuitous in its attempt at accomplishing a not-so-subtle allusion to an act of rape.
That being said, I can understand how this originally “adjusted” Dracula story emerged, rendering the life-altering (and, for millions, life-ending) events of World War I. I don’t think that either film ended up being derivative, and despite my initial aversion—and maybe my better judgments—I would recommend a watch. I find it interesting what we humans deem “horror.” Why would we want to be scared… together? Why create a mirror of certainly grotesque real-life occurrences? Well, “art imitates life,” as they say. Perhaps it is easier to grasp, to accept the impossibility of making sense of awfulness when it is played back to us. It may be less painful to experience these horrors, the warped histories and folktales that have kept humans entertained for centuries, when together, and when a wall is up between us and the narrative.
The 2024 Nosferatu turns the themes of anxiety, of fear, present in the German version, inward. The bottled-up darkness and apprehension for further social change or upheaval are packaged in a more fleshed-out Ellen character. She asks: “Does evil come from within us, or from beyond?” The shame or fear, the sin, that Count Orlok embodies is found within Ellen, pushing the boundaries of remakes and the horror we may experience ourselves. Someone on Reddit said that neither Nosferatu was “terrifying”—that’s relative. In any instance, he definitely came.
Photo credits: J.-H. Janßen, 2019