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| Images courtesy of Focus Features |
Robert Eggers is the perfect fit to reimagine the story of Nosferatu. His work is an intriguing mix of traditionalism and stylized flourishes, simultaneously embracing classic tropes and applying them in novel ways. Nosferatu as a concept plays on base human fears: loss of agency, creeping shadows, disease, corruption, and animalistic sexual desire. Vampires have long haunted horror tales, but the modern version is slick and sexy, more focused on beguiling their victims with sensuality and allure. In the original 1922 silent film (based on the 1897 novel Dracula by Bram Stoker), Nosferatu is unappealing and monstrous, an unearthly creature that takes his obsessions by force.
Nosferatu (2024) follows similar story beats as the previous adaptations, though at a somewhat quicker pace. The mysterious Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård), who lives in Transylvania, wants to purchase an estate in a small German town. Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult) is sent by his employer to travel to Count Orlok and secure his signature on the deed to the house. He is apprehensive about leaving his wife Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) because she is inclined to depressive episodes and manic outbursts, but he assures her it will be a short business trip. However, when Hutter arrives in Transylvania, he finds that the Count isn't just an eccentric, wealthy old man; he's the incarnation of an ancient evil that wants to own much more than property.
The emotional center of the film lies solely in Ellen's character, who is constantly plagued by nightmares and terrible visions. As a young teen, she was visited by a demonic force who assaulted her body and mind, taking away her innocence. After that, she blamed herself for the abuse, for inviting in darkness to fill her need for intimacy. It brings to mind the way mental health for women has been brushed aside in the past, relegated to admonishment for being "hysterical" instead of actually treating the source of the anguish. Ellen spends much of the narrative being undermined for her unique abilities, constantly being gaslighted though she is the first to sense the coming evil.
Count Orlok is incredibly menacing in this adaptation, almost entirely seen in shadow or silhouette. In other versions, he is more exposed physically so that the audience can take in his pale visage, pointed rat-like teeth, and bald head, a pitiful specimen that can only get what he wants through supernatural persuasion. Bill Skarsgård's performance is beast-like, and he imparts his voice with a deep guttural quality that often trails off into a tiger-like growl. His lust for Ellen is directly opposed to Hutter's untainted love, and he also serves to emasculate Hutter with his unnatural powers and strength. Though this version of Nosferatu is still decidedly unsexy, sexuality itself feels amped up in this version. Ellen, deep down, has been afflicted with a burning desire for the devil, though she fights it at every opportunity.
Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke, who worked with Eggers previously on The Lighthouse (2019), manages to make the movie feel like it was filmed in black-and-white through his use of light and shadow, which also gives it an oppressive atmosphere. It truly seems apocalyptic, and though much of the story is centered in a single town, it essentially is the end of the world, at least for these characters. Rats scuttle in the corners, dead plague victims lay in the streets, and Nosferatu's will is inevitable, no matter how much the people struggle against it. Robin Carolan's score is foreboding and ominous, though it rises to the heavens at specific points, becoming transcendental.
Eggers has captured what makes Nosferatu a classic tale, imbuing the story with his own touches while keeping the theme intact. The fear is there but tempered by a softer, gothic aesthetic, less a romance and more an eulogy for the loss of innocence.
--Michelle Kisner