At the midpoint between Bram Stoker turning a Transylvanian folk tale into a literary touchstone and Bela Lugosi inspiring a million I-vant-to-suck-your- blooood imitations, there was Nosferatu, F.W. Murnau’s 1922 silent “symphony of horror ” about an eccentric Eastern European named Count Orlok with a taste for Type O.
The fact that it was more or less an unofficial adaptation of Stoker’s novel Dracula did not sit well the author’s family, who sued the film’s producers and demanded all prints be destroyed. Spoiler alert : Not all prints were destroyed, it remains one of the most influential horror movies of all time, and anyone who thinks vampires are simply sexy, heavily accented creatures of the night should get a look at actor Max Schreck’s creepy-as-fuck appearance as the Count. No less than Werner Herzog remade Murnau’s masterpiece in 1979, starring Klaus Kinski as the bald-headed bloodsucker; rather than pussyfoot around the whole rip-off-or-not aspect, the former doubles down and names the character Count Dracula.
And now we have Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu, a film which is as faithful to its source material’s unsettling vibe as it is frightening, yet quickly distinguishes itself as its own rough beast slouching toward (or more accurately, away from) Hollywood, USA. The original holds a special place in The Witch filmmaker’s heart, and while there’s a fine line between loving a movie and being slavishly devoted to it, Eggers thankfully never cross.
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