NOSFERATU

From the first frame, the film focuses us on Ellen's perspective. We sense a connection between her and this monster, though we're never entirely sure what the nature of this connection is. Where this might be frustrating in other instances, what makes this ambiguity work in 'Nosferatu' is that Ellen herself is unsure of what ties her to Orlock. She is drawn to this dark force, caught between a need to recoil and a desire to submit. This push-and-pull becomes the central tension of the film, not just for Ellen but for all the characters. If one were to reduce the film down to a pithy metaphor, the obvious one would be that of the vampire representing the consequences of sexual repression, that desire impeded and not interrogated will manifest into a devouring force. We can come to this conclusion from our collective cultural digestion of the vampire mythos, whether that be in the form of Dracula or Edward Cullen. Eggers isn't interested in anything so straightforward though. His film offers provocation, not answers.

This builds on the sketches that make up Murnau's film, but this kind of thematic ambiguity is also a feature of all Eggers' work. He places us within the mindset of the past, often a past we now find absurd, and forces us to accept the lack of clarity these beliefs entail. In a world where vampires are accepted as real, what function do they serve? How, perhaps even why, do they seem so intrinsically linked with bodily desire? The meaning isn't interrogated because no one in that period would have had the capacity to interrogate it. What we're asked by Eggers (and 'Nosferatu' is easily the most entertaining form this invitation has taken in his filmography) is to sit in these beliefs and turn off our rational thought, to listen to the hairs on the back of our neck and the sting of tears and sweat in our eyes. The beauty of his 'Nosferatu' is that the answers do not come easily but instead leave space for us to fill the gaps with our own interpretation. Like a great fairytale, there are lessons to be learned, but they're far more potent when we find the lessons ourselves rather than having them dictated to us.

Just as persistent a phantom in the film in the term "melancholia", one popular until the 18th century to describe states of depression or mental instability. At its most dangerous and oppressive, the term was often used as a catch-all for any demonstration of unexpected female emotion. In the film, the term haunts Ellen, many characters commenting on her tendency towards melancholia since she was a child and using it as an explanation for her extreme distress. Rather than prompting further discussion, it becomes an excuse not to interrogate where her distress might be coming from, not just by Thomas but by their friend, ship merchant Friedrich Harding (Aaron Taylor-Johnson, 'Anna Karenina'), and local doctor Wilhelm Sievers (Ralph Ineson, 'The Green Knight'). Ellen's emotions are a mystery and a burden, the subtext being that it would be easier on everyone if she just calmed down and stopped making so much noise.

By contrast, Harding's wife Anna (Emma Corrin, Netflix's 'The Crown') is kept calm by a happy marriage and motherhood, but only she can see the undercurrent of distress in Ellen. She has sympathy for Ellen's lack of clarity, her confusion around her feelings and her body, her need to be heard and understood. Perhaps the reason for Orlok's fascination with Ellen is her emotional vulnerability - if she is in such a state of mental and emotional confusion, then she is most pliable to his needs. For the characters in 'Nosferatu', Ellen is a woman without agency, but for Eggers (again, building on the subversions of 'Dracula' prompted by Murnau), she is the protagonist and hero. As expressed by Professor Albin Eberhart von Franz (Willem Dafoe, 'At Eternity's Gate'), the expert in the occult brought in by Sievers when medical knowledge can offer no answers to her fracturing, perhaps Ellen's melancholia is a move towards clarity, towards a higher understanding. Maybe she has more power and agency than she is given credit for.

The complexity of Ellen's battle with the darkness is complemented beautifully by the manifest darkness itself. Skarsgård's Count Orlock is the most startling departure from the original, particularly in its design. Where Werner Herzog replicated the iconic silhouette of Orlock in his 1979 remake, Eggers has conceived of something very different, forceful and ancient in all the ways the original design was rodent and lithe. His Orlock is not an object of dangerous desire. He isn't alluring or hypnotic, deceptive or playful, tempting or romantic. He is hunger unbound, devoid of humanity or rational thought. His need is to devour, always devour, and at no point does he make his intentions opaque. Both we and Thomas are in absolute, abject terror the moment we are in the room with Orlock and even though Eggers teases out the full reveal for as long as he can, the power of Skarsgård's interpretation is in how others perceive him. Even more unsettling than the design is the timbre of his voice, hitting a tone and register we've not heard from the chameleon actor before. It rumbles like the grinding of tectonic plates, tears like ragged broken nails against soft flesh. In the same way that the ever-shifting shadows precede the appearance of Dracula in Francis Ford Coppola's 1992 film, Orlock's presence is often led by his voice. If the dead were ever to speak, I can't imagine it would be far from this.

One of the most potent aspects of Orlock as rendered by Eggers is his sense of timelessness. The first act of 'Nosferatu' takes time to paint a vivid portrait of traditional life in the shadow of the Carpathian mountains, with Thomas enveloped in traditional languages, customs and superstitions. Where this aspect of the Dracula story often feels manufactured, Eggers' obsession with historical detail roots it in a cultural reality. As with 'The Witch', we understand the concept of the undead as a key part of spiritual life and, as a consequence, it's harder for Thomas to dismiss the warnings they offer. In the 1922 film, he laughs them off as peasant stories. In the 2024 film, they lay the groundwork to contextualise what he (and we) see when he arrives at Orlock's castle. Rooting the film in these superstitions and traditions also lends legitimacy to Ellen's predicament and Professor von Franz's fascination with the occult. A brilliant stroke in the film, certainly as its thematic threads become clearer, is how it aligns these superstitions with Ellen's sense of melancholy, the former providing context for the latter and, consequently, its potential solution.

As with all of Eggers' films, 'Nosferatu' is an aesthetic marvel, another masterclass of design and execution. Jarin Blaschke's cinematography is as sublime as always, finding a balance between the gritty silent cinema aesthetic of 'The Lighthouse' and the imaginative surrealism of 'The Northman'. This helps to position the film as a fairytale visually, with the play of shadow and light defying the logic of naturalism. There are moments when the camera is sent off into dizzying chaos, constantly disorienting you within the frame. Done with such clear intention, it becomes an inspired choice, especially married with Louise Ford's delicious, hypnotic editing that likewise sends the rhythms of the film into purposeful anarchy. Perhaps more so than any of Eggers' previous films, the production design really takes centre stage here, with Craig Lathrop finding a balance between the director's need for historical accuracy and the magic realism required to make the film work emotionally. The same can be said for Robin Carolan's surprisingly gentle and emotional score, even with its many musical phrases of darkness. There's an unexpected humanity to it, helping to ground us in the giddy nightmare of the film. As always, Eggers pulls the whole thing together, ensuring that every decision (even the most bizarre) is made with intention. Eggers' films are always shockingly cohesive and complete, and 'Nosferatu' is no exception.

While Skarsgård's transformation is the most obviously impressive, it's Lily-Rose Depp's work as Ellen that threatens to steal the film. Not only is she required to navigate tricky psychological distress but also unearthly, unsettling physical distress as well. Her body twists and contorts in states between ecstasy and pain, and it's obvious from the way Eggers shoots her that the vast majority of this is happening in-camera and from Depp herself. The emotional control and the physical control would be impressive enough on their own, but it is her ability to handle both simultaneously that leaves the greater impression. Nicholas Hoult is wonderful as Thomas, immersing himself in this young man's crumbling sense of self and hypnotised state of terror, and Willem Dafoe builds on the irascible playfulness he demonstrated in 'The Lighthouse' with a surprisingly funny and humane performance as Professor von Franz. Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin do their best as the Hardings, but theirs are the least developed characters and suffer most from the film's occasional lapse into repetitiveness. As great as they both are, it's not entirely clear how necessary they are to the plot in general. And of course Bill Skarsgård is extraordinary, a mile away from his iconic performance as Pennywise in the two 'It' films and yet just as physically and vocally masterful. Just like Ellen, we don't know whether we want to run from him or be devoured by him.

I would be lying if I didn't say my expectations for 'Nosferatu' weren't through the roof. The Murnau film is my favourite of the silent era and Robert Eggers has very quickly become one of my favourite directors working today. It was a delight to find that 'Nosferatu' did not meet or exceed my expectations but instead offered something unexpected, a wickedly oppressive and profane fairytale of unapologetic brutality. Like the rest of his filmography, Eggers has constructed a window into the past and offered us a tantalising, immediate glimpse into where our myths, legends and monsters come from and why we felt we needed them. 'Nosferatu' is an unholy, depraved, disorienting thing, birthed from the fetid depths of the earth and suckled on the blood of centuries. There wasn't a minute I wasn't held in enraptured, beguiled delight.