As we continue our seasonal look at a selection of horror flicks, let’s turn to the vampire sub-genre—and one that’s both as old and defining as you can get these days. Whether you’re into Lost Boys, Fright Night, Interview with the Vampire, or—like me—stuff like From Dusk Til Dawn and Life Force…all of them owe something to FW Murnau’s Nosferatu.
It’s not the first film of its sort—nor even the first adaptation of Bram Stoker’s classic Dracula that started it all. There were in fact several through the 1910s—but between world wars and the easily flammable film stock used at the time, the vast majority have sadly been lost to time. Even Nosferatu was considered lost for a time, before spare reels were eventually discovered by chance. That’s what makes films of this era so fascinating—it’s looking back onto a primordial pioneer era of filmmaking that we’ll never see again, and for a lot of it, can never see again.
And in particular you had classics aplenty coming out from interwar Germany, from Doctor Calgary to Metropolis—perhaps, as is often the case, it was the inevitable reflex of artistic expression after the stifling years of militarism and propaganda. You had all manner of satires and twisted surrealistic visions, and among those was Murnau, bringing about a horror story in a style still relatively unheard of in those days.
Nosferatu follows the essence of the Dracula story—a real estate broker (Gustav von Wangenheim) is sent to a decaying Transylvanian castle to finalize a property deal with a buyer of shall we say rather venerable years. After some close encounters with things strange and supernatural, he manages to escape at the same time the titular Count Orlok (Max Schreck) finally begins to stake his claim on civilization. With his wife Ellen (Greta Schroder) soon ending up a target of this unholy entity, everything becomes a matter of triumph over evil or death.
But in a silent film like this, the intricacy of the plot, which can only be delivered as title cards, comes second next to pure visuals and atmosphere—a cinematic purity if you will. And in this area, Nosferatu is still most enjoyable—Schreck’s makeup as Orlok is iconic, as a rodent-like visage with claws that makes for an instantly recognizable silhouette the film gladly makes use of, and one that has been imitated and homaged over the last century. There might be an occasional hokey effect that probably looked better in 1922, but there’s no lack of frigid decaying ruin lending its naturally foreboding ambience before Murnau’s camera, alongside his use of shadow and darkness to give it a delightfully distinct look.
And of course, what still makes Nosferatu an interesting experience is the sound itself, paradoxically—or rather, what you make of it. The only sound that mattered to a film like this back in the day was usually the accompanying orchestra, but really, you could have anything as long as it fits the film. I’ve managed to be privy of a screening that showed the film alongside a live synth soundtrack—and combined with the sometimes slightly surreal feel of the film, it was one of my more memorable theater outings for sure.
As such, while Nosferatu makes for a type of viewing that probably needs a certain mood to appreciate for the casual viewer, for that type of cold evening when you’re willing to just go with the flow and digest something old yet different, I think it still passes muster. In 1979, Herzog did a remake of sorts that in many ways stands up better to a modern eye—with a nicely done creepy vibe of its own to come with it. Come 2000, and we also had a companion piece of sorts in Shadow of the Vampire, with Willem Defoe as a Max Schreck who turns out is bringing more than authenticity to the role...
Of course, this was hardly the first nor the last Dracula adaptation—and up next comes another one…
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