Nosferatu

Robert Eggers

Quinn McClurg

There’s a part of me that’s perpetually seated in the back of an empty médiathèque, watching the 1922 silent film “Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror” for the first time—eager, anxious, mostly closeted, and freshly broken-up-with enough to have been sundered by it. Four years later—just as eager, anxious, and melancholic, but far less closeted (in fact, Ellen Hutter is my ideal gender)—Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu” sundered me all over again, but in some new and existential ways.

In most facets, Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu” is deeply faithful to the original, though without the lovely film grain or as much queer subtext. Eggers’ added scenes tout the ethos of the original within the director’s signature deranged and explosive style. This is no small feat, given the iconic and archetypical status of the original (which, fun fact, was an unofficial adaptation of Bram Stoker’s “Dracula”).

Instead of the antisemitism of the early 20th century, Eggers’ Count Orlok (Nosferatu, played by Bill Skarsgård) embodies a cosmic lust—the shameful and nihilistic drives of desire welling up from the infinite dark waters of the human(?) soul. This (perhaps unhealthy) psychosexual preoccupation with the death drive is manifest most within the countless possession scenes—but would it really be an Eggers production without uncomfortable sexual context?

Though the special effects are monstrously well-done, the two biggest stars of this film are the lighting and set designs. From bustling Romanian villages to desolate crossroads, crumbling castle courtyards to mystifyingly cat-filled apartments, there is not a single set within this film that does not fully immerse the viewer.

Whatever—go see it, and get whisked away. And if this review wasn’t convincing enough, uhhh um well, actually, you see… uhhhhhh wait—hold on, let me think… uhhhhhhhh Willem Dafoe plays Sigmund Freud Van Helsing.