Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu is a haunting journey into the depths of gothic horror, where ancient myths and modern themes collide in a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. This past Christmas, the director of The Lighthouse breathed new life into the classic Nosferatu, offering a rendition that both honors and reimagines the 1922 German silent film. Origins of the vampire myth can be traced back to ancient Greece and medieval Europe, often as a folkloric manifestation of societal anxieties about infectious diseases and death. However, our modern conception of vampires is largely shaped by Gothic European literature, beginning with John Polidori’s “The Vampyre” (1819) and solidified by Dracula (1897). Bram Stoker’s novel inspired Murnau’s Nosferatu (1922), so much so that his widow sued Murnau for copyright infringement. The novel itself, as well as some of its precursors and many of its successors, have strong sexual undertones, exploring themes of desire and repression. This is not exclusive to the vampire genre and is rather a key feature of Gothic literature, which is largely a reaction to the repression of Victorian society. Eggers fully leans into this theme, taking it further than past artists of the time. His portrayal of Nosferatu is all the more interesting, as he references folkloric accounts of the vampire, blending ancient tropes with modern themes.
Nosferatu is set in 1838 Germany, and it follows Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp) and Thomas (Nicholas Hoult), a newlywed couple haunted by the dark Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård). The movie opens with a sobbing Lily-Rose Depp desperately praying for the company of a guardian, celestial spirit, followed by a strikingly intense dream-like sequence that perfectly sets up both the thematic and atmospheric tone of the film. In her youth, Ellen sought solace in the count who’d appear in dreams and trances, which her doctors labeled as epileptic fits and melancholy. The episodes seemed to subside after her marriage but resumed during Thomas’ journey to Transylvania.
One feature that separates Gothic horror from the rest is its sensitivity to aesthetics, haunting stories of love and death taking place in eerily beautiful settings, of which Nosferatu is no exception.
The stellar performances, masterful direction, and intriguing sound design create an immersive experience that fully draws the viewer into the world of Nosferatu. Ellen’s character, although not as thoroughly developed as I would’ve liked, is portrayed with a compelling mix of vulnerability and power. Depp’s performance captures this subtlety within the theatrical drama required by the film. While the gore is well done, every other element, from lighting and sound to pacing and composition, is sufficient to send chills down your spine. In Nosferatu, gore serves as punctuation; it is necessary but a mere detail. One feature that separates Gothic horror from the rest is its sensitivity to aesthetics, haunting stories of love and death taking place in eerily beautiful settings, of which Nosferatu is no exception. I would’ve watched it for the art direction alone, but there is substance to the pretty package.
Thanks to a fascinating psychoanalysis class I took, I couldn’t seem to interpret the movie through any other lens, and I wouldn’t want to. Ellen’s malady, which manifests itself in convulsions, can be seen as a reflection of the historical concept of hysteria. The term itself comes from the Greek word “hystera,” meaning uterus. In the 19th century, hysteria became a catch-all diagnosis for a wide range of symptoms in women, often linked to sexual repression and emotional distress. Sigmund Freud, known as the father of psychoanalysis, explored the idea that hysteria was rooted in repressed desires and unresolved psychological conflicts. In Eggers’ Nosferatu, Ellen’s interactions with Count Orlok can be interpreted as manifestations of her repressed desires and the societal constraints placed upon her: “He is my shame.” That being said, Ellen is more than a girl plagued by convulsions; it is gradually revealed that she also holds immense psychic power, which in her youth scares her father and leads to her isolation. At certain times Ellen is a victim, and at other times she ushers chaos, but one thing she never comes across as is weak. She reads like a woman with a strong nature, suffering from the obligation to repress it.
Ellen’s cat Greta is an interesting element, symbolic of independence and power. Historically, cats have been associated with witches, and witchcraft accusations were a mode of silencing women who defied societal norms. Beyond their folkloric ties to the occult, cats are inherently independent creatures. The classic image of the witch and her familiar has evolved into the “cat lady,” a term often used derogatorily to describe women who live independently of a man and, well, have cats. This thread is no coincidence; Greta is said to have “no master nor mistress,” which evokes one of Ellen’s core struggles: “Do you ever feel […] as if you were at the whim of another, like a dog?” Her friend Anna, who is evidently a foil of herself, suggests the presence she feels is God. The contrast between Anna, an obedient Christian wife and doting mother, and the hysterical, heretic Ellen is purposeful. Even their colour palettes contrast: Ellen with long wild dark waves, brown eyes, and dark clothing, and Anna with light blond hair, blue eyes, and a predominantly lighter wardrobe.
Orlok is a physical manifestation of Ellen’s repressed desires at a time when female sexuality and autonomy were feared.
Watching Nosferatu was disturbing, intriguing, and strangely relatable all at once. Eggers takes on a multitude of themes, from the nature of good and evil to the limitations of science with nods to the aesthetics and principles of the Romantic movement. Through the music, and at times lack thereof, heavy use of dismal blue lighting (*cough* Twilight *cough*), and striking performances, Eggers transports the viewer to a dark and gothic past, creating a feeling of deep unease. While, yes, Orlok and Ellen’s involvement with him was not a pleasant sight to behold, that is precisely the point. Orlok is a physical manifestation of Ellen’s repressed desires at a time when female sexuality and autonomy were feared. The ending was unfortunately one element I found disappointing. While it follows that of its source material, it feels frustratingly overdone—yet another strong female protagonist meeting a tragic fate. In a film so attuned to power and control, this resolution contradicts its own critique. Otherwise, I am deeply grateful that Eggers’ Nosferatu doesn’t attempt to recreate the classic film, instead offering a modern perspective, which, with the rise of puritanism and America’s renewed efforts to restrict women’s autonomy, may be more relevant than he ever intended.
