Nosferatu Review

Robert Eggers, celebrated director of The Witch, The Lighthouse and The Northman, returns with Nosferatu, a haunting reinterpretation of the 1922 silent classic of the same name. This gothic tale explores the destructive obsession between a young woman and the monstrous vampire infatuated with her, leaving a trail of terror in its wake. With a meticulous touch, Eggers breathes new life into the story while staying true to its nightmarish essence.

There should actually be no plot description for this review because avid movie viewers are already aware of the original 1922 movie and its narrative. But anyways. The story begins with Thomas (Nicholas Hoult), a young man travelling to an ominous, crumbling castle to meet the enigmatic Count Orlock (Bill Skarsgård). There Thomas realizes that the Count harbours a dark fixation - not on him, but on his wife Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp), and has been doing that for a very long time.

This obsession grows into a sinister force, unravelling lives and unleashing unspeakable horrors. From the Count's eerie castle to the decaying streets of Ellen's town, the film immerses viewers in a relentless journey of dread, where every flicker of light seems consumed by the darkness Orlock carries. The rest of the movie is about how to get rid of Orlock.

In this movie, Eggers crafts a world where every frame feels drenched in unease. The vampire's presence isn't just seen - it's felt. Orlock's introduction is a masterclass in tension. The camera dances between shadows and silhouettes, leaving him blurred or obscured, a figure more felt than fully visible. For quite a long while in the beginning, it's like Spielberg's Jaws - you see the dorsal fin of the shark, and the tension in you grows every passing minute. Orlock's voice booms unnaturally in an unrealistically terrifying way, commanding every ounce of the audience's attention. Even his stillness is oppressive, a void that swallows the room.

This approach harks back to Eggers' signature style - rooted in period authenticity, a brooding atmosphere, and a preference for "less is more" storytelling. By leaning on practical effects, sharp contrasts and 35 mm film (yes, it's seen in Hollywood after quite long) grain, he creates a timeless aesthetic that feels unnervingly real. The subtle, almost imperceptible use of CGI enhances rather than distracts, making Orlock's otherworldly movements and unnatural stillness even more unsettling.

Humour, though rare, finds its place through Willem Dafoe's eccentric, semi-campy character - a scholar who knows of Orlock's evil and often delivers his warnings with a peculiar mix of conviction and absurdity. This humour provides a brief respite from the film's oppressive tone but occasionally feels jarring against the overwhelming darkness.

Bill Skarsgård is unrecognizable as Count Orlock, portraying not a man but a living embodiment of malevolence. His performance is a study in controlled chaos, with every movement, gaze and utterance exuding dread.

Nicholas Hoult's Thomas serves as the audience's proxy, evolving from awkward politeness to sheer terror in Orlock's presence. His transformation during their first meeting - a descent from naive optimism to paralyzed fear - is a standout moment, captured in a single, unbroken shot.

Lily-Rose Depp (Johnny Depp's daughter, and a reminder to all of us of how time whizzes by) shines as Ellen, balancing vulnerability and resilience. She is the emotional anchor of the movie, her every gesture amplifying the stakes of Orlock's obsession. Her journey through the successive scenes feels intimate and epic, as she becomes both the target and the potential saviour in this macabre tale.

Willem Dafoe's quirky energy brings an unexpected levity, but his character's eccentricities sometimes pull you out of the otherwise suffocating atmosphere. Still, his ability to tread the line between comic relief and ominous prophet is commendable.

The technical brilliance of Nosferatu cannot be overstated. Eggers' choice to film in 35 mm immerses you in a world that feels tactile and alive. The grainy texture of the film stock enhances the gothic aesthetic, evoking the original's silent-era roots.

The lighting plays a pivotal role, with shadows taking on lives of their own. Orlock's looming figure is often obscured, his menace implied through clever framing and lighting rather than explicit visuals. The sound design is equally masterful, using silence and ambient noise to ratchet up tension. Orlock's voice, dominating the soundscape, feels like a physical force, making his spoken words an assault on the senses.

The practical effects and makeup work seamlessly, grounding the supernatural elements in a stark reality. Even when subtle CGI is employed, it's nearly invisible, blending so well that it's hard to discern where reality ends and digital artistry begins.

Nosferatu is a chilling, mesmerizing journey into the heart of gothic horror. While fans of Bram Stoker's Dracula may find familiar beats in its narrative, Eggers' vision sets this retelling apart. This is not a tale of romanticized vampires but a story of pure, unrelenting evil. With its meticulous craftsmanship, haunting performances and evocative visuals, Nosferatu cements itself as a modern masterpiece in the horror genre. For fans of Eggers' work, gothic storytelling or films that linger long after the credits roll, this is an unmissable experience.