Nosferatu: A Fresh Bite into Gothic Horror or a Pale Imitation?

08/01/2025

Kate Mulraney (she/her) reviews this new horror, considering whether it holds up to the iconic original

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By Kate Mulraney

Nosferatu and the story of Dracula hold a special place in my heart. So, when I first heard about plans for a Nosferatu (2024) adaptation, I was filled with apprehension. The thought of another uninspired remake, exploiting the iconic imagery and legendary vampire for a lengthy film that felt unnecessary, was disheartening. However, the decision to have Robert Eggers direct gave me hope.

Eggers, with his masterful grasp of the occult, as seen in The Witch (2015), and his nods to German Expressionism in The Lighthouse (2019), seemed like the ideal choice for such a monumental task. I was optimistic he would infuse the project with his signature world-building and meticulous attention to detail. His ability to craft haunting, gothic atmospheres with archetypal imagery aligned perfectly with the spirit of the original.

The 1922 film Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror emerged as a solution to a copyright issue, with Florence Balcombe, Stoker’s widow, famously initiating a legal battle against Prana Film over its strikingly similar plot to Dracula. Despite court orders to destroy all copies, a few survived. Directed by F.W. Murnau and starring Max Schreck as Count Orlok, Nosferatu became a masterpiece of cinema and a cornerstone of the horror genre.

Critiques of the film have noted its exploration of “the Other” and the antisemitic undertones inherited from Stoker’s novel. These elements have been the subject of much discussion, particularly in how they are addressed in subsequent adaptations, such as Werner Herzog’s 1979 remake, Nosferatu the Vampyre, starring Klaus Kinski as Count Dracula rather than Orlok. While the film was deeply influenced by the 1922 version, it adhered more closely to Stoker’s original novel and was stylistically shaped by The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (1920). With this rich history in mind, I was eager to see which direction Robert Eggers would take in his adaptation.

Eggers has recently ventured into more mainstream, ambitious filmmaking, though many argue his true brilliance shines in the art-house sphere. His ability to craft an omnipresent sense of dread binds his work together, and this echoes the stark, bold imagery of the original Nosferatu, which was heavily shaped by its silent film format. Eggers channels that spirit – you can almost feel the claw marks, the echoes of screams, and the chilling shrieks from the madhouse. That said, I’d argue this version lacks some of the raw, straightforward horror of the original. The primal, impulsive terror that defined Nosferatu is a key element that could have been further emphasised. However, the imagery here is more dynamic, and the frequent use of panning shots effectively builds tension. One standout moment was how the camera lingered on Thomas (Nicholas Hoult) as he entered the castle. It was like stepping into a vivid, unrelenting nightmare. Hoult’s casting was particularly inspired – his quintessentially British style of acting brought a fittingly restrained and uneasy presence to the role, heightening the film’s oppressive atmosphere.

Lily-Rose Depp truly stole the show as Ellen, delivering a performance that was both emotionally profound and intensely physical. She fully embraced the ecstasy and torment of the role, her big, dark, hollowed eyes perfectly capturing Ellen’s haunting vulnerability. Eggers offered a refreshingly empowering interpretation of Ellen’s character, which I found captivating. In a world where somnambulism was often equated with demonic possession and rebellious spirits – whether expressed as sexual appetite or independence of thought—were harshly suppressed, Ellen’s character shines as a beacon of agency. It’s clear that her husband is ill-equipped to understand or support her multifaceted nature. She is a woman ahead of her time, marked by society as dangerous or even evil simply for her independent strength. This dynamic creates a fascinating tension. If Ellen draws Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård) to her, she is not merely a passive victim – there is an element of control in her actions. Eggers’ interpretation goes beyond the traditional narrative of sacrifice, adding layers of emotional and psychological complexity to her character. The possession scenes were especially striking. Depp delivered a visceral, almost primal performance, making these moments some of the film’s most memorable. Her portrayal gave Ellen a commanding presence, elevating her to the emotional and narrative core of the story.

Bill Skarsgård’s portrayal of Count Orlok marked one of the most significant departures from the original Nosferatu. He brought to life an undead nobleman with a monstrous persona, complete with a striking mustache – a far cry from the iconic, gaunt figure typically associated with the role. Skarsgård did an excellent job embodying the violent repulsion of the Count, creating a distinct version that set itself apart from both the original and the 1970s adaptation. That said, I wasn’t entirely convinced by this interpretation. While many viewers will likely appreciate the emphasis on extreme violence and body horror, I felt it detracted from the creeping dread and slow-building tension that defined the original. Instead of fostering a lingering sense of fear, the film leaned heavily on jump scares and visceral shock, which, while impactful, lacked the same lasting effect.

The violent nature of the film was undeniably effective in portraying the raw, unsettling dynamic between Ellen and the Count. The visual effects were stunning, and the brutality aligned with other recent slasher horrors. However, for me, the film lacked the subtlety and central emotional pull that made the original so hauntingly powerful. This version felt more immediate, but it missed the eerie, underlying tension that made Nosferatu a masterpiece of atmospheric horror.

The plot also felt somewhat convoluted compared to the original, which thrived on its simplicity. The silent film format demanded a strong, focused narrative that was easy to follow, and that clarity was one of its greatest strengths. In contrast, Eggers expanded the story, incorporating the Hardings more (played by Emma Corrin and Aaron Taylor-Johnson) to add depth. While their performances were excellent, their subplot felt more like filler – padding that did not significantly contribute to the overall narrative and could have been streamlined. Willem Dafoe also delivered a solid performance, though his character felt more like a stock archetype, lacking the complexity one might expect. However, I felt Simon McBurney was fantastic as Herr Knock, bringing a magnetic intensity to his role. Despite strong performances across the board, the film did lack that unifying sense of central dread previously mentioned, leaving the narrative somewhat fragmented.

However, visually this film was stunning. The colour grading, almost monochromatic with just a hint of colour, created a beautifully stirring atmosphere that I absolutely adored. The candlelit interiors, meticulous attention to the 1830s German setting, and the masterful use of shadow play paid homage to the original while adding a fresh layer of visual sophistication. Iconic moments, like Orlok’s shadow climbing the stairs, were seamlessly reimagined, and the scenes set in Transylvania were utterly bewitching. The carriage ascending to the castle was a quintessentially perfect image of a Dracula adaptation, brimming with gothic allure.

Despite my critiques, I thoroughly enjoyed this film. It is visually breathtaking and an engaging experience overall. Eggers takes some fascinating creative liberties with the plot, and I’d argue this is his most accessible film to date. It’s absolutely worth watching – both for its artistry and the sheer captivation it provides.