Nosferatu – In the Shadow of its Predecessors (Early Review)

Remaking F.W. Murnau’s silent classic Nosferatu over a hundred years later would be a daunting task for any director—especially since the original is a faithful, unofficial adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a story that has inspired countless adaptations. Yet, there is conceivably no one better suited to the challenge than Robert Eggers, a skillful art-house filmmaker whose previous work evokes the titular Count’s influence, from the themes of sexual repression in The Witch to the striking German Expressionist cinematography of The Lighthouse. Notably, the director even staged a production of Nosferatu as a teenager—all signs that point to him as the ideal candidate. Deeply passionate about the material, Eggers delivers a faithful and moody retelling that aligns with his unique style, albeit with fewer of his signature creative flourishes. Yet despite its impressive presentation and clear reverence for the original, Nosferatu struggles to maintain conflict and deliver a fresh perspective throughout its lengthy runtime, ultimately leaving it in the shadows of the bolder adaptations that preceded it.

With a tale so rooted in the cultural consciousness that it feels like a fable, Eggers leans into this familiarity by prioritizing mood and atmosphere early on, tweaking the narrative ever so slightly to reframe the film’s conflict. The most notable example can be seen early on, where Ellen (Depp) witnesses Nosferatu’s (Skarsgård) shadow in the night, establishing their dynamic from the outset. This creative change makes Count Orlok’s every move feel more calculated, heightening the approaching dread as each step toward Transylvania transforms the dreamlike atmosphere into a fully realized nightmare. For those unfamiliar, the story of Nosferatu (and Dracula) begins in late 1880s Germany, where Thomas Hutter (Hoult), and Ellen’s husband, is tasked by his estate agent to visit the owner of a castle in Transylvania to negotiate the sale of a home with that owner being, of course, Orlok.

Unlike the original film, Ellen is no longer the unsuspecting wife who becomes the object of Count Orlok’s obsession. Instead, she is the prey he has been preparing to capture for years. While her past relationship with Orlok remains a mystery, his visitations with her at a young age appear to suggest exploitation. As she grows older, she begins to recount these dreams, sometimes with lust, often with horror, and resignation at the unspoken tortures. Though upon meeting Thomas, his presence has allowed those dreams to subside. However, once Thomas leaves for Transylvania, he suffers humiliation at the hands of Count Orlok, while Ellen becomes sick, and Nosferatu’s presence continues to grow.

Meanwhile, the psychosexual themes in this adaptation are brought to the forefront, complicated by Ellen and the Count’s relationship, which shifts uneasily between sexual desire and disturbing undertones of assault. Blurring the line between eroticism and horror, this ambiguous dynamic, never explicitly explained, plays out through Depp’s fearless performance as Ellen. She brings subtle complexity to a role that would otherwise feel underwritten, portraying the unsettling interplay of hysteria, agency, and the Count’s “mind control” with uncomfortable uncertainty in a way that will have audiences questioning where Orlok’s manipulation ends and her choices begin.

That being said, it is within the film’s exploration of Ellen’s conflicting feelings toward Orlok that it starts to become thematically muddled. Nosferatu approaches a commentary on female autonomy and liberation, but its finale prevents it from reaching a narratively satisfying or coherent conclusion. However, Hoult’s performance as Thomas provides an effective contrast to Ellen’s arc. Recently carving a niche as “that guy audiences love to see humiliated,” he fully leans into the role by playing up Thomas’s vulnerability and insecurity. Yet, even in these moments, Eggers appears unsure of how to develop his ideas beyond a surface-level observation that a woman’s autonomy can threaten traditional masculinity, causing men to double down on their sense of ownership over women’s bodies. A minute later, Thomas and Ellen’s relationship appears unchanged.

Next to Thomas and Ellen, Bill Skarsgård delivers transformative work as Count Orlok. Beneath his regal fur coat, distinctive makeup, and a Transylvanian accent that sounds like Gary Oldman’s Dracula filtered through Mongolian throat singing, Skarsgård fully embodies Orlok. His eerie charisma and physicality, coupled with a grotesque mustache, create a portrayal both monstrous and magnetic. After the graceful reveal of his appearance, the horror tends to rely on jump scares, but there is also a commitment to keeping him mostly obscured. In the peripheral cast, Aaron Taylor-Johnson’s performance as Friedrich Harding is particularly strange—a role completely out of step and far more theatrical than anyone else, as if he is either trying to prove his standing next to Willem Dafoe (Prof. Albin Eberhart von Franz) and Ralph Inesson (Dr. Wilhelm Sievers) or genuinely thought this was a remake of Coppola’s version.

While what Eggers and his production team have crafted here is undeniably impressive—few filmmakers bring period recreations to life as authentically as Eggers does through period-accurate sets, costumes, and dialogue—there’s hardly a sense of urgency throughout the extended runtime. The plague-infested rats are unusually brushed aside in favour of the relationship between Nosferatu and Ellen. One wonders if Eggers deliberately avoided pandemic themes post-COVID, but this decision results in the rats feeling bizarrely non-threatening on a scene-to-scene basis. At that point, one must also wonder how much grandiose scope or bold creative choices were sacrificed in the pursuit of “realism.” Dazzling shots, such as Nosferatu’s hand reaching over the city, are too far and few between. The original film was a defining moment of German Expressionist cinema, and Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula dazzled with inventive in-camera visual tricks. Although Nosferatu features impressive, dreamlike camera movements and seamless match-cutting, will it be regarded as fondly in terms of cinematography—even within the year?

All of Eggers’ films thrive on their authenticity and immersion, yet here, there is never a moment that feels like any character exists beyond the screen; they operate more as vessels for the mood and themes rather than fully realized people. Ultimately, the pursuit of realism proves fruitless given how narratively thin the material is. Nosferatu is a gothic fairytale, a story built on archetypes rather than depth. By anchoring the story so insistently in hyper-authenticity, Eggers only highlights the story’s limitations, stripping away the exaggerated energy and surrealism that made the original—and later adaptations like Coppola’s Dracula—so memorable.

By tethering the narrative to this restrained approach, Eggers forgoes the possibility of exploring bolder creative decisions that could have injected new life into the tale. For all its technical accomplishments, Nosferatu appears hesitant and self-conscious – a surprise from the director of The Lighthouse. Instead of carving out a bold new take, it remains in the shadow of its predecessors, too cautious to be a truly defining reimagining of this timeless tale.

still courtesy of Focus Features

If you liked this, please read our other reviews here and don’t forget to follow us on Twitter or Instagram or like us on Facebook.

J.A. Birney

letterboxd.com/nonameno5/