Robert Eggers’ recent film Nosferatu is one of the only pieces of cinema released in the past year that I have happily paid to see not once, but twice. Hailing from its wildly famous and influential predecessors in both film and literature, Nosferatu lives up to high expectations. The film is clearly Eggers’ prayer to all things historical and morbid, as it did exceptionally well at the box office, raking in over $178 million.
Nosferatu’s expert use of grayscale and symbolic warm colors has no doubt delighted fans of the gothic horror genre. Everything about the film is incredibly detailed, from its costuming—which is very reminiscent of the 1922 original and echoes the time period in which the script takes place—to its eerie, stalkerish tracking shots and slow pans. Even small details like the title card font and the content of the subtitles were obviously made in homage to the media that came before it. All those involved in the creation of this film very clearly cared about paying their respects to both Dracula and Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror.
Bill Skarsgård in particular put a significant amount of time and effort into his role as Count Orlok, so much so that various members of the cast recall being scared of his portrayal. Perhaps one of the reasons why is because Skarsgård worked with an opera coach in order to lower his vocal range a full octave. So, yes. That’s his actual voice. Those noteworthy inflections that have taken over meme culture as of late were, in fact, not edited.
As for the plot, Eggers’s remake remains faithful to Murnau’s core plot elements, though a few changes to side characters are made in an effort to up the stakes and the potential for foreshadowing. For example, the Harding family is expanded to include Friedrich’s wife, Anna, and his two daughters, Clara and Louise. Furthermore, much like Dracula and Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, the 2024 remake includes the infamous “coach” scene where the male protagonist is escorted via carriage to the castle where imminent harm surely awaits. This was by far my favorite scene of the film. Its cinematography and sound design lend themselves well to that recognizable, chilling melodrama that so characterizes the genre.
Nosferatu (2024) differs, however, in its depiction of the relationship between Count Orlok and Ellen Hutter. Where the original would much rather spotlight Thomas Hutter’s journey, the remake highlights Ellen’s complicated desire to varying degrees of success. There has been significant discourse online as to what exactly Count Orlok represents, but I think this argument further emphasizes just how well the film renders this ambiguous “bad” that Ellen must face. The film is not worse because it allows Count Orlok to represent a host of different traumas depending on viewer interpretation. In fact, it is all the better for it.
Additionally, this film differs from Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror in that it doesn’t shy away from a potential queering of its key characters. In fact, I would argue that it leans into that possibility by amplifying the importance of the relationships between the four protagonists. Consequently, Nosferatu (2024) plays into—and one might even say empowers—matters of female sexuality; and makes room for the homoeroticism that is so integral to vampiric literature and film, allowing for a queer lens to take the stage.
In my humble opinion, while the most recent Nosferatu criticisms (that it has no plot, that it is overly faithful to the original, that its characters are two-dimensional, etc.) are nonetheless valid, this remake of such a classic and beloved horror film is extremely well done. More specifically, the ways in which it handles aesthetics, prioritizes depictions of female sexuality, and makes way for a queer lens sets it apart from its predecessors.
Aurora Gould is a senior Writing major that stans Ellen’s cat in ‘Nosferatu’. They can be reached at [email protected].