Nosferatu: A Jungian Nightmare
Rating: 5/5
While my personal distaste at the prospect of yet another dreaded “remake” in Hollywood would normally have me rolling my eyes, I could hardly disregard Robert Eggers’s latest venture into the gothic and ghoulish with “Nosferatu”. Having watched the original silent picture as a budding film student, I was eager to witness how Eggers planned to reimagine this narrative for a modern audience—especially one so historically entrenched in the archaic Christian values of 19th century Germany.
Well let me tell you, he does it superbly. Through the lens of exploring the human psyche, the frightful Count Orlok is revealed to be more than the blood-sucking antichrist of our nightmares. He is our shadow self incarnate. He represents all that we wish to hide about ourselves; our deepest insecurities and our most depraved desires.
In terms of plot, it is structured similarly to the 1922 version—but with one key difference that adds not only to the suspense that builds in the prologue, but another layer to the storytelling that produces an altogether more complex meaning. The object of Count Orlok’s thirst for blood, Ellen Hutter, is not merely a conduit for his nefarious power.
She is his counterpart. She is the darkness.
Her night terrors as a child, the ‘melancholy’ that has haunted her throughout her life is embodied by this creature that wishes to consume her (literally and figuratively), in the same way that any of us can fall into the trap of allowing ourselves to be consumed by our mistakes and our self-loathing. Ellen sought comfort from a lonely existence in his grasp, until that void was temporarily filled by her love for her new husband Thomas. Yet those feelings of inadequacy resurfaced, as they always do when the initial elation of romance fades, and she is forced to confront her vulnerability once again.
Ellen’s possession scene is particularly poignant in demonstrating Orlok’s hold on her, and her fierce attempt to fight him off. When Thomas tells her she must stay behind while he slays Orlok, Ellen’s fear of abandonment is activated. Immediately we catch a glimpse of the darkness exploding as she callously uses his self-doubt against him; “You could never please me as he could”. Thomas, whose motivation to trek into the Carpathian mountains and suffer a terrifying ordeal in Orlok’s castle, all so he could advance his career to provide for his darling wife, is spurred into vengeful action. A disturbing intimate scene ensues; Thomas is overcome with the need to prove his dominance, but it is the connection she craves.
I particularly enjoyed the cyclical resolution of the narrative: Ellen was the one to invite him in, and she must be the one to return him to the grave. I couldn’t help but note the costume choice to have her in a black dress as she wishes Thomas goodbye on his departure to hunt for the vampire, knowing that it is she who must go to her death. In contrast, she wears white —a wedding gown—re-pledging herself as a sacrifice to Orlok, keeping him distracted until the dawn comes and his scourge is finally at an end. In her marriage to him, she accepts the ugliest parts of herself, and the two become one in a final image that sears itself into the brain: purity and light, embracing the foul and shadowed.
In terms of the other production elements, all are expertly crafted. Sound design is without a doubt the most important department in a horror film, and Robin Carolan’s score is both hair-raising and brimming with heartfelt sorrow. Lily-Rose Depp’s performance is singular, she brings a supernatural physicality to the role that is simultaneously sensual and utterly jarring, which I think captures the complex dimensions of the character in a way that is (unsurprisingly) absent from the original. The dialogue is written beautifully, emulating the expressive cadence of the period without alienating the audience from the characters’ internal experience. And of course, the make up and visual effects teams must be congratulated for their horrifying work on Bill Skarsgård to transform him into the monstrous Count Orlok.
Although I stand by my earlier statement that a remake without something new to say is redundant, I love that the cinematography is still distinctly rooted in its German Expressionist influences. The moody colour palette, especially in Ellen’s dream sequences where the use of a custom filter on coloured film stock makes them almost look black and white, as well as the manipulation of lighting to cast silhouettes and shadows, constructs an eerie dreamscape that feels wholly immersive. The motif of religious imagery—the crucifixes, the satanic symbols, the plague of rats—is intentionally excessive. Not only to indicate the conflation of faith with morality in the period it depicts, but that it is also a distraction. It illustrates the human tendency to blame corruption on external forces and leave salvation in the hands of God, never turning inwards on oneself to enact real change.
Anyone who watches a film takes away a different interpretation, and Robert Eggers’s track record of exploring themes and narratives entrenched in folklore leads me to believe that he would encourage subjectivity in response in his work. I truly feel that in essence, this film is about the healing power of love and self-acceptance. Whether the director had Carl Jung’s psychological framework in mind while developing the script or not, those viewers who are willing to look beyond the outlandish characters and grotesquerie would find an aspect of Ellen’s arc that resonates with them.
With its stellar cast, fresh conceptualisation and distinctive visual direction, “Nosferatu” is a masterpiece of horror and could very well be referred to as Robert Egger’s magnum opus—that is, if he doesn’t produce something even more fascinating next time.
