NOSFERATU Review

Robert Eggers’ reimagining of Nosferatu is a hauntingly ambitious journey into the macabre, breathing new life into one of cinema’s earliest and most iconic horror tales. From its chilling opening frames to its devastating conclusion, this film is less a retelling and more a complete reconstitution of the myth, drenched in Eggers’ signature atmospheric dread and meticulous historical authenticity.

At its heart is Bill Skargard’s mesmerising turn as Count Orlok, a role that feels like it was crafted specifically for him. Skarsgard’s Orlok/Nosferatu is not just a creature of the night but a profoundly tragic figure, one who exudes menace even as he evokes a twinge of pity. There’s a predatory grace to his movements, a reptilian stillness in his stares, and a voice that seems to emerge from the depths of some long-forgotten crypt. It’s a performance that feels timeless, rooted in Max Schreck’s iconic portrayal from 1922, yet undeniably infused with Dafoe’s singular intensity.

Opposite him is Lily-Rose Depp as Ellen, a role that allows her to showcase a depth of vulnerability and strength that we haven’t often seen in her previous work. Ellen’s descent into Orlok’s orbit is as hypnotic as it is horrifying, and Depp’s performance captures the character’s inner turmoil with an aching sincerity. Her scenes with Dafoe crackle with a perverse energy, an unsettling blend of fear and fascination that lingers long after the screen fades to black.

Eggers’ decision to root the story in a grimy, Gothic aesthetic pays dividends. The production design is a feast for the eyes: crumbling castles, fog-drenched villages, and shadowy interiors that seem to pulsate with foreboding. Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke’s use of chiaroscuro lighting and stark contrasts harks back to German Expressionism, but it’s also distinctly modern, lending the film a visual texture that feels both old and new. Every frame is meticulously composed, every shadow deliberately placed, creating a world that feels alive with unseen horrors.

Eggers has always been a director obsessed with detail, and Nosferatu is no exception. The dialogue brims with archaic language, the costumes feel authentically weathered, and the sound design — oh, the sound design — is a masterpiece in its own right. From the faint scurrying of rats to the bone-chilling screeches of nocturnal creatures, every auditory element is carefully curated to immerse you fully in Orlok’s bleak domain. The score by Mark Korven (The Witch, The Lighthouse) is equally arresting, a dissonant symphony of strings and eerie vocalisations that crawls under your skin and stays there.

What makes Nosferatu truly remarkable, however, is its willingness to delve into the psychological and existential underpinnings of its characters. This isn’t just a film about a vampire terrorising a small town; it’s a meditation on mortality, desire, and the inexorable passage of time. Orlok is a monster, yes, but he’s also a prisoner of his own eternal existence, a being condemned to endless hunger and isolation. There’s a profound sadness to his character, and Eggers doesn’t shy away from exploring it.

Of course, no film is without its flaws. Nosferatu can feel indulgent in places, particularly in its middle act, where the pacing slows to a crawl. Some scenes linger a beat too long, and while this deliberate pacing works to build tension, it occasionally risks testing the audience’s patience. Similarly, while the supporting cast — including Nicholas Hoult as a tormented Renfield and Anya Taylor-Joy in a brief but memorable role — deliver strong performances, their characters sometimes feel underutilised, mere satellites orbiting the central drama.

Despite these quibbles, Nosferatu is an extraordinary achievement, a film that feels both reverent of its source material and daringly innovative. Eggers has crafted a horror epic that is as intellectually engaging as it is viscerally terrifying, a film that lingers in your mind like a half-remembered nightmare. Over a century after its original cinematic incarnation, the story still has the power to unsettle and provoke, to tap into our deepest fears and darkest desires. Eggers’ version doesn’t just honour that legacy; it redefines it for a new generation.

If you’re a fan of Eggers’ previous work, or simply someone who revels in the uncanny, this is a film that demands to be seen. It’s not an easy watch, nor is it one that offers simple pleasures. But for those willing to surrender to its spell, Nosferatu is a masterwork of modern horror, a reminder of cinema’s power to terrify, to move, and to leave us forever changed.