‘Nosferatu’ 2024 review: A dark film interwoven with tragic female suppression
Lily-Rose Depp in Nosferatu (2024)

Nosferatu (1922) was the unofficial adaptation of Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel Dracula, and since its creation, it has been seen as essential viewing for anyone diving into the history of vampire lore and its symbolism in popular culture. This is for good reason, as the film was groundbreaking for its time, not only for being an entertaining movie but for its themes of repressed sexuality, xenophobia, and a strong female protagonist.

Director Robert Eggers has taken on the task of bringing Nosferatu’s story to the big screen once again for modern audiences. The result is an immersive, beautifully gothic cinematic journey with many engrossing themes similar to the original but falling short of landing a broader punch to the larger socio-political landscape of today.

Written and directed by Robert Eggers (The Northman), Nosferatu (2024) is a remake of F. W. Murnau’s 1922 silent film Nosferatu. The film tells the story of a young married couple, Thomas and Ellen Hutter, whose life is turned upside down when Thomas—a solicitor and estate agent—is asked to travel and sell a property in town to the reclusive and eccentric Count Orlok.

Ellen, who seems to have the gift of clairvoyance, warns Thomas that nothing but dread and death will come from his meeting with Orlok. Thomas, motivated by the prospect of more money in order to provide for himself and Ellen, dismisses his wife’s pleas as mere hangups from her past bouts of hysteria and mental illness and goes to meet the Count.

What follows is a series of unfortunate events as the young couple, their friends, and their German town are thrown into chaos as Count Orlok descends upon them, bringing about the plague and his vampirism.

In a purely cinematic sense, Eggers does a masterful job of creating a haunting atmosphere of gothic charm. The director doesn’t fall into the trap of attempting to make the film too sleek or computerized, even with all the lure of modern movie technology at his fingertips.

There’s a tangible presence of the film that understands and welcomes the charm of the “old school” 1922 (and also 1979’s Nosferatu the Vampyre) version of the story. There are even scenes shot in black and white, seemingly paying homage to the original.

Count Orlok, aka Nosferatu, although redesigned to not be an exact replica of the 1920s version, is just as menacing and monstrous as his predecessor.

The most prominent themes in this 2024 tale seem to be isolation and the suppression of female sexuality and autonomy. Lily-Rose Depp is the centerpiece of the movie, giving her all physically and emotionally, portraying the mentally tortured and wise-beyond-her years Ellen.

Ellen is a woman who has always been seen as different in society. Her ability to connect to the supernatural has often been dismissed as simple female hysteria and mental instability.

She is a child-free woman with a love for cats, who doesn’t fit into the norm of the role society has set out for most women of her time. She has a deep and passionate love for her husband, Thomas, but carries guilt for her lure to the darker aspects of human nature. She’s a woman who doesn’t always reside in the light but has, at times, found solace in the darkness—the very place creatures like Orlok reside.

The aggressive medical practices women seen as mentally ill were subjected to during this time are put on full display. In Eggers’s version, Ellen’s clairvoyance manifests not only haunting dreams but raw physical seizures that take hold of her entire body. The film shows how women during this era in medical history were treated for what was known as so-called female hysteria.

Female hysteria—which could include symptoms such as amnesia, blindness, emotional outbursts, hallucinations, muscle spasms, and seizures—was seen as an affliction women suffered due to having a uterus. In the 1800s, when the film takes place, female hysteria was treated with a variety of crude methods, such as leeches and electro-shock therapy.

It was also believed that things like marriage and childbirth could “cure” the illness as well. Much of this is touched upon in the film.

Ellen’s seizures are at times uncomfortable to watch—rightly so—but even more emotional is the way in which her condition is dismissed and seen as shameful until a male character, Prof. Albin Eberhart Von Franz, pushes against the treatment she endures. It is only then—through the advocation of a man—that Ellen seems to be listened to.

Similar to Murnau, Eggers deviates from Stoker’s novel by making it so the true hero, in the end, is Ellen. She is more aware of the danger than her husband and the men around her. It is Ellen who figures out the true remedy to rid the town of Orlok. She must take the burden upon herself and willingly make the ultimate sacrifice.

Eggers allows for Prof. Albin Eberhart Von Franz, played with eccentric brilliance by Willem Dafoe, to also share the title of hero in the film. Not necessarily because he shows any sort of bravado, but more so because he takes the time to listen to Ellen, trust her thoughts, and be someone who shakes off the status quo of the times. Franz is also isolated for his beliefs and ostracized from the academic community because he dares to open himself up to unconventional knowledge.

It should be noted that Franz, like Ellen, is shown to have a love for cats. While this critic has a love for felines, too, the observance goes deeper than that, as cats were often seen as demonic familiars of women accused of being witches years ago. They carry a stigma by association, so it seems fitting that Eggers makes them symbolic mascots for the two characters most ostracized by “normal” society in the movie.

Ellen’s story gives us an intimate portrayal of suppression and sacrifice inside a tale of what happens when horror comes to an unprepared town. In that intimate storytelling, some of the movie’s best moments occur. In that sense, it is one of the strongest aspects of the film. In another sense, with so much focus on that theme, there are other themes from the original that are missing.

The swarm of rats that brings about the plague that ravages the town feels more like a backdrop than an actual presence in the story. Themes of xenophobia and the upheaval of society were prominent in the 1922 and 1979 telling of Nosferatu.

Orlok is not only a monstrous vampire, but he is viewed as a foreigner who is not easily welcomed. When the plague descends on the town’s residents, particularly in Nosferatu the Vampyre, there are long instances where the audience witnesses the decay of polite society. We are made to see what happens when a pandemic ravishes a town and the leaders abandon their duties.

In the Eggers version, we see the chaos in the streets as Ellen and Thomas walk them, but it feels brief before they are once again in their homes, contemplating what to do next. This upheaval on a societal level lacks weight. All focus is on Ellen and her friends, so the larger socio-political context in that regard feels lacking.

Despite this, Nosferatu (2024) exists in a time when women’s rights are being pushed back constantly. The right-wing continues to advocate for skewed pro-natalist propaganda while placing further laws and restrictions on women’s bodies. We’ve witnessed the political vilification of child-free women with cats in the very year that this film was released. Ellen’s story is a relevant and tragic one of sacrifice and suppression.

One could argue that Nosferatu challenges the audience to confront the realities of a patriarchal society that continues to marginalize women, leaving them voiceless and only able to see their worth through what they choose to do with their bodies. Through the lens of vampirism, Eggers crafts a narrative that is both haunting and thought-provoking. It doesn’t necessarily surpass the original but instead adds to the discussion that it began over one hundred years ago.

On the surface, it’s a great monster story, but when explored deeper, it is relevant to the plight of women today and the suppression of those who dare to exist outside of the rigid hegemony we are told we must fit into for happiness and “success.”

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CONTRIBUTOR

Chauncey K. Robinson
Chauncey K. Robinson

Chauncey K. Robinson is an award winning journalist and film critic. Born and raised in Newark, New Jersey, she has a strong love for storytelling and history. She believes narrative greatly influences the way we see the world, which is why she's all about dissecting and analyzing stories and culture to help inform and empower the people.

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