Nosferatu (2024)

With the release of Nosferatu, which topped my list of most anticipated films of 2024, I can confidently say the wait was worth it. Its story, editing, technical aspects, performances, and production design undeniably place it at the higher end of the scale. However, I find myself wondering if it brings something truly innovative—perhaps that’s the one thing it lacks.

Performances

Looking at the cast, it was a given that Bill Skarsgård and Willem Dafoe would deliver strong performances. But Lily-Rose Depp’s performance was surprisingly impressive. While I have a bad habit of exaggerating when I see something I love, I can’t help but say this: Ellen Hutter reminded me so much of Anna from Possession (1981).

Although Eggers’ version has been compared to earlier Nosferatu adaptations, it’s impossible not to see traces of Possession in both Lily-Rose Depp’s portrayal of her character and, especially, in certain scenes. Anna, as a wife consumed by a malevolent force, is not too far removed from Ellen. 

A Gothic Tale

Considering Eggers’ filmography, his inclination toward fairy tales and myths—those anonymous, timeless oral traditions whose origins remain obscure—is particularly striking. While the essence of all fiction is rooted in this tradition, fairy tales and legends stand apart in their focus. They don’t just tell stories but shed light on the hidden nature of humanity, employing a metaphorical, indirect form of storytelling. The red apple we hear about isn’t just a red apple, and the monster often represents much more than its literal form.

The true magic of these narratives lies in their ability to touch on the aspects of ourselves that unsettle us the most—those suppressed feelings or traits we’d rather not confront, yet which subtly shape our lives. It’s like pressing against an exposed nerve in a tooth; the discomfort signals that there’s a secret waiting to surface. Once drawn into this spell and its pursuit, the long fuse of a bomb might detonate in another corner of the narrative entirely. We might or might not recognize the connection to the story. If we remain conscious of it, though, we can arrive at a place where everyone perceives and interprets something different.

In short, this film will likely deeply unsettle some, while others will interpret it in entirely unique ways. And in my view, neither reaction can be labeled “wrong.”

The Female Figure and the Faith-Science Balance

Just as human nature knows no bounds, so too is the realm of myths and fairy tales limitless. What captivates me most is how Eggers, in tune with the zeitgeist, delves into the nature of womanhood. He often juxtaposes the seductive and irresistible nature of women with the self-sacrificing image of motherhood. Yet the allure of women in his films leans more toward the archetype of the witch rather than the femme fatale. He began exploring this with The Witch (2015), and the portrayal of women in Nosferatu takes it a step further.

Of course, women aren’t the sole theme. Complementing them is the interplay between faith and science. Faith here can manifest as blind belief, organized religion, or even superstition. Essentially, anything that transcends logic can be viewed as a form of faith. In Eggers’ films, science often misleads us. It plays mischievously, almost like a child inventing its own rules in defiance of scientific progress.

Today, we know that the plague is a bacterial disease. Yet in Eggers’ world, the plague is caused by malevolent forces—a curse descending upon a town. Historically, people believed that curses were brought by outsiders or those who defied societal norms, often women. If crops froze, a storm raged, babies died, or disease spread, these “witches” were blamed. This belief not only provided a way to make sense of the inexplicable but also offered a convenient means to punish undesirables. For those not in the accused woman’s shoes, it was a highly functional system.

At this point, faith ties back to the female figure. The mother scenes in The Witch and Nosferatu left the deepest impression on me. In The Witch, the mother’s breast is torn apart, and blood flows instead of milk. In Nosferatu, a mother with a baby in her womb is shown with one bare and bloody breast (as if exposed while nursing), with rats crawling over her. The recurrence of this imagery in both films suggests it’s a powerful and disturbing motif for Eggers himself.

Others may be struck by entirely different elements: the woman who, despite her husband’s fearless battle against ultimate evil, makes love to the very source of that evil; the monster’s innocent victims; the man who fails to protect his family; or the madman who sold his soul. The list goes on.

The seamless flow of so many distinct yet harmonious narratives allows each of us to be unsettled by something different. Discomfort is good. And when it comes to a great piece of work, it’s even better.