Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror

The granddaddy of all vampire movies, Nosferatu (1922) holds a special place in cinema history. Todd Browning's Dracula (1931) established the standard screen vampire with Bela Lugosi's sinister, sexy count. But F.W. Murnau's work holds up better through its uniqueness: almost a century later, few vampires evoke the same dread.

The story follows Bram Stoker's Dracula, with names and locations altered. Realtor Knock (Alexander Granach) sends Thomas Hutter (Gustav von Wangenheim) to Transylvania, offering property to mysterious Count Orlock (Max Schreck). After a frightening journey through the Carpathian Mountains, Hutter meets Orlock. Back in Germany, Hutter's wife Ellen (Greta Schroeder) starts sleepwalking, dreaming of meeting the Count. Orlock brings plague and death with him upon arrival in Germany. Hutter enlists Ellen in a desperate scheme to eradicate the vampire.

Nosferatu came at German Expressionism's height, in-tune with baroque dream pieces like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Murnau faultlessly mixes mood and technical invention. Different color schemes provide character themes: yellow (usually) for the Hutters, green for Orlock, red for the countryside. Murnau adds more surreal touches: under-cranked scenes of Orlock loading coffins; a photographic negative for Hutter's entry into Transylvania; Ellen envisioning a beach strewn with headstones. Murnau made other worthy films like Sunrise and Tabu but none quite match his artistry here.

One sequence guarantees Nosferatu immortality: Orlock's shipboard passage to Germany. Most Dracula films elide this scene; Murnau makes it Nosferatu's key set piece. Murnau builds the scene with crew members falling ill, tormented by feverish visions of the vampire. A crew member busts open the coffins, finding dozens of rats. The climax with Orlock bolting rigidly upright still has the power to scare viewers 90 years later. Murnau intercuts the scene with Hutter traveling overland, adding urgency and menace.

Murnau eschews the romanticism which not only Stoker but J.W. Polidori's The Vampyre instilled in vampirism. With ratlike claws and rodent teeth, Orlock is neither seducer or tragic antihero but an unstoppable, elemental Evil. Murnau sublimates Stoker's sexual symbolism for disease and decay. Orlock arrives with an army of rats in tow, spreading plague. His victims don't even receive immortality, just death. Many see Nosferatu as metaphor for Weimar Germany, presumably with Knock as a Spartacist inciting Bolshevik-vampire subversion. But a surface read is unnerving enough.

Max Schreck dominates any discussion of Nosferatu. No, he wasn't really undead as Shadow of the Vampire posits, but was by all accounts a strange and eccentric actor. Schreck's other films have faded into obscurity, while Count Orlock remains iconic. Terrifying makeup aside, Schreck shows silent film acting at its best. His cadaverous features play into a primarily visual, with habitual awkwardness and brusque, animal mannerisms.

Other actors are perhaps more interesting for back stories than performances. Greta Schroeder makes a radiant love interest. She remained active through the Nazi era (including a role in the infamous Kolberg), her last film coming in 1953. Gustav von Wangenheim, a Communist, fled to the USSR and played a minor role in Stalin's show trials. Alexander Granach stands out as the gnome-like, gleefully repulsive Knock. Granach became a venerable Hollywood character actor with roles in Ninotchka, Hangmen Also Die! and For Whom the Bell Tolls.

Even if not conventionally scary, Nosferatu still commands respect. Few other vampire movies are as unsettling, with an antagonist not tragic or human but monstrously evil. This approach, along with Murnau's strong direction, makes Nosferatu an enduring classic.