Nosferatu Review
I'll admit, I've been bored of cinema for an awfully long time. Virtually every release feels like it's more concerned with ticking boxes or aligning with some kind of woke agenda, usually at the cost of authenticity, storytelling, or even historical accuracy. Nosferatu, though, was a breath of fresh air—an unapologetic return to the roots of gothic horror and storytelling.
As someone who's been a die-hard fan of vampires for as long as I can remember, I've spent years quietly—and sometimes not so quietly—seething over franchises like Twilight and The Vampire Diaries. Vampires have been turned into sparkly, shallow caricatures of their former selves. I genuinely thought the genre might never recover. But this? This was directed with the utmost respect for the source material and an acute understanding of the story's roots.
Let's start with the cinematography. It's stunning. Every frame feels like it's been pulled from an oil painting, drenched in shadow and atmosphere. The attention to detail and subtle nods to former Dracula/Nosferatu films are beautiful. And that shadow scene? I nearly cheered, because they recreated it so perfectly.
Bill Skarsgård's Count Orlok is grotesque, decaying, and deeply monstrous—and yet, he's magnetic. His voice-work and the laboured, gurgling breaths he thought to add to each sentence were an incredible detail, for it serves as a constant reminder that Orlok is a living corpse. The production even hired a movement coach to perfect his delicate, vampiric movements. That kind of dedication is so rare in modern filmmaking. And the revival of the native language was not only delicious to listen to, but just further cements their commitment to giving the film that feel of authenticity.
There's so much I could talk about, but the final ten minutes are what will really stay with me. Despite Orlok's earlier claim that he is nothing but appetite and incapable of love, there's a contradiction in the penultimate scene. For perhaps five seconds, you finally see something almost human in him, something vulnerable, as he realises his long coveted bride is willing to succumb to him, to be consumed by him, despite his grotesqueness. It's haunting, deeply moving, and strangely beautiful.
And that's what this film understands: that vampires should be a balance of horror and allure, fear and obsession. What fascinates me in comment sections and forums at the moment is the volume of men who are totally confused as to why women are swooning over this thoroughly unattractive, Hitler-esque Count, but I, being a fellow female, get it completely. It speaks to something primal in us—the need many have to be the most desired, the singular obsession of someone's existence. Orlok embodies this devotion, and his grotesqueness is something anyone who is deeply insecure can relate to. In a world dominated by Tinder and shallow, aesthetic-driven relationships, the idea of an all-encompassing, eternal obsession still resonates with the melancholic romantics like me.
So if you're tired of shallow storytelling and modern cinema's tendency to prioritise agendas, dumb, brain rotting stories lead by pretty faces, or endless CGI, over real art, go and watch Nosferatu. Respectful, well-researched writing matters. And actors caring about more than their fame or pay packet matters, as well. So "fangks" to Bill and team. What an absolute masterpiece.
