It wouldn’t be an overstatement to call Bram Stoker’s Dracula the single most important and influential horror story in history. In pretty much every medium that matters, from literature to film, Dracula is synonymous with horror, embodying the genre like few other characters ever could. Sure, Frankenstein’s monster and Mephistopheles might be quite famous horror icons in their own right, but they cannot come close to Dracula’s status. Curiously, Dracula’s most famous cinematic adaptation doesn’t even carry his name; indeed, F. W. Murnau’s 1922 Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror might just be the tale’s best translation into the film medium, nearly single-handedly defining the horror genre and defining its visual language.
Nosferatu has received a few adaptations, including Robert Eggers’ upcoming remake starring Bill Skarsgård as the iconic Count Orlok. However, 45 years ago, revered German filmmaker Werner Herzog delivered what could arguably be the best take on the classic Dracula story, borrowing heavily from Murnau’s visual language.
Starring notorious psychopath and abuser Klaus Kinski as the legendary vampire, Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre reinvented a classic tale for an audience ready to embrace the darkest sides of the human psyche, producing the most meditative horror movie ever made. On its 45th anniversary, Nosferatu the Vampyre remains evocative, striking, and utterly unforgettable, an examination of Dracula that will probably never be outdone.
The horror is in the silence
Anyone who has ever seen a movie by Werner Herzog could easily identify his visual language: lingering shots attempting to capture the vastness of the setting, camera movements so fluid they almost seem unintentional, and a naturalistic approach that gives his movies a near-documentary vibe — invisible camera at its purest. Herzog, in the Academy Award-winning words of an all-time great, is so subtle he’s almost subliminal. Nowhere have these distinctive qualities been so overt or better used than in Nosferatu the Vampyre.
Unlike Murnau’s Nosferatu, which was an unauthorized adaptation of Dracula, Herzog’s Nosferatu is a straightforward retelling of the literary classic; in fact, the only things it has in common with Murnau’s movie are the title, the setting, and, of course, the striking imagery. It makes perfect sense that Herzog would be attracted to Murnau’s world — they are possibly the most legendary in the horror genre, and a visual storyteller like Herzog would surely be fascinated by them. Story-wise, Nosferatu the Vampyre sticks to Stoker’s narrative, except for the ending, which opts for a bleaker ending better suited for ’70s audiences.
Thematically, Herzog is far more interested in dread than outright horror. Any given scene in his Nosferatu is quiet to the point of being contemplative. Even when something is happening at the forefront, the background is almost as prominent, enveloping the action with a near-overwhelming pull — a chair slowly returning to its place after being thrown, a candle reacting to a gust of wind, a clock slowly ticking to the hour. In this world, everything counts, which means nothing really does. Shadows are never far away from this world, enveloping the corners of the framing, appearing as though conjured by evil itself, disputing only at Herzog’s command.
To Herzog, that’s where the real horror lies: in the vastness of darkness and the calmness of silence. It’s there that the feelings of guilt, fear, pain, and longing hide, which are at the very core of Dracula’s story. In Nosferatu the Vampyre, the real terror is not what we see but what’s just outside our reach, lingering in the corner of the camera, just outside of our eyesight yet strong enough to perceive. It’s not even Dracula that is terrifying; it’s the misery he conjures, the utterly devastating torment he provokes. Dracula, and therefore Herzog’s, true power is not that they scare us; it’s that they convince us they can.
The drowning weight of solitude
One cannot discuss Nosferatu the Vampyre without talking about Klaus Kinski. I will not go into detail about his well-known problematic nature or his well-documented history of abuse; for that, I recommend his daughter Pola’s biography, Kindermund, and Herzog’s documentary My Best Fiend, which paint a vivid portrayal of a man who, by all accounts, was a profoundly unsettling presence straight out of a real-life horror story. I will instead center on Kinski’s Count Dracula and how Herzog utilizes the actor’s distinctive and intense presence to deliver what is possibly the greatest portrayal of a vampire on the silver screen.
To Herzog, vampirism is a curse, and Kinski embodies the pain of such an existence. There’s a physicality to his performance that is as unsettling as it is revealing. His Dracula drags across his gothic prison as though burdened by the weight of centuries, carrying every regret he’s accumulated throughout the years.
A simple movement takes forever, be it an arm raising or a finger pointing; each step is torture, another reminder of the endless road he’s treading, with no rest on the horizon. In most horror movies, the creeping, meticulous movements of the villain serve to increase tension and dread; in Nosferatu the Vampyre, they’re visceral acknowledgments of the tragedy at the core of Dracula’s story and his relentless pursuit of Lucy Harker.
Eroticism is another crucial aspect of Herzog’s tale. Kinski delivers each line like a moan, spitting out words between pants as if his Dracula were perpetually turned on by the mere proximity of others. To him, blood is not a need but a want, an irresistible drug that calls to him, beckoning him on a primal level. Dracula’s pain is not merely from age; it’s from existing, doomed to inhabit the same space as those he so desperately desires.
Nearly every exchange in the movie, from Dracula sucking Harker’s hand to his climactic drinking of Lucy’s blood, is sexual; to him, every interaction, no matter how basic, is an opportunity for release. In Herzog’s world, Dracula is the ultimate predator not because of his immortality and abilities but because of his condition to see everything as prey.
This approach allows us to be in a constant state of alert, simultaneously entranced and discomforted by Dracula. Rather than his supernatural powers or status as an undead force of evil, it’s his lewd, animalistic looks at pretty much anything with a pulse that’s truly frightening. Of course, knowing what we know about Kinski’s real-life ways, the performance only becomes more effective and uneasy, a troubling reminder of how often life imitates art.
A horror story for the ages
Even 45 years after its premiere, Nosferatu the Vampyre remains a masterpiece of horror. It’s so profoundly unsettling in pretty much every possible way — visually, narratively, thematically, and tonally — that it can’t help but feel fresh and evergreen. That’s the true power of the horror genre and the reason why so many remain entranced by the tale of Dracula.
Sure, Nosferatu the Vampyre is not without its flaws. There’s the familiarity to the story that can’t help but make the climax seem anti-climactic; there’s the many behind-the-scenes accusations of animal cruelty toward Herzog and the aforementioned problematic nature of the film’s leading man. However, Nosferatu the Vampyre is still a masterclass in horror filmmaking, a gut punch of a movie that forces us to confront our deepest fears: isolation, unrealized desire, longing bordering on obsession, and self-sacrifice.
The true horror lies in just how far we’d go to get what we covet. Some sell their soul to Satan and become the undead, the pestilence of this broken world. And there will always be evil lurking around the corner. If Nosferatu tells us anything, it’s that evil never dies; instead, it merely changes faces. Darkness might go away at dawn, but it always comes back, just as strong as before. Listen to them, the children of the night; soon, you might be one of them.
Nosferatu the Vampyre is available to stream of Tubi.
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