I hated the new Nosferatu — and then couldn’t stop thinking about it

The story of a film and its complicated relationship with one viewer.

Hype can work for a movie. It can also set it up for a fall.

A huge fan of Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula (1897), various film and television versions both good and bad, and F. W. Murnau’s silent classic Nosferatu (1922), I looked forward to Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu (2024).

Yes, I’m a Draculaphile.

Robert Eggers had, after all, made The VVitch (2015), which I loved.

I wanted to like the film and genuinely thought I would. I looked forward to it. I booked the best seat in the biggest screen I could, as early as I could.

However, I’m afraid I didn’t like it. In fact, on first viewing, I despised it. I immediately reacted against it. It left me wondering why.

My initial reaction was that it was made for audiences who can’t deal with subtlety. I found everything to be overstated, laboured, excessively stylised, and overwhelmed with oppressive sound design.

Of course, films should be stylistic and expressive, especially one, like this, which pays tribute to one of the great examples of German expressionist cinema. However, the best films in my experience mix statement with subtlety. They are sparing in their use of noise and stylistic flourishes. They surge, sparingly, but they do not continuously overwhelm. They reserve the overwhelm for select, key moments.

The very best films provoke the viewer’s emotions to overwhelm themselves, without needing to be overwhelmed by sound and image.

To give just one example of what I mean, take the scene in which Ellen Hutter is given flowers by her soon-to-depart husband and asks, “Why did you kill the lovely flowers?”

That line is, of course, intended to inject a needle of sadness into the moment. It’s meant to be significant. It’s meant to be indicative. In the 1922 original, it was not, however, over-played or laboured. The moment was delivered with style and grace and moved on from.

In Eggers’ version, it felt like the moment was magnified, underlined, double exclamation marked, and underlined again. I don’t recall if it was accented by the much over-used Dolby thud of doom. We were spared, at least, the equally over-used grand choir of the apocalypse.

Great films are also made knowing that if there’s no relief from long, broad strokes of oppressive atmosphere, the effect wears off. Here, it doesn’t let up and it does wear off. The character of Knock could have been used to inject some light relief, as could the doctors, but they were not.

I found the film unnecessarily gross, too. Of course it’s a horror film, but it’s sufficient that the story is what’s horrifying. What happens to these people is horrifying. What they must overcome is horrifying. It isn’t necessary to be visually gross as well. In the same way that eroticism is diminished, not enhanced, by excessive explicitness, horror can be diminished by unnecessary grossness. Some things are best conveyed without you being dragged close.

Furthermore, some of the clichéd, involuntary body spasm contortion horror in the film felt like it was imitating a bad Exorcist sequel.

Speaking as someone who is attracted more to understatement than overstatement in film and music, I experienced it as too much, trying too hard, and I quickly suffered overwhelm fatigue. To be so uncompromisingly oppressive, the film, for me, needed to be shorter.

However, I kept thinking about the film.

I thought about it to the extent that I felt that I needed to give it another shot. Maybe the hype had acted against it. Maybe I hadn’t given it a fair chance. Maybe my revulsion blinded me to genuine merits.

I figured that with it being less of a shock to the system, and me being more open to it, I might come around to it. I wanted to and it wouldn’t be the first time I revised my opinion on a film with a second viewing.

I reflected on my admiration for Eggers. He’s a bold artist.

I also reflected that the only films and music that don’t create haters as well as lovers are the ones playing safe.

There's actually nothing wrong with playing safe, by the way. The James Bond franchise has enjoyed long and large profits by playing safe. There is, however, something extra admirable about challenging, divisive work that creates passion one way or another. Some may hate it, but those who love divisive work will love it even more. It’s how classics are made.

The explicit sexualisation of Ellen’s encounter with Count Orlock is one of the things that repelled me in my first viewing, but, on reflection, I saw the bold, challenging, artistic statement in it.

I still don’t understand why a naked woman on horseback was needed at the vampire slaying scene earlier in the film. However, again, that’s what bold, divisive artists do. They do unexplained, challenging things that beg the question and provoke the conversation.

I gave it that second shot.

I’d like to be able to say that the second time, I loved it.

Well, no. Not quite.

I was still unconvinced, but I certainly didn’t hate it like I did the first time round. I found certain aspects of the film more interesting and there were certainly some things that I liked about it—and some things I still didn’t.

I still found it laboured and excessively stylised.

I appreciated the oppressive atmosphere of Castle Orlock more.

I found the dabblings of Knock in black magic more intriguing.

Certain sequences, like the arrival of Count Orlock’s carriage in the snow, evoked a delightful sense of supernatural magic.

Lily-Rose Depp stunned me, but, to be fair, she did that the first time round. I was just in more of a mind to appreciate what she brought to he film the second time round, when I wasn’t reeling.

I think I will warm to the film more over time. Time is sometimes what we need with movies. I remember how much I hated the 1976 version of King Kong the first time I saw it, but over time, as I came more to terms with what the film has going for it, and I became more willing to overlook its flaws to enjoy its merits, I came to like it. I think this will be like that.

I didn’t so much love it as I made my peace with it. I have rejected it as a great movie, but I have embraced it as an interesting one: a worthy addition to my Dracula and Nosferatu collection that has some interesting set pieces, some interesting and unique stylistic choices, and provokes interesting conversation through challenging and divisive art.

That includes conversation about its flaws.

That makes my relationship with the film similar to my relationship with Jess Franco's Count Dracula (1970), and, indeed Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu (1979). I’m sure I would have despised both of those films when they were new, but out of their time, they are interesting.

I’d like to finish with one final reflection: the role that film magazines used to play in the complete film experience.

When you’ve been reading about a movie and its makers for weeks prior to its release, and seeing stills that tease the content of the movie, a much more effective stage is set for seeing it. Audience participation had already started before you even see the movie. With Nosferatu, I had not done this and I think it worked against me. Anticipation ahead of viewing is as much a part of the complete film experience, as discourse afterwards.