Film and Felt

Vampire lore generally involves fright, bite, and gushing streams of blood, be it suspense (Murnau’s Nosferatu of 1922), or loud action (Van Helsing of 2004). Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula generated an extraordinary aura of tension with its eloquent language, and when children prance around imitating vampires, they do so with long, sharp fangs and ketchup dripping down their chins. Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu: Phantom Der Nacht (1979), however, presents a different take on the tale, replacing unnerving gore with an eerie, erotic beauty. Like Aguirre: The Wrath of God (1973) and Fitzcarraldo (1982), some of the most striking imagery occur on water or surrounded by manifestations of decay—in Aguirre, it’s monkeys overrunning Aguirre’s raft; in Nosferatu, it’s swarms of rats circling the harbor, symbolically infesting the land with the foul stench of the vampire. As repulsive as the rats may be, Herzog’s long shots & takes (frequently steeped in surreal phantasm) make their presence oddly hypnotic, surrounded by the lunacy of Virna’s residents, as the town goes amok. How much is real and how much isn’t is almost irrelevant—Herzog’s created a world where fantasy and actuality blend into a lavish portrayal of gradual, emotional breakdown, all while injecting the classic tale of terror with his own thematic touches.

Like most of Herzog’s work (the aforementioned gems, as well as Heart of Glass, Cobra Verde, etc), Nosferatu is full of crystalline, vibrant colors, but here, they serve a richer purpose than in his less-successful films. With a focused lens, he unfolds exquisite tapestries of sensual nightmares. Consider a sequence in which Dracula silkily creeps up behind Lucy, who’s combing her Rapunzel-esque locks. As Herzog’s camera refuses to waver, she sees Dracula’s shadow slowly approach, but not his reflection; by the time his actual body appears in the ongoing shot, the viewer finds their attention completely riveted, fearing for Lucy’s neck and well-being, yet strangely rooting for the elegant Count to successfully (and lustfully) reign in his prey. With her exquisitely pale skin, large eyes, and lovely painted lips, Lucy epitomizes the period’s standards for beauty, and there’s something unfair about the grotesque Count’s futile pursuit. Of course, it’s equally difficult to cheer for a creature that turns upstanding real estate salesmen into walking zombies…

Klaus Kinski is in top-notch form; his controlled mannerisms and drawling enunciation (as well as his contorted face, which is, unfortunately for him, not one of his finest off-set features) paint an unusually physical portrayal of Dracula, but the proper stately aura and commanding presence: if he’s not as chaotic as his usual onscreen persona (and, My Best Fiend would have you believe, his offscreen persona as well), he makes up for it with a completely off-kilter piece of restrained genius. It’s not typical Kinski, but it’s a prime example of his massive acting chops. Not quite matching Kinski’s screen presence—but holding their own nicely—are Bruno Ganz as the doomed Jonathan, and the delicious Isabelle Adjani as the fiercely loyal Lucy, whose martyrdom stems from an unwavering adoration for her husband. It’s also amusing to see the stogy portrayal of Dr. Van Helsing by Walter Ladengast after the loud 2004 action film of the same name (unseen by me); of course, an in-your-face doctor wouldn’t fit Herzog’s vision, now would it?

There’s really no character in Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht to hang your hat on, to form an emotional bond with, so those whose filmic mojo is predominantly derived from such form may leave somewhat empty. For this reviewer, though, Herzog’s attention to detail, captivating landscapes drenched in corrosion, and sexy take on Dracula, is a superb picture, soaked in atmospheric lust with a decomposing underbelly. That it doesn’t go as far in its themes as Aguirre can hardly be viewed as an indictment; Nosferatu is my favorite cinematic take on the story, and a must-see for those who enjoy his work.

© Gabe Leibowitz 2005