nosferatu: A symphony of horror
It seems almost counterintuitive to review a movie from 1922, a clear one hundred years old, with modern media literacy lenses. When cinema was, relatively speaking, still in its infancy, the art form’s fine tuning was still being fine tuned; its narrative kinks still being ironed out. Movies from the era were just recently figuring out how long they should be, with some single reel examples like A Trip to the Moon being shorter than fifteen minutes long, before the two hour “epic” was even introduced (this is one of the oldest feature length films I've ever seen due to this).
But despite its status as a relatively early entry into cinematic history, 1922’s Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, a character-name-switching unofficial adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, contains plenty of elements that make up the modern blockbuster we know today. All that was a fancy way to say- this movie is old.
Being a silent film, the human characters’ performances here have a heavy emphasis on hyperbolized facial emotions, which works wonderfully in contrast to Max Schreck's soon to be discussed dead and emotionless yet electrifying and eerie performance. The characters are wide-eyed and expressive, and I don't know if this was a result of the color restoration of not (I watched the version in color, it was the only one that was free), but everybody's face was sweaty, white as a sheet, and unsettling-looking from the word go, including the human characters, elevating the sense of dread haunting the film, accompanied by the aforementioned washed-out color restoration making the entire film look like an old-timey photograph and thus more like an old school horror novel come to life. It's fascinating looking back at stuff like that.
Talk about a villain making effective use of his limited screen time, though. If you thought Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter was scary, you'll be bone-chilled by the legendary turn-in from Max Schreck, who set the bar for what a vampire in cinema could be. I don't think I'm getting across just how tremendous he was. Every single time the vampire was on screen, it was terrifying- partially because he looks so creepy, partially because of his mannerisms and the way he stands, haunting you, but also because of the placements of the title cards showing the characters at their most vulnerable stage.
What I mean by that is that since Nosferatu is a silent film, it needs title cards to show the audience its dialogue after it is silently spoken on screen, but sometimes this is used to read passages from books or narrate what's going on instead. Because we leave the action, even just for a split second, the audience is left alone during moments of the vampire's presence, or any other nefarious narrative “triumph”. These “inter titles” are placed perfectly, as the interruptions forcing you to look away make things extremely tense during that split second, as if something’s behind you or around a corner.
The overture was done originally by a man called Hans Erdmann, and has been restored by multiple artists since, due to it becoming lost over time. I'm not entirely sure which score was in my version, but it was extremely polished nonetheless. Although, sometimes it seemed like the music’s intensity was at the wrong level at the wrong places. I don't know if anyone else noticed this, but it seemed like the style of music sometimes didn't match the mood of the moment, with a light flute and a “falala, fiddle dee dee” feel at paralyzing moments of dread sometimes, and a sweeping, intense, traditionally horror “bwaaa” at times where the characters were just gardening or something. Very strange (only on Spexscript can you find such sophisticated music theory terminology).
I do also have some addresses with the dialogue, as well. Keeping in mind that these kinds of narrative elements were very different back in the day, and that this is a very dialogue-light film to begin with, I thought a lot of the explanations were unnecessary and ruined a lot of the mystery and magic. It’s very to the point, and doesn't leave much to the imagination. Nosferatu presents itself under the impression that you’ve never heard of a vampire before, and things like the grand revelation of Orlok’s unheard-of sunlight weakness and his exclaim that Hutter’s wife has “a pretty neck” are fun to look back on, but are examples of stilted dialogue that calls a spade a spade with little to no subtlety or hidden messaging.
Another unfortunate hiccup is pacing, with the chugging locomotive of teeth-chattering classic horror screeching to a halt in Act IV so that characters can go galavant on the beach, look at some plants or whine during the plague subplot. Thankfully, the ending returns to the vampire focus and restores the fright, with some expert usage of shadows, satisfying as the rest of the vampire action at play. Still, I was very ready to wrap up during and after these momentum killers.
Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror is a freshman entry into the modern day horror genre, and has become infinitely influential ever since, receiving a second remake in December this year (after previously having been remade in the 70s). It's a terrifying and dread-inducing but otherwise forgettable experience due to being a sardine in an ocean of Dracula adaptations. Its best elements- its cast, its overture, its title character design- must be lauded, and its worst must be chocked up to a mutual understanding- a fascinating study of film history. This is one of those experiences you have to see for yourself.
