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Exploring the Gothic Romance of the New Nosferatu

The promotional materials for the latest adaptation of Nosferatu emphasize its identity as a gothic romance. However, the central narrative may resonate more with themes of stalking and haunting, while the film’s visual aesthetics play up the romance element. This unique blend is likely to attract a segment of the audience drawn to melancholic visuals, characterized by religious imagery, candlelit still lifes, baroque settings, and a mix of antique objects—including knives and cigarettes—with themes of bloodshed. Such elements echo the lasting impact of films like Black Swan, whose essence continues to be celebrated through film stills and memes, creating a distinctive aesthetic experience for viewers.

In the closing scene of the film, Johnny Depp is depicted curled up next to a decaying male figure, reminiscent of the victims found in Pompeii, surrounded by flowers. This haunting image is sure to circulate widely in online communities for years to come.

Reflecting on a recent viewing of Herzog’s Nosferatu, it was the striking visuals that left a lasting impression. The somber imagery of five black coffins in a funeral procession and Isabel Adjani, the alluring figure dressed in all white, starkly contrasts with the more campy portrayal of Count Orlok in the 1979 version. This raises the question: Does Eggers’s interpretation provoke a deeper sense of fear because contemporary audiences are desensitized to graphic violence in both fictional storytelling and real-life events?

Orlok’s fortress stands stark and desolate in the daylight.

The cinematography in Eggers’s rendition pays tribute to the shadowy aesthetics of German Expressionism, which was notably advanced by F.W. Murnau.

This latest adaptation of Nosferatu deeply respects its predecessors, featuring initial glimpses of Orlok that reveal only his shadowy silhouette—a nod to German Expressionism’s dramatic flair. The castle’s stark and sterile interiors evoke similar feelings to those experienced in Herzog’s version, while motifs such as swarming rats, Catholic symbols, and beaches littered with peculiar graves simultaneously honor and refresh the century-old narrative.

However, perceptions of a “dusty” legacy may vary from viewer to viewer. My friend Maia Wyman, a professional film critic, considers Murnau’s original 1922 film her favorite adaptation. After watching Herzog’s version together, we discussed the various iterations of Nosferatu—Wyman noted how Murnau’s film captures themes of contagion, exoticism, and the sexual fluidity reflective of its interwar context. In a similar vein, some commentary on social media suggests that Herzog’s take foreshadowed the AIDS epidemic, pointing to the heavy cultural implications surrounding such a timeless tale.

It is evident that our current social climate shares unsettling parallels with the Weimar Republic era, as Wyman astutely observed. “Our moment, once characterized by its permissiveness, is becoming increasingly fearful and restrictive,” she remarked. With new myths and societal anxieties emerging, the need for yet another adaptation of Nosferatu may be more vital now than ever.

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