Today I travel back to the silent film era to experience one of horror’s most influential films. How will it hold up more than 100 years later?
We’ve tackled old movies for “31 Movies for 31 Days” before. I reviewed Horror Hotel from the early 60’s several years ago, and Scott upped the ante this season with his review of 1958’s The Blob. Movies from that bygone era have a different pacing to them, a more predictably consistent structure, almost a different film vocabulary than what we have come to expect as a modern audience. Yet watching a film from 1922 is almost akin to accessing an entirely different medium of entertainment. As a product of the silent film era, there is no spoken dialogue, no sound of doors shutting or floors creaking or wind or footsteps, just a constant blaring organ underpinning the drama. Each scene is is interrupted by inter-titles, written text that fills the screen. Dialogue is conveyed in large, legible white on black text, but exposition is delivered in a smaller, stylized font that makes it hard to read at times. The film itself is grainy and jumpy, black and white obviously but taking on other hues that range from orange to green at different points in the film. It is somewhat of an alien viewing experience.
The plot, if you are unfamiliar, is a retelling of Bram Stoker’s classic horror novel, Dracula, albeit with the character names changed. I found my experience with the film kind of surreal in that I knew the story, had in fact seen all of the most iconic scenes in some horror documentary or another, and yet taking it all in with the antiquated cinematic techniques made me feel less conversant with the material than I should have been. It was a clash of the familiar and unfamiliar, not scary but a touch unsettling. I now find myself perplexed in a similar way by how to review the genre’s most iconic movie. I do feel like it is a mandatory text, one of the building blocks that has informed The Babadook and Nightmare on Elm Street and countless others with its visual language. If you are a horror aficionado, it is a worthwhile investment of ninety minutes. The acting is a product of the era, far too hammy and over the top for modern sensibilities, with one major exception. Max Schreck’s performance as the Count Orlok, the film’s Dracula stand-in, is every bit as powerful and creepy now as it ever was. He cuts such an imposing figure that the movie seems to bend around him when he’s on screen. Indeed, all of those classic images you’ve seen over the years in horror countdowns or on sites like this one invariably center on Schrek (or his shadow). Those are also the scenes that highlight director F. W. Murnau’s incredible eye for cinematography. The horror of Nosferatu is achieved entirely by Murnau’s framing of each scene and his use of light and shadow, and the way those elements combine to capture Schrek’s performance in the most effective manner possible. There are plenty of modern horror directors who should take note of how much Murnau is able to accomplish with infinitely less resources and technology, simply through the thoughtfulness of his shot composition.
On the other hand, I think this would be a tough watch for more casual horror fans. The outdated techniques of the era may prove an insurmountable hill to climb for the handful of genuinely impactful moments in the movie. I found my thoughts drifting any time Schrek wasn’t involved in a scene, and it is a surprisingly long film relative to the amount of plot that it has. Perhaps the ideal scenario for a Nosferatu viewing in 2023 is in the background of a Halloween party. You can mute it and rely on your own Halloween playlist, or you can leave the sound on and enjoy the seasonally appropriate organ playing. It’s in the public domain, so the whole thing is embedded below in case you are interested in giving it a shot.
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