The King of Burbank’s review published on Letterboxd:
Nosferatu is the ultimate homecoming for the current master of historical haunts, Robert Eggers. The transcendent silent symphony of horror from 1922 was the film that sparked his love of the craft, to the point where he directed a stage adaptation when he was just 17 years old. Now operating at the height of his powers with a major studio behind him, he lovingly crafts a faithful yet unique retelling that only has one major issue. The young man that F. W. Murnau's classic inspired has become a towering filmmaker with a body of original work that is just as brilliant. Try as he might, he can only tap into so much of that genius when retreading hallowed ground.
This legendary cinematic fable initially unfolds as expected. Realtor Thomas Hutter is sent to Transylvania so that he can negotiate a deal with reclusive (for good reason) nobleman Count Orlok to move from his manor to their neighborhood. He leaves his wife Ellen in the house as she begs him not to go, which about comprises the extent of her role in both the original and Werner Herzog versions until Orlok visits her in the third act with a thirst for her blood. However, Eggers' most distinct brush stroke here is centering the story around Ellen's feverish psychosis. From childhood, she has always had a monster yearning to consume her in dreams, and as the story goes on it becomes clear that vague fixation is in fact Orlok, and he is coming.
My great hope for the reaction to this film is that it convinces the public that horror is perhaps the best vehicle for brilliant performances. We've seen a lot of incredible work within more niche movies in the genre this year, but here Bill Skarsgård and Lily-Rose Depp deliver work on a large scale that is simply undeniable. One truly cannot exaggerate just how immersive Skarsgård's transformation into Orlok is. I was worried that I would see too many shades of his lukewarm take on Pennywise here, but was immediately stunned from the moment I heard his soon to be iconic voice. Many actors who have played vampires in recent years have tried to tether them in some sense of humanity, particularly to be seductive. In stark and intentional contrast, Skarsgård delivers a true movie monster whose attempt at seeming posh is grotesquely bursting at the seams. While never anything less than horrifying, this curdled bloodsucker is also often hilarious, especially as he taunts his victims while starring them in the face with a certain soon to be iconic physical feature that I wouldn't dare spoil.
However, Depp is the film's true standout, delivering a massive and tragic portrayal of a discarded woman whose all too real fears are dismissed as mania. Whenever she tearfully pours her truth out to someone, there's both despair in knowing how they will react and yet a bittersweet glimmer of hope that this will be the person to show her kindness. Said understanding is hard to come by in these primitive times, especially since Thomas reluctantly leaves her in the uncaring hands of Aaron Taylor-Johnson's snooty Friedrich and his wife Anna (Emma Corrin, underutilized). Nicholas Hoult realizes Thomas with a level of warmth that at times veers into Jimmy Stewart territory, our heart breaks for him as his chances of saving his wife decrease by the second. Eggers veteran Willem Dafoe provides his usual utter devotion to campy gravitas as occult expert Prof. Albin Eberhart Von Franz, easily scoring the film's biggest laughs delivering the ridiculous lines that only Eggers can write for him.
As always, Eggers' visual realization of this world is so tangible that you can practically feel the winter chill running through the theater. Utterly opulent despite the dark and chilly aesthetic, a truly masterful feat in an age where films barely have a command on general lighting. The scares are perfectly executed. Some are quiet. Some are loud. All are effective. His script is a much more accessible than his previous work, almost entirely dispensing with the aggressively obscured language of The Witch and The Lighthouse in favor of a more conventional Hollywood period piece. Its' still solid, but despite some of his oddball humor translating, there's still just a chunk of his personality missing. This also happened with The Northman, but that was more stylistically esoteric than this, which feels like his first genuine attempt at a blockbuster. I hope that works out for him.
Nosferatu is an immensely personal work from Eggers that I suspect he carries with the most pride of all his films so far. In the context of his career, its' his "The Fly," a masterfully crafted tribute that will act as a vehicle for people to get into his wilder films. To that end, its' perhaps my least favorite of his four efforts, which is to say that it is fantastic and you should seek it out on the biggest screen possible on Christmas Day.
*stretches hand out to you*
"Obey"
