Really Good Movies! The one that was the first vampire movie

 

Title: Nosferatu

What Year?: 1922

Classification: Prototype

Rating: Classic! (2/3)

 

As I write this, I’ve been looking at finally getting my movie reviews into circles beyond my blog. In the process, I decided it was time to do something new and different enough for yet another feature, which really meant going in more conventional directions. As I have regularly pointed out, my whole approach to reviewing has been the roads less travelled, away from the usual “best” and “worst” movies that get discussed everywhere. I decided it was time to deal with the movies that have stayed above my radar, the kinds of movies that are influential, well-regarded and even successful in their own time. The one that will be first is also the one that convinced me it was time, a film that had enough of an impact to be remembered and celebrated on the 100^th anniversary of its release. I present Nosferatu, the first vampire movie if not the first horror movie, and it’s the kind of movie where “classic” might not quite be a compliment.

Our story begins with a protagonist and his bride, celebrating a promising offer from a reclusive count to purchase a property in the city. The count proves to be a strange, goblin-like entity with  an even more eccentric servant, holed up in a castle that the locals fear to approach. While the young man stays with the count, he begins to feel strange, and discovers strange marks on his neck. Back home, his bride becomes distressed by premonitions of danger and approaching evil. Soon enough, the count arrives on a ship whose crew has been mysteriously wiped out, then moves in to a house near that of the couple. In short order, the city is devastating by a mysterious plague. With the aid of a convenient tome, the lady figures out that the count is one of the undead, feeding on the living. To save the town, she must lay a trap for the revenant- but it may cost her own life!

Nosferatu was a 1922 horror film by expressionist German filmmaker F.W. Murnau. The film was considered an unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, though it differed from the novel both in its concept and portrayal of the vampire and a number of other points. The film starred an actor known as Max Schreck as the vampire, named Orlok, with Gustav von Wangenheim as the protagonist Hutter and Greta Schroder as his wife Ellen. Murnau and his production company were successfully sued by Stoker’s widow, resulting in a court order to destroy all copies of the film. Prints of the film survived in nominal public domain, allowing the film to grow in popularity. Certain rumors grew around the film and its cast, including unfounded claims that Schreck either never appeared in another film or was a wholly fabricated persona. In fact, Murnau and Schreck continued to make films up to the times of their deaths in 1931 and 1936 respectively. Wangenheim and Schroder survived World War 2 and continued making films, the former as an East German communist. Many prints of the film were altered to use the name Dracula and other Stoker characters. The most well-authenticated versions will be those with the recovered original score by Hans Erdmann.

For my experiences, what defines my frame of reference was my rejection of the cinematic vampire over “the” zombie, and my further research into the far more complex and befuddling entity of the vukodlak (see my misbegotten post on The Greek Vampire Hunt). With that admittedly eccentric but by all means well-grounded perspective, any interest in Dracula barely lasted past elementary school, when I can just remember reading a sort of comic book/ cassette treatment. In hindsight, it amuses me all the more that the Stoker estate successfully litigated any claim to ownership of the vampire concept, which was really an effective admission how much of the “lore” the author pulled out of his posterior. In any case, to this day, the only movie vampires I can take seriously are the present film and, of all things, From Dusk Till Dawn.

Moving to the movie itself, the foremost thing that must be admitted against its reputation is that the film as it would have been made is just plain gone. We can restore the prints, adjust speeds, add filters and put in the non-Anglicized dialogue cards, but it’s still just reconstructing what is long since lost. This shows especially with the music, where even the most thoroughly restored soundtracks appear to be subject to intense debate. In practice, anything you could readily cross-examine ranges between unconvincing and flat-out awful, to the point that I have literally preferred to watch the film in actual silence rather than put up with what others have done. In the viewing for this review, I finally got through the bulk of the movie with Berlioz’s Symphony Fantastique for accompaniment, which worked better than it really had any right to. And even if we could get everything exactly right, could we really feel or even understand its impact when it was released? The unfortunate answer is, probably not. Silent films were their own artform for their own time; we can only give our best estimation of what they meant to their audience.

With that out of the way, what remains is either unforgettable or just odd. There’s plenty here that’s just filler, like frivolous shots of a fly trap plant. There’s further hints of the passive protagonist/ antihero of modern horror, as the main character coasts through his own story with little evident awareness of what’s happening. Something else that can easily become distracting is how to classify the film and especially Murnau’s camerawork. It would be easy to take the film as surrealist fantasy more than horror, if not for the pervasive shots of quasi-Gothic buildings and streets that would have been as mundane to the Central Europeans as convenience stores and Walmarts. This is horror by way of the prosaic rather than the fantastic, and an impressive preview of things to come.

Since I’m already going over, there’s obviously plenty more to say about Schreck as Orlock, except he already speaks for himself. The design and makeup would be easy to dismiss as a goofy cliché, even factoring in its influence on later films, yet it unquestionably works. There’s further intrigue in seeing the count somehow navigate quite ordinary situations without arousing suspicion, not to mention the indignity of carrying his own coffin with him. The rest is all in the mannerisms and fine details that define silent film itself, at least up to the finale. Here, Schroder becomes the one who finally rises to Schreck’s level. On top of that, we have the genuine fantastical vision of the count’s approaching silhouette, and even that transposed on the shadow of the quite ordinary banister. (Then there’s a shot that could easily be ridiculed as lewd, but again, it works.) It all plays out as the allegory of doomed virtue against overconfident evil, culminating in the defeat of the vampire by the rising sun which nobody had actually done before.

That still leaves the “one scene”, and the one that has always stood out to me is the unaccountably long episode on the ship. Here, the count quickly and rather counterproductively picks off the crew, until the last two crewmen are left to throw their shipmate overboard. (This is the surest indication that the victims of this revenant don’t come back to life.) Finally, one of the pair rushes into the hold, intent on finding out what their cargo is. Of course, that brings him to the count’s coffin, which he tears open. Orlok promptly emerges in perhaps the most bizarre shot of the film, seemingly stiff as a board as he rises upright. It’s all too much for the sailor, who doesn’t stop running until he’s already overboard. On paper, it’s comically overdone at best, yet there’s enough subtlety that the full extent of the strangeness is easy to miss.

In closing, all that remains is the rating, which I will be going into further as a post script. This time around, there will be no “bad” rating, only degrees of good. On the scale I envision, this film truly embodies both the upsides and downsides of a “classic”. On one hand, it is without question a product of its time, with a further outsized influence that can make it seem overfamiliar even on first viewing. On the other, it has the proven worth to speak to generations of audiences, and provide key insights on the history of a genre. Take it or leave it, it commands respect, and that’s enough to get it on my roster. More to come, and this time, I look forward to it.

 

As a post script, here’s my latest rating scale, in ascending order.

 

Underrated (1/3): Important and underappreciated film, often unsuccessful at the time of release, due for further recognition. In other words, the kind of movie I would usually review…

 

Classic! (2/3): A recognized and influential film, successful both with its original audiences and later generations, arguably with dated or flawed elements.

 

Awesome!!! (3//3): A good film that’s popular and fun to watch, often regarded as “cult classic” or “so bad it’s good”, in some cases with underestimated quality and serious themes. So, also the kind of movie I would usually review.