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Newlywed realtor Jonathan Harker is told by his employer, Mr. Renfield, that he must leave his new bride, Lucy, and travel to Transylvania in order to sell a house to an enigmatic hermit known as The Count. When Jonathan arrives in Transylvania, he is told by many locals to turn back from his journey, as the Count is a dangerous man. Nevertheless, Jonathan heads to the Count's home and makes the sale rather quickly after the Count sees a picture of Jonathan's wife. Soon The Count holds Jonathan prisoner and heads to his new home, bringing with him rats carrying a plague and an insatiable desire for Lucy.
Over the years, I’m certain that I’ve seen about 10 different versions of the classic Dracula tale. From the original 1922 F.W. Murnau film “Nosferatu†through to Francis Ford Coppola’s modern re-telling, “Bram Stoker’s Draculaâ€, each has had their benefits and drawbacks while retaining the crux of the original source material. However, until I had seen Werner Herzog’s 1979 version, Nosferatu the Vampyre, I was sure I had never seen the tale told so superbly. Rather than rely on special effects, CGI or gore, Herzog’s film instead simply chooses to force the sum of its parts onto the viewer, leaving them facing the unbelievable as if it were really happening in front of them. At once a dream and a nightmare, the film is strange, confusing, bizarre, eerie and ominous among many other things best left to the imagination. While its slow pace and minimal dialogue may be off-putting to some, those that plumb its depths will find that it is quite simply the best realization of the Bram Stoker tale to date, and I highly doubt any in the future will challenge its claim to that title.
Acclaimed German director Werner Herzog had already made several critically successful films at this point in his career, among them Aguirre, the Wrath of God (considered a direct influence on Coppola’s Apocalypse Now) and Stroszek (often cited as one of the funniest films ever made) when he set out to tackle this “remake†of Murnau’s classic 1922 film. However, a director with Herzog’s pure talent and unique mindset could not possibly come up with a remake in the strictest sense, and so outside of a few moments and locations, this film is nothing like the one on which it is based. Herzog’s brilliance is seen in every facet here, from his absolute mastery of shot composition to the cold and dark atmosphere that he creates throughout. This is a film that definitely gives off that feeling of impending doom, although when it finally comes it proves to be quite different than what the audience expects. Herzog’s style of shooting this film certainly makes one feel uneasy while watching it, but at the same time it remains impossible to forget after its conclusion, a true piece of film poetry from one of the unbridled masters of the craft.
Speaking of masters of the craft, Herzog cast his frequent collaborator Klaus Kinski in the role of Dracula, a true master stroke as he instantly makes the role his own. Kinski and Herzog’s tumultuous relationship is the stuff of film legend (at one point Herzog threatened to shoot Kinski if he walked off the set of another movie they were working on) but none who have seen their works can deny that the two were at their best when together. Here Kinski simply turns in the best Dracula performance I’ve seen to date, giving him a somber air and a deep sadness hidden just behind his dark eyes. This is not a man who revels in his condition but rather detests it due to it being unable to provide him with the one thing he cherishes most; life itself. Meanwhile, the object of his affection, Lucy Harker, is played with a strong emotional balance by the beautiful actress Isabelle Adjani. She is very complimentary to both Dracula and Jonathan Harker, played well by Bruno Ganz. Finally, oddball French writer/painter Roland Topor turns in a whimsically insane performance as Renfield that simply has to be seen to be appreciated.
As I mentioned earlier, atmosphere is the key to this film’s immense strength, and perhaps no greater scene exists than the Count's arrival in Wismar. His ship slowly enters the sleepy town and then stops, a dead man tied to the steering wheel and a light, wispy fog prevails throughout. Compare this to Coppola’s handling of a similar sequence in his version, where he not only chooses to splash blood all over the ship but also to have bombastic music playing in the background. Herzog doesn’t need to rely on any of this trickery, his shot speaks for itself and the silence as the ship floats into the town is much scarier than any horror score could be. I think that’s the main thing that sets this version of Dracula apart from all the others; it is the only one that doesn’t attempt to conform to the standard definition of what a horror film should be. It is extremely original, a minimalist period piece that sustains a pointed atmosphere and a methodical pace, not a genre film trying to impress with tropes and cliches. Absolutely brilliant in every possible way, Nosferatu the Vampyre should be required viewing for people who truly wish to be scared while watching films; it’ll do the trick more than once and will surely haunt your dreams for quite some time afterwards. 9/10