‘Nosferatu’: the ur-horror flick
Photo by Katherine Rountree
We were never supposed to see “Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror.” Released in 1922, the silent film was the first-ever screen adaptation of Bram Stoker’s novel “Dracula.” Problem was, Stoker’s widow refused to give director F. W. Murnau the rights to make the film at all.
Undeterred, Murnau made the movie anyway, altering some key details to try and pass it off as an original. “Nosferatu” takes place in 1830s Germany, not 1890s Britain, “vampire” becomes “nosferatu,” characters’ names were changed (Count Dracula is now Count Orlok, Jonathan Harker is Thomas Hutter and Mina is Ellen) and many secondary characters such as Lucy Westenra were omitted. The ending is different, too – the count dies from exposure to sunlight, not a stake through the heart. This movie originated the thought of daylight being lethal to vampires.
Besides those changes, “Nosferatu” is a very faithful adaptation of Stoker’s novel — a fact not lost on his widow. She sued for copyright infringement and won. The court ordered all copies of the film be destroyed. Thankfully for cinematic posterity, not all prints could be tracked down and the earliest film pirates (and one of the earliest cult followings in cinematic history) duplicated and distributed copies over the years, keeping “Nosferatu” alive.
Today, it’s considered a masterpiece of cinema. It’s Rotten Tomatoes’ best-reviewed horror film ever, but not because it sends people out of theaters in terror. In fact, the silent film-style overacting and corny dialogue cards virtually guarantee audiences will be giggling through the whole thing. As Roger Ebert said in his 1997 review, “It doesn’t scare us, but it haunts us.” Rarely in the history of film has a monster’s presence been as chilling as the nosferatu’s.
There are no handsome, suave vampires here. Max Schreck’s Count Orlok can barely pass for a human being. He’s tall and terribly thin, with pointed ears, claw-like fingers and long incisors that resemble a rat’s, not a bat’s. His huge eyes are always staring. Orlok, like Hannibal Lecter in “The Silence of the Lambs,” only blinks once onscreen. The nosferatu doesn’t even have to move or attack to send chills up the viewer’s spine. It’s inhuman – but not quite animalistic, either. It’s totally foreign.
The nosferatu doesn’t even need to be physically present to be frightening. Many of his scariest moments come when all we see is the creeping, spidery shadow of Orlok’s claws along the wall. It’s a timelessly scary image. The nosferatu brings out some laughs with silly actions, such as carrying a full-sized coffin in his arms for an extended period of time, but for the most part he’s terrifying.
A testament to Schreck’s performance is that he leaves such an impact after only nine minutes total screentime. Using images so sparingly is a device most modern filmmakers fail to understand – they think seamless makeup and special effects make monsters scary. But what’s scarier than a monster you don’t see? And this way, the audience never really gets accustomed to the nosferatu’s looks. He’s a shock every time.
Still, it might all have been straight-up corny if it weren’t for the music. At the Lucas Theater’s Halloween screening last week, the Silent Orchestra – keyboardist Carlos Garza and percussionist Rich O’Meara – performed their own updated score in front of the live “Nosferatu” audience. The duo, who have orchestrated music for many silent films, brought dynamic, powerful and eerie sound to the piece.
Mostly they played live, but they also used sound sampling at some points to make things weirder and more layered, as with the squeaking noises that accompany the rats and the tinkling spider tune. There were some places where the musicians improvised, too – they said in the Q&A after the screening that they always improvise in the scene that introduces Knock, this film’s Renfield expy.
The music was especially effective in the scenes where Orlock feeds on people. His stiff, weird movements aren’t very scary on their own, but accompanied with lightning-fast digital undertones and air-shattering drum crashes, they become something more. Silent Orchestra made “Nosferatu” live up to its secondary name – it was truly a symphony of horror.
