Eggers’ movie is beautifully designed and very expensive. The sound is awesome, the costumes are lovely, the scenery (which looks to be actually fabricated) is very cool.
Other than that… well, it’s an adaptation of Dracula. Renfield’s there, the count, Von Helsing, Mina Harker, etc. They all go by different names here (just like they did in Murnau's 1922 horror film), and this is a film much more interested in desire, shame, lust, and satiety than Bram Stoker’s novel.
“I am an appetite. Nothing more” was my favorite line in Nosferatu, and I think it sums up what Eggers likes about this story. It's certainly a new approach to the material, one that is invested in our desire for the monster, our own love for the plague, for what terrifies us, for the abject. But I guess I wish I had felt some of that desire instead of simply being told about it or seeing that others experienced it. Maybe this is just me—my companion found the movie very erotic, but none of those feelings transferred to me. So while I know that’s what this Nosferatu is about, I don’t feel like it took me there.
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