NOSFERATU THE VAMPYRE (1979)

A horror film should ideally terrify. Failing that, one might at least hope for a few light scares or intriguing themes that provide food for thought after the credits roll. Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre has none of these things. The titular vampire’s teeth may be sharp, but this vampire flick is unforgivably dull.

The film is a remake of the classic from German Expressionist cinema, Nosferatu (1922), a blatant rip-off of Bram Stoker’s seminal 1897 novel Dracula, itself a sensational work of Gothic horror that made the mythological ghoul a staple of the genre. In Herzog’s 1979 adaptation, Jonathan Harker (Bruno Ganz) ventures off to Transylvania, where he intends to sell Count Dracula (Klaus Kinski) a house in his hometown.

From there, things go wrong. There are so many red flags that I’m always amazed Jonathan sticks around: besides the Count’s grotesque appearance, the whole endeavour is clearly a bad idea. Before he wanders up into the Carpathian Mountains, the villagers warn him vehemently: “Don’t go up to the castle!”

This trope of the indigenous population’s fear of the location/person/establishment that our protagonist is dogmatically pursuing has become something of a stereotype in horror, and the effect has waned. Jonathan disregards their fervent pleas that he remain in their village. He reads a book he’s given about vampires and scoffs derisively. He’s not scared and, subsequently, neither are we. It all just feels like a big joke.

If it wasn’t all an elaborate gag, then the hammy acting style certainly doesn’t help matters. As Count Dracula stands in the doorway of Jonathan’s room late at night, Jonathan only looks concerned, yet he says nothing. Even as Dracula approaches, the unfortunate estate agent merely looks frightened, but never speaks, nor makes an attempt to move away. The whole sequence feels bizarre… but not frightening.

And that ultimately becomes the film’s central problem: it isn’t scary in the slightest. It doesn’t even unnerve (save for one particular scene), and it actually ends up being a very tedious watch. The dialogue is ridiculous, with a completely melodramatic style of delivery being employed to ensure the medieval language sounds believable. Unfortunately, this doesn’t work.

The film achieves a horror director’s worst nightmare: it’s unintentionally funny. In an attempt to capture the Gothic horror aesthetic, Herzog has Kinski running through an old German town with his cape billowing in the wind, hands held up in the air with his long fingernails pointing in all manner of directions. This is by no means unsettling; it merely looks silly.

In fact, it looks so ridiculous that you wonder what Herzog and his team were going for: did they consider this chilling? Not to mention that this was a character who had just arrived in town, and was attempting to blend in—didn’t he think this behaviour may have been at least a little conspicuous? Other scenes of this nature ensue, including the rabbit-toothed anaemic unloading coffins from the ship, looking back and forth incessantly to be sure he isn’t noticed.

It’s all a bit much. More’s the pity because the opening shot is genuinely disquieting: a series of ominous images are taken of the Mummies of Guanajuato, their exhumed faces providing a haunting look at our own mortality. Just as you’re getting ready to watch a classic horror film, the atmosphere is irrevocably damaged, and the film never regathers momentum—or seemingly even tries.

Even in opportunities when an ominous tone could easily be constructed, Herzog demonstrates little interest in doing so. This can be seen in several instances, but particularly during Count Dracula’s journey to Wismar. As the Captain writes about the strange disappearance of his crew, he never once sounds all that concerned; his phlegmatic demeanour induces disinterest in us. When he documents the foreboding occurrences down in his captain’s log, he seems perplexed, but not frightened.

This isn’t aided by Herzog’s direction. One can’t help but suspect that the New German Cinema director didn’t want to make a horror film at all: it’s apparent that Herzog was really invested in crafting another film worshipping the majesty of nature, a theme which has defined his work since his first adventure epic, Aguirre, The Wrath of God (1972). However, as he revels in the sublime, extolling the ethereal power of the natural world, we wonder why he’s chosen to adapt this story at all.

The music also reflects this thematic interest; it’s adventurous, not spooky. Occasionally, Herzog and Popol Vuh employ orchestral hymns, but more often than not, a triumphant score pervades. Moreover, the music stops and starts abruptly, negatively impacting maintaining a consistent tone. Overall, the soundscape contributes to a terrible lack of immersion, including the poor quality dubbing.

With all of this being said, a lot of the visuals are very striking. Jonathan walking off into the vast abyss of the Carpathian Mountains evokes the great works of Romantic poets, while the broken ruins of the castle on a hill at sunset are mesmerising. Paying homage to the original, Dracula’s giant silhouette looming over an entire house is lovely to see. Furthermore, the medieval aesthetic is generally well done, with rats teeming the streets and beautiful shots of Delft in the Netherlands.

Other supernatural concepts are visually expressed in a wonderfully foreboding way. Jonathan wanders through the castle which has an undeniably surreal quality, and his wife Lucy (Isabelle Adjani) dances on the beach. It’s all very avant-garde, which makes it feel out of place. Additionally, any enjoyment that could be found in these shots is soon squandered by weak acting.

Before I praise Jörg Schmidt-Reitwein’s cinematography too much, I should note that the shaky, handheld camera often makes whole sequences feel rather amateurish. What’s more, many scenes are very poorly lit, making the action onscreen difficult to see in its entirety, with ornately designed costumes disappearing into a fuzzy haze. This aspect is exacerbated by the work of editor Beate Mainka-Jellinghaus, who cuts to and from narrative interests with very little cohesion, occasionally making the film feel all over the place.

I was surprised by how much this critically acclaimed work feels like a TV Movie. Besides the beautifully shot sequences of Jonathan climbing to an unknown fate, the whole work feels a bit slapped together, which is a shame. It’s clear that Herzog—and the cast, too—have a great understanding of the themes that drive vampire narratives. Mortality, free will, and sexuality are all touched upon: “It is more painful not to die…” Dracula explains to Lucy, seemingly burdened by his own bloodlust. However, one cannot help but feel as though they’re not explored in earnest.

Unfortunately, Herzog’s script never makes the most of these weighty themes. The director also claimed to have provided an analysis of bourgeois ideology, with Count Dracula serving as an agent of chaotic change, disrupting the staid quality and social mores of the middle class. Unfortunately, the characters that populate Herzog’s own adaptation aren’t developed, meaning we never truly get an impression of what their values are. Instead, he seems satisfied to rely on the archetypes set out in the novel. While he makes some of his own alterations to the story, he never really goes beyond these prototypical characters in any meaningful way.

As previously mentioned, the performances are of their own kind: everyone is engaging in a histrionic style of performance that I don’t find particularly involving. The only truly brilliant performance belongs to Klaus Kinski, who creates the one arresting moment in the entire film: after he gets a taste of blood from Jonathan’s cut thumb, he paces after him across the room, incensed with bloodlust. It’s a genuinely frightening moment (even if he looks like a rabbit in human clothing), as you’re not sure what’s going to happen next. Regrettably, nothing does. They sit beside the fire as though nothing had just happened.

Herzog could be praised for the ending, which was at least original. His variation on the time-tested tale also provides Lucy with more agency as a character, which is interesting. While his reimagining of the novel’s finale could have worked, it ultimately feels like too much damage has been done. We don’t care about the characters (who are blueprints and nothing more) and we aren’t all that taken aback. As Herzog winks at his audience knowingly, we stare back with an unenthused expression.

The praise that Nosferatu the Vampyre receives has confused me. It’s a pale imitation of the original (paler even than the titular character). F.W Murnau’s film remains horrifying after a century, which means there’s no reason as to why Herzog couldn’t have achieved similar frights. He’s also a capable director, so it suggests that he simply wasn’t interested in doing so. Honestly, Glengarry Glen Ross (1992) is a more frightening depiction of life as a real estate agent.

Herzog was invested in creating a quasi-philosophical dramatisation of bourgeois sensibilities, perhaps comparing the permanence of nature and primal instinct to the transient reality of human civilisation, order, and stability. However, he should have chosen another story to explore those ideas. Because here, he doesn’t actually divulge anything of interest, and he’s crafted a horror film that feels like it’s playing at x0.75 speed. It’s not that it’s slow—there’s just nothing happening.

As a long-time fan of the horror genre, I usually can find something to appreciate in a horror flick, even if it doesn’t deliver on scares. However, a horror film that lacks both fright and atmosphere is a pretty bland affair. In truth, it isn’t really a horror film at all. Let’s hope Robert Eggers (The Witch) can improve upon the story with his imminent remake.

WEST GERMANY • FRANCE | 1979 | 107 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | GERMAN • ENGLISH • ROMANY

Cast & Crew

director: Werner Herzog.
writer: Werner Herzog (based on ‘Dracula’ by Bram Stoker & ‘Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens’ by F.W Murnau).
starring: Klaus Kinski, Isabelle Adjani, Bruno Ganz, Roland Topor, Walter Ladengast & Dan van Husen.