ilent film director F.W. Murnau (Malkovich) is passionate about his work. He believes in the power of motion pictures to revolutionize art, creating memories that won't fade with time. But how far will he go to prove his point?
The year is 1922. Murnau wants to transcend German Expressionism and carry his own stylishly realistic approach to new levels. He has a script based on Dracula, the famous novel and play, and a producer (Kier) with the money to shoot on location. Unable to obtain the rights from Bram Stoker's widow, the director changes the vampire's name to Orlock and retitles the film Nosferatu. How can he resist? He has already signed his lead, Max Schreck (Dafoe), rumored to have studied with Stanislavksi. This eerily authentic actor is so immersed in his role that he will only perform after dark, always appears in full makeup and must be addressed by his character name at all times.
The crew is spooked by Schreck, who never eats and seems oddly at home in these dank castles and inns. When his cinematographer suffers a mysterious accident, Murnau must fly back to Berlin for a replacement (Elwes); by the time he returns, morale is dangerously low. Some of the company have disappeared, and all are unhinged by Schreck's method acting.
And for good reason--it isn't an act. Murnau found a genuine vampire to portray Orlock/Dracula, promising that the bloodsucker could have his way with the leading lady (McCormack) once the production wraps. But the long-undead Schreck is too hungry to wait. The climax reveals just how far an obsessed director is willing to go to get the footage he needs.
A classic begets another classic
This is not a remake of Murnau's film but a delicious trope, a true feast for horror fans and movie buffs. A highly entertaining mix of fact and fiction, it raises serious issues about the intersection of art and life.
Murnau's silent classics include The Last Laugh, Sunrise and Tabu, but Nosferatu is his most enduring. Stoker's widow blocked its release for years, finally obtaining a court order that the negative and prints be destroyed. Some were not, however, and this earliest surviving Dracula became a landmark of world cinema. Both Werner Herzog's 1979 remake and Francis Coppola's 1992 production of Bram Stoker's Dracula were clearly influenced by Murnau's surreal style and imagery.
Malkovich is convincingly dour and single-minded as the director. Udo Kier, best remembered as Andy Warhol's Dracula and Dr. Frankenstein, seems right at home. A superbly made-up Dafoe, who once portrayed Jesus, is unrecognizable as himself but dead-on as Schreck, in reality an accomplished stage and screen actor.
Like Gods and Monsters, which transported us to the set of James Whale's Frankenstein, this film restages Murnau's claustrophobic scenes with uncanny accuracy. Director Merhige's pace is patient and stately, in keeping with the original, and the mood evocative thanks to Lou Bogue's available-light photography, in full color and widescreen. Brief glimpses of decadent Berlin nightlife, morphine and laudanum use and the suggestion of sexual debauchery add a dark edge. The final scene, in which Nosferatu is to be destroyed by sunlight on-camera after a night with his leading lady, is hair-raising, outrageous and blackly comic, and leaves haunting questions about the price of art for art's sake.
