Robert Eggers’ 'Nosferatu' is a slow-burning descent into dread | The Haunted Column
Eggers, who earlier gave us 'The Witch' and 'The Lighthouse', once again shows his gift for creating worlds that feel eerily authentic. Shot in Prague’s Barrandov Studios, 'Nosferatu' pulls you into the 19th century with cobblestone streets, candlelit rooms, and Orlok’s decaying castle that seems alive with whispers of death.
Eggers, who earlier gave us 'The Witch' and 'The Lighthouse', once again shows his gift for creating worlds that feel eerily authentic. Shot in Prague’s Barrandov Studios, 'Nosferatu' pulls you into the 19th century with cobblestone streets, candlelit rooms, and Orlok’s decaying castle that seems alive with whispers of death.
Eggers, who earlier gave us 'The Witch' and 'The Lighthouse', once again shows his gift for creating worlds that feel eerily authentic. Shot in Prague’s Barrandov Studios, 'Nosferatu' pulls you into the 19th century with cobblestone streets, candlelit rooms, and Orlok’s decaying castle that seems alive with whispers of death.
There are horror films that give you quick scares, and then there are ones that creep under your skin and refuse to leave. Robert Eggers’ 'Nosferatu', released in 2024, firmly belongs to the second kind. It is not just a revival of the 1922 silent classic but a plunge into gothic terror, where every shadow, every flicker of candlelight, and every distant sound feels like it carries a presence.
The story is set in 1838 Germany. Thomas Hutter, a young estate agent played by Nicholas Hoult, travels to a remote and crumbling castle for work. His client is the mysterious Count Orlok. Bill Skarsgard plays the role with such unsettling detail that Orlok feels less like a character and more like a nightmare given form. What begins as a business trip soon spirals into a dark obsession, as Orlok turns his attention toward Thomas’s wife, Ellen, played with quiet strength by Lily-Rose Depp. From that moment, a cloud of dread spreads across their town of Wisborg.
Eggers, who earlier gave us 'The Witch' and 'The Lighthouse', once again shows his gift for creating worlds that feel eerily authentic. Shot in Prague’s Barrandov Studios, 'Nosferatu' pulls you into the 19th century with cobblestone streets, candlelit rooms, and Orlok’s decaying castle that seems alive with whispers of death. Each frame, captured by cinematographer Jarin Blaschke, has the richness of a painting, but one painted with shadow and fear.
The performances make the horror feel personal. Skarsgard’s Orlok is no charming vampire but a grotesque figure, twisted and frightening, yet carrying a strange sense of pity. His movements are unnatural, his very presence suffocating. Depp’s Ellen, on the other hand, gives the film its heart. She is not simply the object of Orlok’s hunger but a woman burdened by fear and destiny, her quiet resolve cutting through the gloom.
The music, composed by Robin Carolan, deepens the atmosphere. It does not try to dominate the film but seeps into it, with choirs, strings, and strange echoes that keep reminding us of the inevitable tragedy.
At its core, 'Nosferatu' is not about sudden frights. It is about dread that grows slowly, like a sickness you cannot shake. Eggers strips away the romanticism that later surrounded the vampire myth and restores Orlok to what he truly is: a monster that drains life, leaving nothing but ruin. The result is haunting, sorrowful, and strangely beautiful. Even after more than a century, this story still has the power to unsettle.