Nosferatu (2024) [Review]
““It’s not for us to have shame – it’s for them””
In Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu, a young woman writhes and moans on the ground, legs spread, eyes rolled back, clutching her breast. At first glance, it seems like she’s in ecstasy, but it’s agony—or maybe both. Ecstasy and agony often intertwine. Think of depictions of the Virgin Mary in ecstatic reverie, eyes lifted heavenward. Isn’t there also pain in that divine moment? The line between what feels good and what is bad for us can be razor-thin—if it exists at all.
Eggers returns to themes of womanhood and repression, much like his 2015 film The Witch. Here, Ellen Hutter (played by Lily-Rose Depp) is caught in a “love” triangle with her husband Thomas (Nicholas Hoult) and the darkly compelling Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård). Ellen is a deeply sensitive, vulnerable woman, someone who’s never truly felt understood. In her loneliness as a young girl—she reached out for connection and found the sleeping Count Orlok. They bonded over their shared longing for companionship, but that connection came at a cost: years of shame for Ellen.
When Ellen marries Thomas, she finds some relief from her past burdens, yet she remains disconnected, carrying wounds from her childhood. When Orlok resurfaces in her homeland, their bond reignites. But it’s not a love story—it’s a tale of obsession, abuse, and guilt. For those of us who’ve endured childhood abuse, it feels heartbreakingly familiar.
I didn’t recognize myself as a victim of abuse until my twenties, when a friend pointed out that my relationship at 13 with a 30-year-old man was not consensual. I had believed I played an equal role in it—that I had “called” him to me. It wasn’t until much later that I realized I could never have understood the nature of such a relationship at that age. When Ellen recounts being found naked by her father and condemned as “sinful,” it resonated deeply with me. That judgment pushed her into a spiral of shame and repression. She became hypersexual, emotional, co-dependent, and rageful. In Ellen, I saw myself: a woman whose first encounter with “love” was abuse, leaving her to confuse the two ever since.
The demon Orlok serves as a chilling metaphor for abuse—a force that haunts, isolates, and burdens its victims with guilt. Like a plague, his presence spreads from person to person, house to house, with origins that remain shadowy and elusive. The only way to break free is to confront it in the light of day—to share your darkness and no longer let it fester in isolation.
The cast of Nosferatu is exceptional. Bill Skarsgård is unrecognizable as the Count, his voice and appearance so transformed that it’s hard to believe it’s him. Lily-Rose Depp’s performance recalls Isabelle Adjani’s in Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession; she transitions seamlessly from manic hysteria to frothing rage, then to tears and eerie laughter—all while maintaining the fragility of a porcelain doll on the verge of breaking. Willem Dafoe shines as Professor Albin Eberhart Von Franz, this film’s stand-in for Van Helsing.
The film’s production design is impeccable. Every frame feels like a painting, carefully composed and lit. Some scenes echo the original 1922 Nosferatu, while others nod to fine art, such as Francis Bacon’s “Study after Velázquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X.” Eggers’ love of history and meticulous attention to detail anchor the film in a sense of realism, making its horror all the more potent. It feels like a glimpse into a bygone era—a strange illness that began with a woman’s struggle against hysteria and ended in a plague, fading away as mysteriously as it appeared.
This film will undoubtedly inspire analysis and discussion, much like Eggers’ previous works. It’s a stunning addition to his gothic canon, and I can’t wait to see what era he explores next. On a personal level, I’m eager to hear how others connect with this film. For me, it struck a deeply personal chord. As a French hero once said, we don’t have to carry the shame. That burden belongs to the monsters who walk among us.
