Traducción Editorial De Una Crítica De Fotogramas Sobre El Estreno De 'Nosferatu'. El Fragmento Analiza Cómo Robert Eggers Reinterpreta El Cine De Terror Gótico Y El Expresionismo Alemán A Través De Una Puesta En Escena Salvaje Y Disciplinada
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Review of 'Nosferatu': the new film by the director of 'The Witch' and 'The Lighthouse' for lovers of gothic horror.
Robert Eggers follows in the footsteps of F.W. Murnau and Werner Herzog, resurrecting 'Nosferatu'—the father of all vampires—in a terrifying and deeply personal take on one of the greatest classics in cinema history
Seduction is a sickness, an esoteric spell. From its very prologue, this long-delayed adaptation of F.W. Murnau’s 1922 classic clearly aims to be an operatic take on desire and its aftermath—repulsion as the flip side of attraction and, of course, the pleasure/pain dynamic. That is why, unlike the insect-like Max Schreck of the original or Kinski in Herzog’s stimulating remake, the vampire here is no bug-like presence, but a Herculean mass, often moving through the shadows: a fantasy in the shape of Bill Skarsgård. The white worm that devours us, yet fulfills us, because that is what we crave. "Is Evil something that comes from the outside, or does it live within us?" asks Ellen—a torrid Lily-Rose Depp—in one of the high points of a film as wild as it is disciplined.
References to the Kabbalah, Agrippa, and Paracelsus show that Eggers knows and respects the occultist inspiration of the original, something that would have made its producer, Albin Grau, smile. Eggers plays with his audience, refusing to be labeled. He turns his work into an echo chamber between the seminal classic, Stoker's novel (of which it was an unacknowledged, bastard adaptation), and, consequently, Francis Ford Coppola’s extraordinary version, standing tall right alongside it. From these last two, he takes Professor Von Franz—a surrogate Van Helsing played by Dafoe, who, in a brilliant twist, had previously played Max Schreck in the curious Shadow of the Vampire.
The director gracefully pays tribute to the feverish poison of Expressionism, but his film is at its best—the gypsies' pagan ritual, Ellen's epileptic possessions—when it strays from the beaten path. Take that unsettling, brutal climax, the ultimate manifestation of intercourse as la petite mort, where Eggers nods to Zulawski’s Possession, to Buttgereit’s (another German, of course) Nekromantik 2, and… even to Aguirre’s Count Dracula's Great Love. Evil might not always win, but it always leaves us thirsty, craving more—just like this remarkable fusion of art-house cinema and blockbusting spectacle.