By Alissa Wilkinson
“I’m unsure how one should act when pursued by a vampire, or during a demonic possession,” remarked Robert Eggers, his smile faint but his demeanor serious.
Not that he hasn’t contemplated it for quite a while. The writer and director’s initial encounter with “Nosferatu,” an iconic 1922 silent film by F.W. Murnau based on Bram Stoker’s “Dracula,” was through literature. As a child in New Hampshire, an image of Max Schreck as the vampire captivated him; as a teenager, he devised a stage rendition in, of all things, black and white. (The performers were painted monochromatically.)
This story isn’t particularly shocking if you’re familiar with Eggers’ filmography. At 41, he has produced three highly regarded feature films — “The Witch,” “The Lighthouse,” and “The Northman” — all interconnected by their sensibility: They’re historical, meticulously researched, and quite unusual, to say the least. Eggers thrives on detail, masterfully transporting his audience not just to a bygone era but immersing them into the psychological landscapes of his characters. Many historical films tend to portray individuals with modern mindsets dressed in period attire, narrating tales that resonate with today’s viewers. However, Eggers refuses to conform.
“Nosferatu” remained a fixture in his thoughts, even as he pursued other projects. Now, he has finally realized it, and the outcome, which premiered on Christmas Day, is quintessential Eggers. His vampire, Count Orlok, is far from the polished and alluring type; instead, he embodies a folk vampire, the animated yet decomposing corpse of a long-dead Transylvanian nobleman, portrayed in a surprising choice by 34-year-old Bill Skarsgard. Across vast distances, Orlok has developed a visceral and overtly erotic bond with Ellen (Lily-Rose Depp). Fortuitously for him, her husband, a lawyer (Nicholas Hoult), is dispatched to Orlok’s castle with documents that will render Orlok the proprietor and resident of a dwelling near Ellen.
Visiting from London, where he resides, Eggers met me for lunch at the aptly named Whitby Hotel in midtown Manhattan. (The English town of Whitby is noted as Stoker’s inspiration for “Dracula.”) He exuded thoughtfulness, perhaps a bit hesitant to translate his creative impulses into spoken words. This project clearly took root deep within his psyche.
These are edited excerpts from our dialogue.
Q: All your films explore themes of female desire disrupting the world. The typical modern twist on any narrative featuring women and desire tends to be celebratory feminism, advocating for the downfall of the patriarchy. However, you approach it differently.
A: Ellen doesn’t don her husband’s trousers and leap onto the horse to stake the vampire. Nevertheless, it’s undeniable that she’s a female character with considerable agency. Simultaneously, she’s also a victim. Yet, she’s as much a product of 19th-century society as she is of the vampire itself.
Much discussion centers on Lily-Rose Depp’s character’s sexual longing, which is a substantial aspect of her journey — being constrained, corseted, bound to the bed, and silenced with ether. Misunderstood and misdiagnosed. Yet, it goes deeper. She possesses an intrinsic insight into the darker facets of our world that she lacks the vocabulary to express. Her gift and strength exist in an environment poorly suited for their development, which is profoundly tragic. Ultimately, she makes the ultimate sacrifice, allowing her to reclaim this power through death.
There’s extensive literary analysis discussing how Victorian male authors create strong female characters with deep understanding and dark energy, only to ultimately punish them — often with death, unconsciously. While that critique holds merit, I’ve encountered feminist literary discussions that note the intriguing paradox of a repressed Victorian society where, time and again, the archetype needing to be realized in the patriarchal imagination is a woman who comprehends darkness, sexuality, and earth wisdom, meant to be the culture’s savior.
Q: In your film, Orlok is a folk vampire, a corpse, perhaps not what audiences might anticipate. You and I grew up amidst the sexy pop culture vampires, blending death with allure and desire. Yet you’ve distinctly separated them — depicting death and sex, but devoid of seduction. I can’t imagine anyone being enamored with Orlok.
A: The appeal may depend on how much of Depp’s character resonates with your own traits. But yes. Orlok won’t be featured on posters next to Edward Cullen or Justin Bieber.
Q: Is it difficult to shape that character for an audience that anticipates a certain magnetism from vampires?
A: It’s exhilarating. One reason I enjoy exploring these historical contexts is to uncover their fundamental elements. Early folk vampires, when exhumed, often exhibited erections. This occurs as part of the decomposition process, but the community involved in these excavation rituals interpreted it as, okay, this guy’s up to [expletive]. Moreover, early Balkan folklore contains even richer examples of eroticism associated with vampires.
I also cast a young, handsome actor, rather than resurrecting Christopher Lee’s deceased form for a puppet role. Because, on some level, everyone is aware of what resides beneath [the Orlok costume]. In theory, I should oppose this idea since what appears on screen should be all that matters, but I believe it may psychologically assist the audience.
Q: I didn’t even realize Bill [Skarsgard] portrayed Orlok until after watching the film. I expected something somewhat suave, even in decay. But it’s as though there are maggots beneath his skin.
A: Indeed, Bill had real maggots on him.
Q: Did you ever contemplate shooting this in black and white?
A: I never desired to do so. This film is rooted in romanticism, not expressionism — and has been masterfully accomplished in black and white previously! Of course, it’s quite desaturated, and I think some scenes possess strength in depicting a color-drained world, even in color. Additionally, even if I wanted to, it’s too costly. The budget is already high. The studio can’t sustain all its TV arrangements.
Many people describe my films as stylized. However, aside from the fairy tale aspects, it’s not meant to be stylized. I rehearse excessively, aiming for it to be ingrained in the actors’ muscle memory, so it doesn’t feel like hitting marks. In expressionist cinema, one is acutely aware of the artifice since it stylizes the world in a completely unrealistic manner. In this case — I’m weary of discussing my research, but the authenticity of the material world is paramount to me.
Q: This could be seen as a Christmas movie, not just due to its release timing.
A: Yes, it unfolds during the Christmas season, featuring a Christmas tree. There’s also a music box that plays “O Tannenbaum,” and it’s snowing.
Q: It reminds me of my preferred Christmas songs, which delve into darkness, the woods, and eerie events.
A: “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” features the devil, thank goodness.
Q: Your films compel me to reflect on the transformation of myths and archetypes across cultures and periods. The Christmas narrative revolves around a virgin sacrificing her own body to bring forth the Savior. “Nosferatu” presents an almost inverted version of that theme.
A: Ho ho ho.
Q: The characters mention the “cock crowing,” and a trial lasting three nights — all these nuances linking to biblical imagery. How heavily do you weigh this aspect while writing?
A: I likely dwell on it a tad too extensively.
Q: Is that even feasible?
A: It raises the question of how self-aware one desires to be. Your creations will invariably be interpreted through varying lenses. When seeking with a hammer, everything appears as a nail, you know.
Q: When you create, do you consider beauty? The final shot possesses beauty despite its grotesqueness.
A: I reflect on the notion of beauty. There is death in that shot, alongside lilacs and sunrays, and it’s all quite lovely.
When we positioned Bill in the coffin for the significant reveal in the crypt, the body, decay, the blood beneath the skin, the veins — I approached David [White], the prosthetics designer, and remarked, that is beautiful. It’s also a decomposing, festering corpse with maggots. But it offers a striking interpretation of death and power. Even though this vampire is vile, Bill infuses beauty into his performance — grace, emotion.
Q: Indeed. Not in a gentle or decorative manner.
A: Someone once compared Murnau’s work to Gothic architecture. Not surprisingly, I much prefer the aesthetics of the Northern Renaissance compared to the Italian Renaissance. I genuinely find Raphael’s paintings atrocious. They are excessively sentimental. Taking shots at Raphael!
Q: You do feature that stunning dawn sky at the conclusion.
A: I must include a beautiful sunrise at the end. Murnau’s film is often credited with perpetuating the myth that sunlight can destroy a vampire. However, in folklore, it’s actually stated that the vampire must be in their grave by the first cock crow. So it’s the purity of dawn that ultimately defeats him.
