By Wayne H. Johnson Jr.

From the opening moments of Robert Eggers' Nosferatu, I was captivated. Eggers takes us on a journey both familiar and fresh, weaving together the bones of Bram Stoker's original Dracula story with clever twists that keep us guessing until the end. Eggers’ genius lies in his ability to both honor the past and reinvent it. The film brims with nods to earlier versions of Nosferatu, including shadowed hands creeping along walls and grotesque, exaggerated movements, while adding his unique perspective that elevates the story.

Count Orlok, portrayed with grotesque brilliance by Bill Skarsgård, is as horrifying as a vampire should be—a literal rotting corpse, vile and revolting. His grotesqueness is matched by the film’s visceral use of blood and gore, creating a palpable sense of dread and disgust. But Eggers doesn’t stop at surface-level horror; his dialogue, steeped in the language of 19th-century literature, roots the story in its era while allowing moments of bizarre humor and subtle character-breaking to punctuate the tension.

One particularly grounded and relatable moment involves the protagonists squatting at a friend’s house amidst the chaos, only to be promptly kicked out and sent back to their own crumbling home. It’s a small but clever injection of realism, reminding us that even in gothic horror, human nature is absurd and flawed.

What elevates Nosferatu beyond its technical mastery, however, is its rich theological and philosophical undertones. Like Eggers' earlier works—The Witch and The Northman—this film asserts that the spiritual realm is real, rejecting Enlightenment ideals that reduce existence to mere matter and chemical reactions. In Nosferatu, evil is not just metaphorical or psychological—it is a tangible, external force that infiltrates and corrupts.

The question at the film’s core—“Does evil come from within us or from without?”—is articulated through the tragic arc of Professor Albin Eberhart von Franz, who seems paralyzed by the sheer weight of this realization. The film draws an explicit parallel to the Adam and Eve story, with Anna Harding embodying the Eve archetype. Anna’s loneliness invites destruction into the world, a poignant reflection of humanity’s tendency to let the cracks in our hearts become the gateways for darkness.

Among the ensemble, Thomas Hutter emerges as the most tragic figure. His unwavering attempt to please his wife, despite his awareness of Anna’s deteriorating mental state and eventual demonic possession, leads to his downfall. Hutter’s failure to confront evil—whether from cowardice or the Enlightenment’s denial of the supernatural—costs him his family, his sanity, and his life. His tragedy underscores the film’s grim warning: ignoring the reality of evil, whether internal or external, invites ruin.

From a filmmaker’s perspective, I was enthralled by Eggers' cinematic techniques. His use of panning shots—pulling away to reveal the abyss lurking just beyond the characters’ sight—transforms the darkness into a living, breathing entity. Much like The Conjuring, the dark corners of this film feel alive, harboring unspeakable horrors. The editing, with its seamless transitions through match cuts of darkness and light, creates an ethereal sense of movement between spaces while maintaining an oppressive atmosphere.

Ultimately, what struck me most was the subtext. Evil exists both within and outside of us, and failure to recognize it—whether through ignorance or delusion—leads to madness and destruction. Eggers challenges us to confront the darker truths of our existence, reminding us of the high stakes of willful blindness to the malevolent forces at play.

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About the Author

‍Wayne H. Johnson Jr. is an Award-winning filmmaker, writer, and professional game master. With a career spanning over 25 years, Wayne has worked with industry giants such as Amazon Studios, Netflix, and Universal. Known for his visionary storytelling and passion for exploring the intersection of history, theology, and science fiction, Wayne continues to captivate audiences through film, tabletop role-playing games, and immersive narratives. Currently, he serves as Creative Director & Game Designer at Man of Ages, helping storytellers unlock the full potential of their creative visions.