Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu” is a fantastical and seductive resurrection of an old favorite that stirs a whole new flavor of evil into the vampire’s near century-old legacy. I’d been  hearing rumors of an Eggers-directed “Nosferatu” for years, so I was over the moon when I learned that it was finally coming to fruition 

Reboots are tough, especially when the predecessor (two, in this case – F.W. Murnau’s 1929 silent film and Werner Herzog’s 1979 follow-up) casts such a towering shadow, but that  didn’t hinder Eggers from planting his stake — no pun intended – in this legendary heirloom of  cinema with graceful vigor.  

The film will likely be remembered first and foremost for its hellaciously enchanting  cinematography. “Nosferatu” fuses a neon hellscape of floral, melancholy color schemes with shadows, silhouettes, and haunting natural light. It’s tender and hypnotic, and it sinks its fangs  into you right off the bat (both puns intended).  

There’s plenty to be said about what this movie does with color, but the integration of darkness into the overall scenic palette is what I found most fascinating. Historically speaking,  I’ve always thought that the “total dark” trend in movies and TV was incredibly annoying, but  it actually plays a crucial role in “Nosferatu”. 

We see mostly shadows at times because Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård) can only exist in  the dark. More than once, his shadow actually seems to take corporeal form, cleverly toying  with facets of space and time. 

But let’s talk about the first time we actually see the vampire (“see” being a loose term in  this case). When Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult) arrives at Count Orlok’s Transylvanian  estate, spiring candles and a blazing fire in a blanket of otherwise total blackness are the only  sources of light. Though Orlok’s face is hardly discernable, you know you’re in the presence of  something massive and malevolent. The booming echo of his thunderous voice through an inky  cloud of night commands the space in ways that visuals alone cannot.  

It’s one of the most daunting, doom-laden things I’ve ever seen. 

Eggers tactfully prods at our patience throughout the film with tortuous anticipation  tactics, teasing us with flickering glimpses of what refuses to be seen. That being said, you’re never so smothered by the darkness that you can’t make out what you’re looking at, so it’s kind  of the perfect balance.  

Wherever there is dark, there is Nosferatu. Even when he’s not present on screen, we  FEEL his presence. It’s a rhetorical tool that both compounds the viewing experience for the  audience and highlights the constant state of existential unrest to which protagonist Ellen  Hutter (Lilly-Rose Depp) is doomed.  

In the film, Ellen is tormented by nightmares and premonitions that point to a sinister  connection between herself and Count Orlok — one that, as she comes to find out, stretches back  years.

Depp’s performance is bewitching, erotic, and completely feral. She totally devotes  herself to the role and grants an irreplicable singularity to the film’s refurbished yet well preserved storyline. Nothing about her execution feels feigned or overly concocted, and it’s definitely something you need to see to fully grasp the magnitude of.  

While Bill Skarkgård proved to be a more than formidable 21st century Nosferatu, the  show is really stolen by Depp and Willem Dafoe, both of whom bring a whole other kind of  magnetism to the screen. 

(*Remember that Dafoe appeared alongside Depp’s father almost 40 years ago in one  of the latter’s first ever major roles. Pretty wild*). 

Dafoe’s character, Professor Albin Eberhart von Franz, is the deranged scientist turned  exorcist whose unorthodox methods of combating metaphysical threats become poor Ellen’s  solitary hope for salvation. 

Watching the two interact is a marvel. Their on-screen chemistry is electric, and it  likely won’t be the last time they wind up on a casting list together.  

“Nosferatu” is a harrowing work of doom that invokes in the viewer something many  films strive for but rarely ever achieve. I don’t know if it’s fear or dread or enthrallment or  something else entirely, but whatever it is, it works.  

Its thematic exploration of mankind’s perpetual state of malice that is both mortal and  everlasting bleeds into the cinematic framework in wildly creative ways, and there’s a good  chance that this will be chronicled as Robert Eggers’ best film to date. 

One thing is certain above all else though:  

That was the greatest vampire death in cinema history.