(This review pertains to the BFI UK Blu-ray release on Region 2 format)
By Paul Risker
When François Truffaut ordained Werner Herzog, “The most
important filmmaker alive†wisdom would have suggested that there was not one film
within his body of work to stand out as his most important. Only a body of work
threaded together with consistency; a combination of great filmic works would
warrant such a claim.
Following
the infliction of National Socialism on the German artistic tradition and
consciousness, Nosferatu the Vampyre is Werner Herzog reaching into the past to
reconnect with his true cinematic roots. The film that he looked to was not
only a masterpiece of German Expressionism, but more broadly of cinema – F.W.
Murnau’s Nosferatu. If Truffaut ordained Werner Herzog to be “The most
important filmmaker alive†then Nosferatu the Vampyre is the arguably the
filmmaker’s most important for this single reason.
In
1979, on the Herzogian moors a strange creature was sighted - a genre picture
in the shadow of the vampyre. As recently as 2009 another similar breed of
creature was spotted - Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. The latter has
struggled to escape the shadow of Herzog’s earlier genre masterpiece, which
remains masterful example of a director turning his hand to genre. Alongside
Bad Lieutenant, Nosferatu establishes him as a filmmaker with multiple creative
identities, mining art house, documentary and genre to carve out his cinematic
landscape.
Herzog
opens his vampyre tale to a series of haunting pictorial and musical beats. It
is difficult to imagine the pan of mummies as existing separate of the music -
the two fused together in a dance of death. The music echoes like the tragic
voices of the living that are in a state of desperation and terror, before
their cries are interrupted by the bat riding the evocative musical waves. But
the terror is not death; rather it is the living dead – a frightening version
of a mongrel creature trapped between life and death.
Klaus
Kinski, along with the other cast of actors to walk in the shadow of the
undead, highlights the Shakespearean shades of Stoker’s Dracula that is open to
interpretation. Herzog’s film possesses a sensuality that, aside from Murnau’s
Nosferatu, is perhaps absent in the others. Alongside Schreck’s creature of the
night, Kinski creates a monstrous incarnation that is surreal and sensual when
compared to the sexual predators of later years. The journey of Dracula on
screen is a journey of sensuality versus sexuality and the sensual ode to life
versus the emphasis on sexual seduction.
Seven
years on from Aguirre, Wrath of God, Nosferatu finds Herzog working within a
more rigid narrative structure, and yet his attention appears to still be drawn
to the experience. He continues to create a distinct sense of feeling that has
become a trademark of his cinema - an aura that surrounds his films that
resemble the medieval spires of a cathedral that reach into the sky, and which
are hard to miss on the cinematic horizon. The narrative unfolds slowly in
moments, affording itself the opportunity to appreciate the landscape,
especially in those scenes where Jonathan Harker (Bruno Ganz) makes his way
through the hills and mountains to Count Orlok’s (Klaus Kinski’s) residence.
Shot
to the operatic sound of Wagner, the landscape becomes a character that recalls
the importance of space in Herzog’s cinema. Yet more significantly, this
spatial aesthetic contributes to a meditation of man versus nature, and which
depicts man and the vampyre as a mere extension. Perhaps Herzog’s Nosferatu
unearths the idea of the cyclic nature of life, death and rebirth, where the
grandiose images of the landscape form the backdrop of a journey that sets us
the protagonists against our supernatural antagonists. The urban wilderness and
the expansive waters that link continents are a backdrop we pale in comparison
to, yet we define the narratives that exist in the foreground of the image.
Bruno Ganz matches Kinski’s physical onscreen presence in a
performance that begins with a sprightly step before spiralling into
deterioration and rebirth. Meanwhile Isabelle Adjani as the pale lady is almost
responsible for a collision between the telepathically connected vampire and
spectre. As in Possession only two years later, Adjani shows a propensity to
walk out to the edge of the cliff and hold herself on the brink between life
and death, the emotions of the performance teetering on a knife edge between
outpouring and restraint. Three celebrated actors who each possess a
transformative quality that imbues the film with a surreal, sensual and
evocative identity that comes directly from the beating or silent hearts of its
characters, and radiates outward to infect sound and image.
Nosferatu remains only second to Murnau's earlier masterpiece, but it's patient and sensual feel betray its European roots. Compared to the extras that made the Aguirre, Wrath of God disc shine, the BFI have struggled to make this package as in-depth. However, Herzog's commentary (moderated by Norman Hill) restores faith in the reason for audio commentaries in general, as he once again takes you into the human experience of the making of the film. The original 1979 on-set promotional film offers anecdotes and insights that are missing from the audio commentary, with candid footage in which both writer-director Herzog and star Klaus Kinski take centre stage. If Herzog's words take you behind the film, this supplementary additional feature offers some fascinating visuals as well. Inevitably there are the standard features such as original theatrical trailer and stills gallery but the illustrated booklet comes with a thoughtful newly written essay by acclaimed composer Laurie Johnson that offers an interesting perspective on this classic European genre picture. Most ironic, perhaps, is the white design of the limited edition Steelbook, when one considers that Nosferatu is a tale of darkness that is centred on a creature that lurks in the shadows.
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