Bill Skarsgård has a knack for embodying iconic horror figures, and his portrayal of Count Orlok in Robert Eggers' Nosferatu remake is no exception. However, while modern audiences eagerly anticipate the 2024 adaptation, today we delve into the haunting legacy of the original Nosferatu from 1922—a film deeply tied to Berlin and German cinema history.
Public Domain
The Birth of a Horror Icon
Nosferatu: Eine Symphonie des Grauens (A Symphony of Horror) was the sole production of the Berlin-based Prana Film, a company founded by Enrico Dieckmann and Albin Grau. Prana’s ambition was to create a vampire story inspired by Bram Stoker’s Dracula. However, rather than obtaining the rights, the filmmakers made small but deliberate changes to names and settings to avoid legal trouble. Count Dracula became Count Orlok, and the setting shifted from England to Germany.
The names themselves hold a chilling allure. The word “Nosferatu” was popularized in the late 19th century, particularly by works like Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Emily Gerard’s travelogue on Romanian folklore. While often thought to be a Romanian term for “vampire,” the word likely originates from the Romanian nesuferit, meaning “insufferable” or “offensive.” Count Orlok’s name, meanwhile, has no historical precedent but is phonetically sinister, evoking darkness and decay.
In 1921, filming took place in various German locations, including Wismar and Lübeck. Berlin played a pivotal role, with scenes shot in the Tegeler Forest and a silent film studio in Johannisthal. These choices anchored the film in the cultural and visual language of German Expressionism, adding to its otherworldly aesthetic.
A Premature Celebration
The premiere of Nosferatu in March 1922 was a grand affair, held in Berlin’s Marble Hall at the Berlin Zoo. Themed as a historical costume party, guests donned Biedermeier-era attire to match the film’s period setting. But despite this glamorous debut, Nosferatu initially failed to find commercial success.
Germany’s largest film studio, UFA, refused to screen it, deeming the occult themes and the niche horror genre a risky venture. Furthermore, Bram Stoker’s widow, Florence Stoker, filed a lawsuit over copyright infringement. Despite the company’s attempt to disguise its source material with name changes, the German court ruled in her favor.
The ruling was devastating: all copies of Nosferatu were ordered to be destroyed. For a small production company like Prana Film, this spelled financial ruin. The company dissolved shortly afterward, leaving Nosferatu as its only creation.
However, cinema has a way of defying the odds. By the time of the court’s ruling, several copies of the film had already been distributed internationally. These rogue prints ensured the survival of Nosferatu, transforming it into a lost treasure of early cinema. Over decades, these surviving reels were painstakingly restored, allowing the film to emerge as a cornerstone of horror history.
The Film That Refused to Die
Despite the court’s ruling, several copies of Nosferatu survived, scattered across Europe. These surviving prints ensured the film’s place in cinematic history. Over time, the movie gained international recognition, particularly after World War II, when it entered the public domain and became a defining work of horror cinema. It became a cornerstone of cinematic horror, setting the template for decades of vampire lore.
Berlin, as the city where the production company was headquartered and where key scenes were filmed, remains central to Nosferatu’s legacy. The city’s role in fostering avant-garde cinema and Expressionism made it the perfect backdrop for a film as bold and eerie as Nosferatu.
A Cultural Legacy
The shadowy figure of Count Orlok ascending a staircase, his elongated fingers casting ominous silhouettes, has become one of the most iconic images in film history. Beyond its artistic contributions, Nosferatu was the first vampire film to establish the now-standard trope of sunlight being lethal to vampires.
The film’s themes—fear of the “Other,” plagues, and invasion—reflect the anxieties of post-World War I Germany. While some have debated whether the film harbors antisemitic undertones, others argue that its creators, including director F.W. Murnau, were unlikely to have deliberately included such messaging.
Berlin: The Birthplace of Horror
As Nosferatu solidifies its status as a horror classic, Berlin’s role in its creation cannot be overstated. The city not only provided the infrastructure for its production but also shaped the creative environment that allowed such a groundbreaking film to emerge.
With Robert Eggers’ 2024 remake garnering attention, it’s fitting that Berlin hosted its world premiere. A century after its inception, the story of Nosferatu has come full circle, continuing to cast its long shadow over the history of cinema.
Whether you’re a fan of the eerie original or looking forward to the modern reimagining, one thing is clear: Nosferatu’s roots in Berlin remain as haunting as ever.
Where is F.W. Murnau’s Grave?
F.W. Murnau, the visionary director behind Nosferatu, passed away in 1931 at the age of 42. His funeral, held in Berlin, was attended by some of the most celebrated figures in cinema, a testament to his profound impact on the industry. Murnau was laid to rest in the family plot at Stahnsdorf South-Western Cemetery, just outside Berlin. Over the decades, his grave became a pilgrimage site for film enthusiasts, drawn to honor the legacy of the "father of horror."
However, this iconic resting place gained infamy in 2015 due to a grim act of vandalism: Murnau’s skull was stolen from his grave. Despite investigations, the skull was never recovered, leaving the incident shrouded in mystery. The theft only added to the mythos surrounding the man whose work forever shaped the horror genre.
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