Jay

From the very first frame, Nosferatu does not merely demand attention, it beckons and seduces, it whispers like the gust brought forth from a ghost. This is no mere film, no hollow imitation of its sources century old shadow. No, it is an incantation, a summoning of something far greater, far darker, far more beautiful than I had hoped for on first viewing of thr initial trailer. It is rare in this age of moving pictures, to find a work so reverent of its origins, yet so absolute in its own right. This film is not a retelling, it is a resurrection. And through every lingering shot, every mournful note, the essence of Poe lingers. Not in name, nor in obvious verse, but in spirit and sorrow, in the very marrow of its being. Only those haunted by his words, those who have glimpsed beyond that veil into his mournful dreaming, shall see his subtle touch upon every frame. The performances! Bill Skarsgård does not merely play the Count, oh no he is the Count. A creature of sorrow, of hunger, of an agony that no mortal soul could ever imagine. He moves as if burdened by the weight of centuries, his eyes pools of suffering, his glance a whisper of the tip of darkness. And Lily-Rose Depp, how she does not merely stand in the light of her father’s name, but eclipses it entirely! She is ethereal, untouchable, yet so achingly human. A fragile candle in the storm, flickering and fighting, ever on the brink of being swallowed whole. The final act is a waltz of despair, reverence, of horror and romance intertwined so perfectly that one could scarcely tell where one ends and the other begins. The weight of it all presses upon my soul, and yet, in the devastation, in the heartbreak, there is an inexplicable warmth. A sense that something has been lost, yes sure, but something has also been preserved. Something sacred, something eternal. This is no mere horror film. This is poetry. This is the kind of film that shall sit in the cellars of the soul, untouched for years, only to be uncorked when the yearning becomes too great to sip its vintage. And when that time comes, when the dust is brushed away, it shall not have withered, it shall have deepened. It shall be richer, potent, and more intoxicating than before. A masterpiece? No, the word is too small and does this film a grave injustice. This is something greater. Something that shall linger, haunt, and never, ever be forgotten. A true forget-me-not of cinema. The original film, and this retelling stand side by side for another century and then some! 10/10, truly masterful cinema. To consider it boring like so many other have just proves how developed the film truly is.