Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979)

Werner Herzog's Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979) is a devoted recreation of and tribute to F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922), itself a seminal rendition of the legend of Dracula and perhaps the creepiest silent film (and some say the best Dracula film) ever made. The psychodynamic Klaus Kinski plays the eerily malevolent yet melancholy Count Dracula, whom menace precedes and pestilence follows. Understand that Nosferatu is no Die Hard, Lord of the Rings, or Incredible Hulk. Even so, this black-and-white film should grip you from its lingering opening scenes of naked human mummies and hold you, by its somnolent etherealness, through the journeys of realtor Jonathan Harker (Bruno Ganz) from his home in Wismar, Germany (actually Delft, The Netherlands) to and from Dracula's home in Transylvania, Romania (actually filmed in Czechoslovakia). There the hovering, seemingly conflicted Count attacks him after a bread-cutting mishap, ultimately sealing his doom among the living. The Count also desires Jonathan's wife Lucy Harker (Isabelle Adjani) as well as, apparently, all of western Europe in due time. Her town swiftly fallen under the sway of the Count, Lucy knows what she must do; she gives herself to it (slurp, slurp) and succeeds. It is not enough to arrest the Count's successor, however, so we have a sequel setup more than a tidy ending. (I had to rent this disc from a competing service since it has not been stocked by this service for two years. I also rented the twin version that was filmed in German, and I agree it feels more authentic because Kinski and other actors were speaking in their native tongue.) On the fun side, this movie may be the progenitor of the horror-movie don't-do-that list. (For example, 1) Never let yourself fall asleep within reach of a creepy, pallid, panting guy who has just sucked your blood. 2) When a boat full of rats and dead crewmen floats into your port, do not remove all the dead bodies and let all the rats run loose through your town.) It's interesting to note the Count's fangs, which are no Barnabas Collins-sized twincisor overbite but resemble one of those postage-stamp-sized plastic triangular paper clips or a too-tiny, two-tined bottle opener. Oh well, his stomach is clearly bigger than his eyeteeth. For technical factors, 4.5 stars, but for emotional impact, 4 stars.