Nosferatu (1922) Review: Breathtaking Horror

Nosferatu (1922) is a haunting silent classic that shaped the beginning of horror cinema with its chilling atmosphere and iconic imagery.

Count Orlok, with his eerie appearance and thirst for blood, descends upon Hutter’s town, leaving a path of terror in his wake. Nosferatu doesn’t merely recount a vampire tale; it immerses viewers in a waking nightmare, one that went on to shape the very fabric of horror.

One of Nosferatu’s greatest strengths is its atmospheric simplicity. The film’s silent format, freedom of dialogue and reliance on visuals creates an experience that feels universal, almost primal. The character of Count Orlok, in a performance so eerie people on set started to believe he was a real vampire, epitomizes this. Orlok’s appearance alone is unforgettable: his elongated fingers, rodent-like teeth, and sunken, hollow eyes make him less of a man and more of a specter. There’s a subtlety in the horror he embodies, moving through shadows rather than appearing in violent flashes. This approach to character design became a blueprint for how horror could terrify without showing too much, influencing films such as Dracula (1931), where Bela Lugosi’s restrained menace echoes Orlok’s presence, and later shaping the understated terror of modern horror icons like The Babadook or It Follows.

Take, for instance, the scene where Orlok rises from his coffin in the ship’s hull, in what has become one of the film’s most iconic moments. This moment occurs during Hutter’s voyage back home, after Count Orlok has boarded a ship bound for Hutter’s town. In one of the most memorable sequences, the ship’s crew begins to vanish mysteriously, and Orlok’s true nature is revealed. His body rises straight up, rigid and unnatural, defying the laws of physics. This simple yet deeply unsettling visual embodies the supernatural nature of the character without any need for elaborate effects or explanations. It’s a scene that remains etched in viewers’ minds, a haunting reminder that true terror lies in what we can’t rationalize.

Murnau’s genius lies not only in his storytelling but in his groundbreaking technical approach. He used exaggerated angles, high-contrast lighting, and shadow play to create a world that feels alive with dread. Murnau uses shadows in a deliberate way. In one particular scene, we see Orlok’s shadow ascending a staircase, his hands stretched out toward an unseen victim. We don’t see Orlok himself; instead, it’s his looming shadow that approaches, exaggerated and distorted, creating an image more terrifying than any direct depiction could have achieved.

The film’s unique setting also contributes to its unsettling effect. Murnau chose real locations, including the remote Carpathian mountains and the quaint yet ominous city of Wismar. These places, with their desolate landscapes and crumbling architecture, add to the movie’s sense of timeless dread. Unlike the more opulent and theatrical sets of other early horror films, these real locations ground Nosferatu in a reality that feels oddly believable. Watching Orlok stalk through these locations, especially under Murnau’s direction, gives us a sense of horror embedded in the natural world, a feeling that evil could be lurking anywhere, even in our own towns.

What makes Nosferatu so enduring is not only its place in film history but its ability to continue unsettling audiences nearly a century later. Murnau’s vision laid the groundwork for an entire genre. Without Nosferatu, there would be no Dracula as we know him, no gothic horror built on shadows and suspense. Orlok’s image has inspired countless characters, from the sinister vampires of modern films to horror figures like Nosferatu’s spiritual descendant, Count Dracula in Tod Browning’s 1931 adaptation. The power of Nosferatu lies in its simplicity, its silence, and its suggestion of horror that lingers on the edge of the screen.

For me, watching Nosferatu is like stepping into another realm, one where fear isn’t screamed but whispered. The film reminds us that true horror doesn’t need sound or color; it only needs a haunting figure, a shadow cast on a wall, a feeling that something is waiting just outside the frame. In Murnau’s hands, this story became timeless. It’s a film that doesn’t age, because fear, in its most basic form, never does.

Nosferatu isn’t just a film; it’s a ghost, a shadow that has stretched over the decades and refuses to fade. It remains a testament to the power of silent cinema, a reminder that horror is often most potent when left to the imagination. Watching Nosferatu is like peering into the origins of our nightmares, a place where darkness and light blend, where shadows move of their own accord, and where horror is something far more than a thrill. It’s a part of us, a legacy we can’t quite escape.

Nosferatu (1922) is now available to watch on digital and on demand.