FILM / Finding the Sacred Among the Profane: Nosferatu the Vampyre / Sean Woodard
Image © Werner Herzog Filmproduktion
In 1979, Werner Herzog declared F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu (1922) as the greatest German film of all time. Inspired by the classic film, Herzog paid homage to Murnau’s version with his own singular vision. Aside from the visual references to Murnau’s Dracula adaptation, Herzog restored the names of the principal characters from Bram Stoker’s novel, albeit reversing the names of the characters Mina and Lucy (as is often the case in different film adaptations of the seminal vampire tale). At once a remake and a vehicle for Klaus Kinski’s restrained performance as Count Dracula, Nosferatu the Vampyre (Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht) is a meditation on time and mortality. In addition, Catholic iconography to deter a vampire remains a central thematic element to the story.
When Jonathan Harker embarks to Transylvania to confer with Count Dracula the sale of a property at the behest of his employer, he stops off at a inn part of the way along his journey. The innkeeper and the local gypsies all implore him not to go through the Borgo Pass to the count’s castle. But Jonathan balks at their superstition. At one point, the innkeeper’s wife enters his bedroom, sprinkles him with Holy Water and gives him a book concerning vampire lore before departing. The back cover of the book includes an embossed pentagram.
Days later, Jonathan reaches the castle. Upon meeting Dracula, he listens to the count’s philosophical musings.
”I no longer attach any importance to sunshine or the glittering fountains that youth is so fond of,” he states. “I love the darkness and the shadows, where I can be alone with my thoughts. I am the descendant of an old family. Time is an abyss, as deep as a thousand nights. Centuries come and go. To be unable to grow old is terrible. Death is not the worst thing, there are things much more horrible. Can you imagine enduring centuries, each day experiencing the same futile things?”
It is here that Herzog questions the notion of mortality. Dracula does not see his partial immortality as a blessing, but rather a cursed affliction of his being. Pale white and rheumy-eyed, Dracula’s appearance reflects the effects vampirism has had upon his body. This later is reflected in the vampire’s first appearance to Jonathan’s wife, Lucy.
As the oft-retold narrative proceeds (although more in tune with the 1922 film than the novel), Jonathan finds himself trapped in the castle and must escape. He races back home, developing a brain fever as the result of being bitten by Dracula. Although he is detained to rest during his return journey, he continues on, trying to beat Dracula’s ship to town. In a scene where the local denizens hear his tale, the local Mother Superior places a ten-decade Rosary around Jonathan’s neck. He feverishly implores her to prevent Dracula’s ship from reaching its destination.
In a later scene where the count intrudes uninvited upon Lucy in her room, he attempts to turn her by suckling her blood. However, a cross around her neck abates him. The scene also provides a complimentary platform for philosophical musings. At one point Mina states that watching Jonathan’s former self die is a terrible strain.
“Death is overwhelming,” she says. “We are at his command. The rivers continue to flow without us. Time trickles away. And look outside. The stars spin and turn in confusion. Only death is cruelly certain.”
Dracula responds that while death is cruel, living without love is worse; he envies the bond between Lucy and Jonathan. But Lucy replies that even God cannot touch that love.
Dracula counters that by joining him, she may be reunited with her husband. “The absence of love, you know, is the most abject pain,” he replies.
The conversation then turns to salvation. Lucy mentions that salvation is up to each person. Whether she states this from a Humanist stance or a Catholic one is up for debate. Even if one were to initially think the former—her statement about God not affecting the love between her and Jonathan also suggests this—the cross around her neck that sends Dracula away begs to differ.
After this encounter, Lucy turns to faith as a means in understanding the evil Dracula exudes. She connects how all the strange deaths and the spreading Black Plague are related and cannot be explained by scientific reasoning. But she finds herself alone in this belief. In an attempt to gain an ally, she shows both Jonathan’s diary and the book about vampire lore to Dr. Abraham Van Helsing. But he engages her intellectually, erring on the certitude of science.
He argues, “We live in a most enlightened era. Superstitions such as you mentioned have been refuted by science.”
She responds that “Faith is the amazing faculty of men which enables us to believe things which we know to be untrue.”
Unable to convince him, Lucy embarks on her own to discover Dracula’s lair, which she soon locates. Finding the open coffin, she remembers what she had previously read in the vampire book, specifically how a consecrated host can bar a vampire’s retreat. Removing two consecrated hosts, she states, “God, forgive me for what I do,” before breaking them into pieces and scattering them inside the black coffin.
Allowing a host to touch the ground in such a manner would be considered to be a sacrilege of the sacrament of receiving Holy Communion. Given the Catholic belief of transubstantiation, he Church has detailed methods to properly dispose of a consecrated host. During that time period, it may have been improbable for a lay person to be given consecrated hosts, for members of the clergy authorized to administer most often for the purpose of the Roman Mass and in the event of the sacrament of Last Rites. With the plague wiping out all forms of local hierarchical man-made government structures (including allegedly that of the Church), Lucy acknowledges the sin she commits and asks God directly for forgiveness.
This act is followed by perhaps the most powerful sequence in the film. Lucy traverses the rat-strewn town square, coming in contact with different people infected by the plague. Some play Ring Around the Rosie while others are join together to eat one of their last meals. The hallucinatory images, set to Vocal Ensemble Gordela’s rendition of the Gregorian folk song “Zinzkarao” (alternately spelled “Tsin Tskaro”), invoke a somber tone. The lyrics refer to a male narrator’s ill-fated meeting with a beautiful girl near a spring. While the contrast between Lucy’s beauty and her pestilent surroundings may approximately relate to the lyrics, the non-diegetic musical piece may also be seen as a lament for hopelessness when paired with these images; they seem to ask, “Where is God at this moment of suffering?”Upon returning home to her ailing husband—who is slowly transforming into a phantom of the night—Lucy again sprinkles particles of consecrated hosts on the floor, trapping Jonathan in his chair in the corner of the room. She then prepares to face Dracula, to sacrifice herself, according to instruction from the vampire lore book, so that he becomes distracted by her that he does not notice the first light of day.
Last year I was an invited guest on a Catholic-themed horror film episode of the Cinema Hounds podcast. When asked to name my favorite Catholic-based horror film, I stated Nosferatu the Vampyre. My reasoning for this was based off the power of this scene between Lucy and Jonathan. While crucifixes and Holy Water are common tropes of the genre to battle vampires—and are weaponized in films such as Stephen Sommers’ Van Helsing (2004) and John Carpenter’s Vampires (1998)—I’d never seen a consecrated host used in such a manner before. The act effectively traps the changing Jonathan; he could only later escape after convincing a maid to clear the particles from the floor around him. As mentioned above, such an act would be considered sacrilege, but I overlook this error in the understanding of Catholic symbolism. In the context of the film’s narrative, the imagery is arresting, making the viewer believe in the power the Eucharist possesses as an agent in dispelling evil.
The ending of Herzog’s film follows that of Murnau’s in that Lucy is successful in distracting the count so that the rising sun destroys him. However, Herzog inserts a slight change. Dr. Van Helsing arrives on the scene and declares her dead. Seeing the body of Count Dracula on the floor besides her, he rushes off to grab a stake to finish the job. He feels guilty that he didn’t listen to Mina before and now believes her death is on his conscience. In an ironic twist, after disposing of the vampire, Jonathan calls for help. His cry is answered by some townspeople appearing. He claims the doctor has murdered the count. He is then arrested for the crime. To escape, Jonathan has the maid clear the host from around him and sets off for other territories, stating that there is work to be done.
As he gallops on a horse through desert sands, Charles Gounod’s “Sanctus” from his Missa Santa Cecilia plays over the closing credits. This musical pairing offers presents another layering of irony, as the texts proclaims, “Holy Holy Holy, Lord God of Hosts / Heaven and Earth are full of your glory / Hosanna in the highest.” Even though Dracula is vanished, Jonathan and R.M. Renfield continue to carry out their master’s work. The fact that Dracula’s disciples remain, suggest that the music represents a twist of fate where their lord instead is being “honored.”
For those who appreciate world cinema, Werner Herzog’s Nosferatu the Vampyre is essential viewing. Those who enjoy vampire films may also find elements to appreciate. Overall, Herzog’s film is a masterpiece that not only rivals, but also improves upon, F.W. Murnau’s classic 1922 film.
Sean Woodard is a graduate of Point Loma Nazarene University and Chapman University. Focusing on a wide variety of interests, Sean’s fiction, film criticism, and other writings have been featured in NonBinary Review, Los Angeles Review of Books, Horrorbuzz, Cultured Vultures, The Cost of Paper, and Los Angeles Magazine, among other publications. He serves as the Film Editor for Drunk Monkeys and as a co-producer of the faith and spirituality podcast, Ordinary Grace. A native of Visalia, CA, he now resides and teaches in Orange County.
