Nosferatu

I should preface this by first admitting to something—I have a bit of a long-standing fascination with vampires and vampire stories. In particular, I am a rather staunch defender of that much maligned/admired television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer (clearly for reasons beyond the presence of vampires, but that is for another essay). That series, however, demonstrates an interesting (and significant) characteristic of the modern vampire story—vampirism with mad sex appeal.

Those familiar with the show know that two of the three major Buffy love interests over the course of the series were (gasp) vampires, the very creatures that she was meant to destroy. Teen melodrama, you cry (clearly not fully appreciating the show)—just some ploy to create some sad situation in which Sarah Michelle Gellar can use her soap-opera-honed crying skills. Well, certainly, for a show originating on the WB, this is part of the reason. The better reason, however, is the more obvious one—the vampires, or at least Spike and/or Angel, were far and away the sexiest characters on the show. They had a certain sinister allure; they were, at least at first glance, prototypical bad boys...with fangs. Clearly this is not a new concept—check out half of the vampire movies made and you'll find that they're largely an attractive breed, with a penchant for tight, sexy clothes and weird accents. Not only is it not a new concept, but most theory regarding vampires in art and literature would tell you that this was only appropriate; there is, after all, something inherently sexual about the vampire. Right? Right. Penetrating fangs and all, y'know. This is the image of the vampire with which we are mostly familiar, an impossible seducer, an homme fatal, if you will.

There is another kind, however, that seems rather lost in all of this, hidden behind the capes of Dracula, the leather coat of Spike, or the smile of Luke Wilson in that episode of The X-Files. He is the vampire of folklore, and the creature that F.W. Murnau gives us in the very first of all vampire movies, Nosferatu. I am rather, okay, very ashamed to say that it was not until recently that I had seen that film, despite having seen oodles of other fang-fests. In many ways, it is exactly what you would expect. It's silent (duh), it has at times (in the version I saw) a very cheesy score, the black and white is a truly bizarre tone—all the things appropriate to a feature made in 1922, I suppose. And the image of the Count (Olok, not Drac due to some issue with ol' Mrs. Stoker) as played by Max Schreck is pretty much seared into our collective memories.

Clearly the movie entirely hinges on Schreck's performance, in all of its animalistic insanity, with the black-rimmed sunken eyes and long creeping hands. There is nothing sexy about this vampire—he is actually quite terrifying. He is a monster, no different from the bogeyman or some sort of demon with horns and a tail. He is in many ways much of what is missing from the modern vampire. (Although, the vampire, as disease or predatory beast, is still applicable to contemporary life—infections seem to be more frightening than ever, and a creature, like the one in Nosferatu, who lives on the Plague, remains particularly resonant today). Regardless, whether we look at Murnau's monster as virus or beast, it is still very primal, which is really interesting in context of what I, at least, am used to seeing.

In theory at least, most modern monsters, vampires included, prey on our very modern societal fears. We hear stories of killers and such who seem perfectly harmless, charming even. And the vampire, beneath his suave smile and fitted black clothing, is a fanged killer (as if to say, let that be a lesson to you, missy, don't go trusting tall, dark, mysterious strangers). It is the nightly news reflected in the supernatural. Certainly we take note of this, but then something like Buffy comes along, or a billion spoofs, and the fear is removed—if anything we remain afraid of men (or women) in dark alleys wearing capes (as well we should be..or anyone wearing capes, just as a general rule). It's certainly hard to find any "monster" more cliched than those creatures of the night. The power of the story, then, comes not from it being about, or even having anything to do with the vampire, but from some other element. Think about it—Blade, Underworld, most recent movies dealing with the vampire are arguably more about some other theme (race, war, whatnot) than they are about monstrosity.

Which brings us back to Nosferatu...When I was a kid, the scary story that scarred me the most involved a bestial vampire that kept breaking into this house, and it kept getting harder to stop it (like it crept through ventilation ducts and such, and clawed through windows. Agh. It's creeping me out just thinking about it). It was a frightening folk-lore-style vampire story, as is Nosferatu. And there's something really surprisingly scary about it, whether it's the fact that it's a version of the telling we're not really used to anymore, or whether it's the style (the silent film and the sepia tones certainly make it more frightening), or whether it's the performance of Max Schreck. Clearly I'm ignoring other themes that are going to be present in any vampire tale, especially one based on Dracula, but they're focused on enough elsewhere. I'm intrigued by Nosferatu because, strangely, its vision was fresh, the original so far detached from its replicas that it somehow escaped the cliche, even watching it now. For once, you kind of remember why this was a feared figure of folk-lore, and not a kick-boxing superhero. That said, I'm obviously still going to stick with the less-scary, much-more-complex antiheroes of Buffy, etc.