Nosferatu (2024) Extended Version Review: A Gothic Nightmare Steeped in History and Horror
- More Horror
- Feb 23
- 5 min read
Updated: Jun 10

By Seth Metoyer,
I have to admit: when I first heard Robert Eggers was tackling Nosferatu, I felt a thrill run down my spine. You know when you just know a filmmaker was destined to tackle a particular story? That’s how I felt. And, wow, was I right.
From the very first flicker of light on the screen, I knew I was in for something specialespecially since I watched the extended version. Right away, it felt like a séance. It’s not a soulless remake, nor is it some desperate ploy to modernize a classic. If anything, this adaptation feels like an ancient relic that’s finally clawed its way out of some forgotten vault in Germany, bringing centuries’ worth of dread with it. And trust me, that dread clings to you like cobwebs long after the credits roll.
A Legacy of Shadows: Nosferatu and Dracula
I’ve always loved the weird, tangled history of Nosferatu. It started life in 1922 as an unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which led to lawsuits from Stoker’s estate. They even won a court order to have every copy destroyed, and while many prints were indeed lost, a few survived, ultimately saving this cinematic gem from oblivion. The entire thing reads like a Gothic drama all on its own. Eggers clearly respects that legacy; he doesn’t just pay homage to the silent classic, he practically resurrects it, stitching its DNA together with Stoker’s original nightmare. The result feels both reverential and audacious, like two specters merging into a single, otherworldly beast.
Faith, Superstition, and the Supernatural
Eggers loves exploring the murky realms where faith and superstition collide. He did it in The VVitch, then again in The Lighthouse, and even in The Northman. Here, he dives deeper: the film is awash in arcane symbolism, Solomonic alchemy, nods to Kabbalah, faint whispers of Enochian magic. All this might sail over your head if you’re just looking for fangs and jump scares. But if you’ve ever poked around in old grimoires, or wondered how science and mysticism once converged under the same starry sky, you’ll find those little Easter eggs worth savoring.
I love how Eggers doesn’t shy away from letting religion and occult beliefs butt heads. In this film, they’re basically dance partners at the devil’s ball, weaving in and out of each other’s orbit. We see this tension in Willem Dafoe’s devout fervor: he’s convinced we must eradicate sin from our hearts, even as he dabbles in knowledge that modern audiences might consider heretical. Back then, science, magic, and Christianity often walked hand in hand—an era when a star symbol didn’t automatically mean pentagram and Satanic worship, but could just as easily represent alchemy or angelic forces. It makes the horror feel cosmic, like the forces at play here are ancient, unstoppable, and fundamentally beyond human comprehension. And I’m all about that kind of existential dread.
Performances That Transcend the Screen
Let’s talk about Lily-Rose Depp. My jaw dropped watching her as Ellen. She has this haunting aura, equal parts fragile and fierce, that makes you wonder if she’s entirely of this world. There’s a palpable sense of someone half-possessed by forces they don’t fully understand. She doesn’t just perform; she embodies the role, drifting through scenes like an apparition you’re scared might vanish if you blink too long.
(Side note: We also have to talk about Greta the Cat, the unexpected scene-stealer who prowls through several scenes like she owns the place. At one point, Ellen remarks, “She has no master.” That pretty much sums up every cat on Earth, and I loved it.)
Then there’s Willem Dafoe. I’m convinced the man can do no wrong, especially in any film that involves madness, shadows, or a whiff of the supernatural. He brings such gravity to his Van Helsing-esque role that I almost felt like I was watching an extension of his work in Shadow of the Vampire. It’s meta, it’s fun, and it’s also deeply unnerving. You sense he’s been down this road before, and he knows it never ends well.
And of course, there’s Bill Skarsgård as Orlok. Let’s be honest, Orlok’s never been a sexy, mainstream vampire; he’s pure nightmare fuel. But Skarsgård also infuses him with a sorrowful, almost tragic quality, transforming Orlok into a cursed relic that should have perished centuries ago but stubbornly lingers to torment the living. Sure, some people grumbled about the mustache, but I see it as a perfect nod to the period, no sleek, manscaped modern vampire here. Instead, we get a truly monstrous, ancient visage edged with melancholy, and it’s absolutely unsettling in the best way.
Aesthetic Perfection & Cinematic Atmosphere
Visually, I felt like I was wandering through a museum of forbidden art. Every frame is drenched in candlelit gloom, every corner teeming with shadows. Eggers doesn’t just recreate the past, he transports you there, body and soul. The set design, the costumes, the subtle changes in film stock whenever reality starts to warp—these choices left me breathless. I swear, at times I felt like I could smell the damp stone walls and hear the scuttle of rats just outside my peripheral vision.
And oh, the score. It’s that kind of haunting, droning music that wraps around you like fog. By the time the end credits rolled, I felt like I’d been lulled into some trance where nightmares were as real as the seat I was sitting in. This is not a film you simply watch; it’s one that seeps into your subconscious, leaving echoes of its eerie melodies rattling in your brain long after you leave the theater.
Final Thoughts
Listen, if you’re craving a quick scare or a bite-sized piece of pop-horror, this might not be your coffin of choice. Eggers moves at a slow, measured pace, like a centuries-old clock that only chimes when it’s good and ready. Some might find that frustrating or tedious, but personally, I found it mesmerizing. It gave me space to really sink into the dread, to let every candlelit corridor and whispered incantation rattle around in my head.
One small critique, though: If the pacing didn’t feel so meticulously even, Eggers might’ve unleashed an even more disorienting, nerve-shredding experience. But hey, a director only has so many minutes to work with, even in an extended cut. I can’t help but wonder what might happen if he were given more freedom in a limited-series format, maybe exploring backstories or an entire origin for Ellen and Orlok’s twisted bond. Sure, there might not be enough material for a full season, but the thought of diving deeper into that dark, labyrinthine world is a delicious one.
Nosferatu (2024) is, above all else, a feeling. It’s that unsettling sensation of something very old, very malevolent, breathing down your neck. It’s the convergence of faith and heresy, of history and horror, all culminating in a singular, suffocating atmosphere. Eggers has tapped into that primal fear again, the same terror we felt in The VVitch and The Lighthouse, only this time, he’s infused it with the full might of vampire lore.
For me, it’s an unforgettable cinematic experience—one that gets under your skin and invites you to linger in the shadows a little longer than is probably safe. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.