February
2nd, 2001 - -
Hear
Bill Nichol's review in Real Audio
SHADOW OF THE
VAMPIRE
FW
Murnau, unlike Eric von Stroheim, was famed as a silent film director less
for his dedication to realism than for his obsession with the uncanny and
preordained. His FAUST, SUNRISE, about a doomed love affair, TABU,
about doomed love in the South Seas, and NOSFERATU, about sacrificial love
and unholy desire, established Murnau as a master of composition and camera
movement. SHADOW OF A VAMPIRE, now at the Nickelodeon, however, gives
us a Murnau whose preoccupations lie elsewhere. Like von Stroheim,
this Murnau wants reality more than realism. It is his quest for
the ultimate reality that leads Mr. Murnau, and the viewer, into a shadowy
and deranged darkness. Using reality to feed an illusion, the shadow
play of cinema, requires an inversion of priorities that lures us, slowly
but surely, into the lair of the vampire.
SHADOW
OF A VAMPIRE is, in essence, a "making of" movie. In this case, it
is the making of NOSFERATU that we get to see. This is no documentary,
however. SHADOW is in the style of full-blown expressionismóthe moody,
crazy angled, more black than white world of anxious subjectivity that
was rampant in the German cinema of the 1920s. This is a claustrophobic
world, limited from beginning to end, to those small parcels of reality
destined to serve as sets for Murnauís film. The cast and crew of
the film, including the mysterious Max Shreck, an unknown actor chosen
by Murnau for the role of the vampire, populate it. "Who is Max Shreck
the cast wonders?" Murnau is not telling, although it quickly becomes
apparent that Shreck's dedication to his role far exceeds that of any one
else in the film. He, in fact, seems unable to step out of character.
One night, on location in the Slovakian countryside, when the screenwriter
and cameraman try to engage him in conversation they must endure a pause
while Max plucks a bat from the air and sucks away its blood. A mere
appetizer, however. Max, played with extraordinary intensity by Willem
Dafoe possesses an enormous appetite that refuses to be denied. Like
Faust, Murnau has made a bargain with this undead devil, but Max is not
patient enough to honor a bargain that requires the postponement of all
gratification for the duration of the shoot. Soon he is pleading,
and then demanding, from Murnau a more substantial appetizer or two before
being allowed to feast on the leading lady in the film's climatic and final
scene. When Max makes a meal of the camerman Murnau complains, "Why
couldn't you take the script girl?" but his reply is only, "I'll eat her
later." "I don't think we need the writer any longer," Max suggests,
in his fidgety, impulsive manner. Murnau, though, speaking as if
he were the voice of the studio system, responds, I'm loath to admit it
myself, but the writer is still necessary. If the original
NOSFERATU was an allegory for fear and contagion that could be applied
to everything from occult knowledge and the plague to homosexuality and
AIDs, SHADOW OF THE VAMPIRE is closer to a parable about cinema itself.
It is, after all, Murnau's moving making that drains the life from his
crew. His leading lady gripes that she should be on stage: the audience gives something back to
her while the camera only sucks something from her. Not exactly original, the parable seems
to want to label the cinema itself,as well as Murnau the director, a vampire, but this is more a light frosting
than biting conclusion. SHADOW offers powerful performances and obsession laced with humor.
It may be a shadow of NOSFERATU itself, but it is a dark and lively one.
-
Hear
Bill Nichol's review in Real Audio
FW
Murnau, unlike Eric von Stroheim, was famed as a silent film director less
for his dedication to realism than for his obsession with the uncanny and
preordained. His FAUST, SUNRISE, about a doomed love affair, TABU,
about doomed love in the South Seas, and NOSFERATU, about sacrificial love
and unholy desire, established Murnau as a master of composition and camera
movement. SHADOW OF A VAMPIRE, now at the Nickelodeon, however, gives
us a Murnau whose preoccupations lie elsewhere. Like von Stroheim,
this Murnau wants reality more than realism. It is his quest for
the ultimate reality that leads Mr. Murnau, and the viewer, into a shadowy
and deranged darkness. Using reality to feed an illusion, the shadow
play of cinema, requires an inversion of priorities that lures us, slowly
but surely, into the lair of the vampire.
SHADOW
OF A VAMPIRE is, in essence, a "making of" movie. In this case, it
is the making of NOSFERATU that we get to see. This is no documentary,
however. SHADOW is in the style of full-blown expressionismóthe moody,
crazy angled, more black than white world of anxious subjectivity that
was rampant in the German cinema of the 1920s. This is a claustrophobic
world, limited from beginning to end, to those small parcels of reality
destined to serve as sets for Murnauís film. The cast and crew of
the film, including the mysterious Max Shreck, an unknown actor chosen
by Murnau for the role of the vampire, populate it. "Who is Max Shreck
the cast wonders?" Murnau is not telling, although it quickly becomes
apparent that Shreck's dedication to his role far exceeds that of any one
else in the film. He, in fact, seems unable to step out of character.
One night, on location in the Slovakian countryside, when the screenwriter
and cameraman try to engage him in conversation they must endure a pause
while Max plucks a bat from the air and sucks away its blood. A mere
appetizer, however. Max, played with extraordinary intensity by Willem
Dafoe possesses an enormous appetite that refuses to be denied. Like
Faust, Murnau has made a bargain with this undead devil, but Max is not
patient enough to honor a bargain that requires the postponement of all
gratification for the duration of the shoot. Soon he is pleading,
and then demanding, from Murnau a more substantial appetizer or two before
being allowed to feast on the leading lady in the film's climatic and final
scene. When Max makes a meal of the camerman Murnau complains, "Why
couldn't you take the script girl?" but his reply is only, "I'll eat her
later." "I don't think we need the writer any longer," Max suggests,
in his fidgety, impulsive manner. Murnau, though, speaking as if
he were the voice of the studio system, responds, I'm loath to admit it
myself, but the writer is still necessary. If the original
NOSFERATU was an allegory for fear and contagion that could be applied
to everything from occult knowledge and the plague to homosexuality and
AIDs, SHADOW OF THE VAMPIRE is closer to a parable about cinema itself.
It is, after all, Murnau's moving making that drains the life from his
crew. His leading lady gripes that she should be on stage: the audience gives something back to
her while the camera only sucks something from her. Not exactly original, the parable seems
to want to label the cinema itself,as well as Murnau the director, a vampire, but this is more a light frosting
than biting conclusion. SHADOW offers powerful performances and obsession laced with humor.
It may be a shadow of NOSFERATU itself, but it is a dark and lively one.