Category Archives: film

Movie reviews. Genre commentary.

film, musings

Nosferatu in Venice: Atmospheric Trash

With Robert Eggers’ NOSFERATU (2024) coming to theaters this Christmas, many will discuss its merits measured against those adaptations that came before it, but few will be talking about the sequel to Werner Herzog’s brilliant revamp of the 1922 classic, NOSFERATU THE VAMPIRE (1979); and for good reason: 1988’s NOSFERATU IN VENICE [aka VAMPIRE IN VENICE] is not a good movie. Yes, it retains actor Klaus Kinski (who reputedly was then very much prone to emotional outbursts, even violence), but it is among his most bizarre (most would say terrible) performances. Some actors in the film, like Donald Pleasance, would distance themselves from it (while appearing proudly that same year in the Universal remake of DRACULA). Still, others, like critic Kim Newman find merit in the movie. He argues that it is an “attractively photographed, impressively scored follow-up to Nosferatu.” But it is Rocco T. Thompson who perhaps gave the best review; in a 2021 review of the blu-ray release for Rue Morgue magazine, he writes that “the film is still a haunting vision of a floating underworld of rotten opulence that manages to walk the razor’s edge between art and schlock.”

Klaus Kinski and Anne Knecht
Klaus Kinski and Anne Knecht as vampire and virginal victim (in love?)

A sequel in name only, NOSFERATU IN VENICE carries nothing over from its source. Werner Herzog was not involved the production. The setting is moved from Wismar, Germany to Venice, Italy. And Kinski, as the only carry-over, looks like he belongs in a hair metal band — not a horror movie. Still, there is the conceit of a woman luring the monster and sacrificing herself. That is central to the story of Nosferatu as established in previous films. But in this “sequel,” it is not Isabelle Adjani as Lucy bravely keeping the monster in her bed until the dawn destroys him. Instead, it is Anne Knecht as Maria whose virginity — not just her blood — is taken from her… and she apparently likes it! She even takes a bullet (well, shotgun blast) for the monster (intentionally?), leaving the 200 year-old vampire to wander the streets of Venice at dawn, carrying her body along the banks of a canal. The end.

This ending is nothing compared to what the filmmakers also did to THIS Nosferatu’s strengths and weaknesses. Eschewing much of vampire lore, the Nosferatu of Venice takes note of his face in a mirror, can summon vast winds that knock people out of windows, and, unlike his 1922 counterpart, is partial to the sun. When Maria asks him “doesn’t the daylight frighten you?” Kinski’s vampire replies that “it’s the night that frightens me.”

A vampire frightened of the dark?

There’s so much more to criticize. But there’s much also to admire. Sumptuously filmed and set in truly Gothic environments, the atmosphere is exceptional. Antonio Nardi’s cinematography is brilliant — haunting at times. His artistry evokes a Venice that is equal parts real and dream, where it’s forever dusk or dawn, and birds scatter.

Birds scatter wherever the Nosferatu of Venice goes.
Birds seem to scatter whenever Nosferatu wanders the streets (and waterways)  of Venice.

One could also credit (or blame) the director, but NOSFERATU IN VENICE was handled by multiple directors (as many as five, depending on what you call “directing”). This may explain why a film so visually interesting is otherwise a mess.

Augusto Caminito is considered the primary director; as producer since the beginning of the project, Caminito took control after a number of false starts (including Maurizio Lucidi shooting some scenes before the script was even ready). After principal photography began, a number of other directors were considered or worked on the film; Klaus Kinski himself got behind the camera. His involvement is reputed to have come from his temper and inability to compromise. For example, filmmakers were prepared from the get-go to shoot Venice’s carnival with a bald-capped stand-in. Then Kinski refused to wear the now iconic makeup for his scenes. In the end, he looked more like an unkempt Lestat than the Nosferatu to which audiences are accustomed. Not the bald-headed and pointy-eared creature he was in 1979. Nor Max Schreck in the silent version of 1922, looking grotesque — more rodent than man.

A rodent-like Nosferatu. Klaus Kinski with French actress Isabelle Adjani in the 1979 version.
A rodent-like Nosferatu. Klaus Kinski with French actress Isabelle Adjani in the 1979 version.

Indeed, rodents may be one of the reasons why NOSFERATU IN VENICE fails. For rats are an infestation. And so are vampires. In Murnau’s version, the presence of rats is not pronounced, but the aforementioned makeup certainly reflects that dread of infestation. In the 1979 version, Herzog used an abundant amount of rodents, suggesting not only infestation, but making clear to the audience that THIS Nosferatu (explicitly named Dracula in Herzog’s version) brings plague.  Herzog  transported nearly 10,000 white rats from Hungary and dyed them gray for the film (residents of the town where the film was shot found the rodents for many years thereafter). When the town fathers examine the body of the captain of the ship that brings the vampire to their shores, they conclude plague. They run to hide behind closed doors. Where still no one is safe. Plague is everywhere. And the vampire brought the disease (that IS vampirism) with him.

Robert Eggers is reputed to continue that association of the vampire with rats and plague. His NOSFERATU (2024) has 5,000 rodents in it. And while NOSFERATU IN VENICE does end on an island where plague victims were long ago taken (and more recent cholera victims were banished), these factors seem to be there to only advance the plot. A way to explain an abandoned house in which vampires dwell (re-enforcing that Gothic atmosphere that is inarguably there in the sets and locations). Plague and infestation is not a theme, however; it is just a plot device to advance the story.

Even the presence of Christopher Plummer as Professor Paris Catalano (the Van-Helsing-type character) can’t save NOSFERATU IN VENICE. For a vampire expert / hunter, he is ineffectual at every turn. Plummer is wasted in the role. After having his hands burned by a cross made molten by Kinski’s vampire, Catalano gives up and skips town, leaving the fight to others. But not before he informs all that Nosferatu can only be stopped by legitmate love.

But what is legitimate? The love shown in the source material or the sex that here is on display? There’s gratuitous full-frontal nudity — which some might argue is necessary to convey the “love” between Maria and the vampire  — but it’s forced, feeling much like mid-eighties soft-core porn where bare breasts and a few thrusts are meant to titillate. And more like the many vampire films of the eighties and nineties to follow, where sex with a vampire becomes de rigueur (think EMBRACE OF THE VAMPIRE [1995]), NOSFERATU IN VENICE presses the age-old vampire “sex = death” theme to silly extremes.  And the love story? Nothing like what would be done a few years later  in Francis Ford Coppolla’s DRACULA (1992) — where “love never dies” (and the primary female character (Mina in Coppolla’s film) genuinely falls in love, torn between her husband the Count). Here, love [it it ever was that] does die — with a shotgun blast. EVEN in Herzog’s version, where love is mentioned as freeedom from the curse (and loneliness) of immortality, a woman’s strength is at the heart of story.

This strength of a woman’s love in vanquishing a vampire is what is missing from NOSFERATU IN VENICE. In Herzog’s adaptation, NOSFERATU THE VAMPYRE (1979), when the bloodsucking Count first meets Lucy in person (violating the sanctity of the marital bedroom), Adjani’s Lucy solidly proclaims her love for her husband, but then shows empathy for the vampire, almost a tenderness in her pity. The woman’s strength IS her love — for husband, home, and community — and it vanquishes the vampire (well, [spoiler] that particular vampire; another rides off into the sunset [?]). Look at this photo and see how Herzog carefully positions Lucy as succumbing, yet somehow resisting, as if saying prayers to herself while slowly being drain. See the photo of Kinksi and Knecht, however; it’s a still from a scene thay is highly sexualized, with Kinski making thrusts from behind Maria. I know. Ew.

And for Caminito (like Coppolla after him) the vampire seems to be a creature women truly desire, and while it works for Coppolla (depending on how much of a Stoker purist you are), it falls flat here. Don’t put the word “Nosferatu” in your title then set your titular lead up like a sex symbol. With “Nosferatu” in the movie’s very name, the audience expects a rat-like alien of a vampire, spreading plague. Leave the sexy vampires to Anne Rice or The Twilight series. They have their place there, where the dynamic works. But it doesn’t work in NOSFERATU IN VENICE. And that is its ultimate failure.

Praise will undoubtedly be heaped upon Eggers, just as Herzog and Murnau before him. And it will be justifiable praise, as the previews look phenomental.*

But NOSFERATU IN VENICE will be forgotten (if it hasn’t already, with only bloggers debating its pros and cons). As long as blu-ray special editions are released and services like Tubi stream it for free. the film will however forever find a niche audience. If this curious few go in expecting a true sequel, faithful to NOSFERATU (whichever version you choose), they will be sorely disappointed.

 

 * Saw Eggers’ film on December 30 and was blown away by the art direction and cinematography. The movie drags a little, and the acting? a little over the top, but it is certainly beautiful to watch. Lily-Rose Depp‘s Helen (the Mina character, named Helen in the 1922 version, and called Lucy in the 1979) is a more complex character here than other adaptations. A psychic connection to the vampire is established from the very beginning of the film. Their “relationshiop” is at the heart of the movie, making her sacrifice all the more powerful. Add in Bill Skarsgård playing the Graf Orlok / Dracula like no other actor has played him, and you’ve got one hell of a vampire film.

film, musings, occult

Folk Horror Films

At the root of folk horror is our fear of the land. Not the dirt itself, but what lives in it, on it, or once did long ago. Of common folk whose ancient traditions are often tied to a remote island, small town or farm in the middle of nowhere. It is where protagonists are pitted against whole, seemingly quiet and quaint communities where secrets are kept. Where sacrifice is part of life. And while there are many a film that fit this bill, none are more notable than the progenitor BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW (1971), the cornerstone that is THE WICKER MAN (1973), the modern movie that honors — and in some ways, subverts it — MIDSOMMAR (2019), and a relative newcomer that grows the genre in new directions, STARVE ACRE (2023).

The term folk horror (films) was first used in 1970 in Kine Weekly by reviewer Rod Cooper describing the production of what would become Piers Haggard’s BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW. Haggard would later adopt the phrase himself in a 2004 interview for Fangoria where the director contrasts his work with Gothic horror, noting his dislike of films like those produced by Hammer. Indeed, BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW has none of the trappings of Gothic horror. No decrepit castles. No undead monsters. No mad scientists. No hauntings. There’s a very different atmosphere of fear in folk horror. And BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW makes that clear from the start.

Linday Hayden in BLOOD ON SATAN'S CLAW (1971)
Linda Hayden in BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW (1971)

Set in rural England c.1680, BLOOD ON SATAN’S CLAW focuses on the corruption of a village by an ancient evil. After a farmer uncovers the remains of a mysterious creature, the town’s children, led by Angel Blake (Linda Hayden) begin to worship the devil, and a mysterious skin infection begins to infect people. There are problems with the film as its folklore — mixed with demonology and witchcraft — is not very well defined,  but it is credited as the first (though some argue 1968’s WITCHFINDER GENERAL can make that claim).

BAD DAYS TO BE A CHRISTIAN

A few years later, the folk horror film that would set the standard for all such films to come, THE WICKER MAN, was released. The story of a conservative policeman, Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward) searching for a missing girl on a Scottish island where the inhabitants celebrate ancient agrarian traditions of Celtic Britain, THE WICKER MAN slowly unfolds as a clash between Christianity and neopaganism.

The May Day Celebration in THE WICKER MAN (1973)
Christopher Lee leads the May Day Celebration in THE WICKER MAN (1973)

The island’s magistrate, Lord Summerisle (played with intense abandon by the always brilliant Christopher Lee) is, from the beginning, very hospitable with Howie, and quite open about the townspeople and their beliefs. Among many memorable exchanges between the two comes this dicussion of the clash of cultures.

Sergeant Howie: Your lordship seems strangely unconcerned.

Lord Summerisle: Well, I’m confident your suspicions are wrong. We don’t commit murder here. We’re a deeply religious people.

Sergeant Howie: Religious? With ruined churches, no ministers, no priests… and children dancing naked?

Lord Summerisle: They do love their divinity lessons.

Sergeant Howie: But they are… are naked!

Lord Summerisle: Naturally! It’s much too dangerous to jump through the fire with your clothes on.

the-wicker-man-1973-edward-woodward-britt-ekland
Edward Woodward’s Sergeant Howie looking quite uncomfortable around Britt Ekland’s Willow at the Green Man Inn.

At first, most on the island are very cooperative with Howie, but it soon becomes clear the sergeant is on a wild goose chase. Surrounded by temptations — including Summerisle’s own daughter, Willow (Britt Ekland) — Howie tries to hold on to his virginity and faith, unaware that he is being groomed for ritual sacrifice. And the audience knows long before Howie does that all of this will not end well for the buttoned-up policeman. It is their world, not his. Their ways, not ours.

Folk horror presents these worlds — and ways — in juxtaposition to the modern. But these strange communities are more than merely anthropological curiosities. Not unlike the lure of exploring a haunted house, yes, there is danger, but there’s also an attraction to some to explore the unknown.

Take, for example, the students of MIDSOMMAR (2019), directed by Ari Aster, (whose HEREDITARY from a year before is often celebrated as one of the best horror films of the twenty-first century).

In MIDSOMMAR, Sweden, not England, is the setting for the festivities, among a rural people that, like those in most folk horror films, have traditions that are not only alien to the outsiders, but in the case of MIDSOMMAR, downright shocking from the get-go!

In the film, Dani (Florence Pugh), the main protagonist, joins boyfriend Christian (symbolism alert), with whom her relationship is strained (due to his emotional distance in the wake of the death of her family) and travels with a few of his graduate student friends to their Swedish friend Pelle’s ancestral home in the rural Hälsingland region. They go to study the people and their once-every-ninety-years midsummer festival.

Rather quickly, things go sideways.

In a sacrifice of elders not long into the film, it is almost as if Aster is upping the ante over WICKER MAN as he establishes horrific rituals early on. Friend Pelle normalizes the experience, saying it is part of tradition, as the others seem to just accept that they are strangers in a strange land.  But just as the students begin to adjust to the goings on and be embraced by the people, some of them begin to disappear. Meanwhile, Christian is eyed by a woman desirious of him becoming the father of her baby. And Dani is crowned May Queen.

Florence Pugh as May Queen in MIDSOMMAR (2019)
Florence Pugh as May Queen in MIDSOMMAR (2019)

All hell does eventually break loose, and the culmination is a fertility ritual where Christian impregnates a woman while surrounded by a cheering section of naked women, old and young. He even gets a little help with a nudge from behind. Dani witnesses the event, and has a panic attack. As the movie moves toward its conclusion, we learn that the dead elders and missing friends were part of a larger ritual sacrifice that requires 9 bodies. As May Queen, Dani gets to select the ninth. Will it be a native member of the community, or Christian? There’s no need to spoil it, but let’s just say that Aster’s subversion of WICKER MAN lies in Dani’s decision. The danger is not without, but within. And the audience is left to decide for themselves why she chooses as she does. Has she “gone native?” The camera lingers on her all decked out in May Queen accoutrements. Roll credits.

A NEW BREED

Directors like Ari Aster and Robert Eggers — whose THE WITCH (2015) deserves a blog post all its own — have rejuvenated the folk horror genre. But one film, in particular, has moved the genre further forward in new and disturbing directions.

2023’s STARVE ACRE takes the traditionally communal aspects of folk horror and turns them inward, telling a tale of domestic dread. It is still a story rooted in nature, with a rural setting and a central sacrifice, but here, the tropes of folk horror are made familial.

STARVE ACRE is the story of archaeologist Richard (Matt Smith) and his wife Juliette (Morfydd Clark), who move to the husband’s remote family home in the English countryside. Tragedy strikes when their young son —  a boy who had become increasingly violent as he comes under the influence of an imaginary friend / malicious sprite named Jack Grey — dies suddenly. The grief drives Juliette to depression, and Richard, to obsession, as the latter turns to unearthing both the roots of an ancient oak believed by the land’s seventeenth-century inhabitants to be a portal to other worlds, and his own father’s occult journals (which reveal not only the father’s own obsessions, but the abuse of his son).

Matt Smith uncovers an ancient tree in STARVE ACRE (2023)
Matt Smith uncovers an ancient oak, and much more, in STARVE ACRE (2023)

With cinematography that evokes the colors and saturation of seventies cinema, and a soundtrack so unnerving that the music alone can make any viewer quite uncomfortable, STARVE ACRE, like most representative folk horror films, is not a fun movie to watch. Here, the primary theme is grief, and the way that grief manifests — in the form of a hare that literally grows from a skeleton Richard uncovers during his backyard dig — is disturbing. Nature here is not something to be celebrated festival-style. It is, instead, sinew and bone and dirt and mud. It is sad. And it is sinister. As Richard and Juliette begin to care for the hare that has become a substitution for this lost child, Juliette’s sister Harrie (Erin Richards) is witness to the couple’s breakdown. Will she be able to save her sister? It’s a slow burn, and not a film for everyone. Dreary and sluggish in spots, it does, however, pay off in the end with a crescendo that will shock and disturb even the most hardened fans of horror.

FERTILE GROUND

Since the nineteen sixties, there have been at least a dozen or so films that have been labeled folk horror, but many of them have been, curiously, only made over the last decade. There’s the effective period piece A FIELD IN ENGLAND (2013), the derivative APOSTLE (2018), and the outright bizarre ENYS MEN (2022) — just to name a few. Even films like the aforementioned THE WITCH (2015) and HEREDITARY (2018) belong to the genre, though each of those leans further into the realm of witchcraft — a related but entirely different kind of horror.

The land. And our fear of it. Or those who live on it. Old rituals. Old things. These subjects are fertile ground for horror, and in the growth and harvest cycles of working the land can be found powerful metaphors for human life and death. These stories thrive because they connect us with the darker aspects of nature — both of the natural world, and of human nature.

And it is at the fundamental intersection of those elements that folk horror finds its terrible, beautiful source.