Shadow of the Vampire is a brilliant film which confronts horror with a pair of tough questions. Both questions get at the genre of horror on a fundamental level. Surely, horror is entertainment. Perhaps it is morally instructive, at its best, secondarily. But its topics are grim, ugly things. Why ought we to indulge in that which we ought to reject? Do such things really do us any good?
I’ve heard plenty of people preach exercise, meditation, and work-life balance as contributing to a fulfilling existence. I’ve heard others emphasize religion, devotion, moral clarity, works of charity. I’ve heard some who recommend friendships and family. But let’s be honest. No one recommends horror as a pastime for achieving the good life. And so, Shadow of the Vampire asks of horror:
If it’s fiction, what good is it?
If it’s not, how dangerous is it? Read more...
Shadow of the Vampire is a brilliant film which confronts horror with a pair of tough questions. Both questions get at the genre of horror on a fundamental level. Surely, horror is entertainment. Perhaps it is morally instructive, at its best, secondarily. But its topics are grim, ugly things. Why ought we to indulge in that which we ought to reject? Do such things really do us any good?
I’ve heard plenty of people preach exercise, meditation, and work-life balance as contributing to a fulfilling existence. I’ve heard others emphasize religion, devotion, moral clarity, works of charity. I’ve heard some who recommend friendships and family. But let’s be honest. No one recommends horror as a pastime for achieving the good life. And so, Shadow of the Vampire asks of horror:
If it’s fiction, what good is it?
If it’s not, how dangerous is it?
The enterprise of making horror is often as grim as its subject matter. Hollywood is not a friendly place of charity and goodwill. It’s competitive, greedy, and profit-oriented. German cinema in the 1920’s was no different.
Thus, the ambitions of F.W. Murnau, the director of Nosferatu, are self-serving. He cares little or not at all for actors and members of the crew, except as means to an end. And the end he has in mind is a corrupting obsession – to direct the greatest horror film of all time. Which he does.
Taking this premise to its logical conclusion, Murnau recruits an actual vampire, Max Schreck, and invites him onto the set, without revealing the actor’s true back story. In a scene as darkly comic and grotesque of any on celluloid, Scheck is conversing with actors and crew during a break in filming. Spontaneously, he plucks a bat from the night air and gobbles it up. His mouth is all broken wings, fur, and gore. Astonished, and without missing a beat, the producer pays him a genuine compliment: “Max, the German theatre needs you.”
If there be only one horror film you ever see, it ought to be this one, after which, you might consider Nosferatu.
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