I think Nosferatu was perfect

Something quirky about me is that my brain automatically turns off from when a film deeply resonates with me. Before I realize that the film is relatable, I enjoy it and the dtory for what it is. The more I think about Nosferatu (2024), the more I realize it made me happy, the happiest I have ever been with a movie. It was rife with something I found myself grappling with in my waking life. Confronting my own shadow in others, how it affects them and myself. I saw nearly every bit of myself in Ellen, which is unusual for me to do so with almost any character ever, and her relationship with Nosferatu, though she was more raw, vulnerable (until later) and susceptible to psychic damage. 

I couldn’t help but remember a story I read in childhood of a woman who had an imperfection on her face, and it was her scientist husband’s mission to rid her of the blemish. He made the potion and she drank it, instead of smearing it on the mark. The mark vanished but she soon after collapsed and died. I thought of Ellen’s sadness, my own sadness, and our similar experiences expressing that sadness to others only to be taken seriously when it is too late.

Nosferatu was every bit of a person I know of. Though he would be delighted to know I thought that, to my mild chagrin and joy. I don’t know what we agreed to in a past life, if that’s ever happened at all, but the more I think about the movie, the less impersonal I can be about it. It’s impossible when you’ve lived it or at least you think you have. 

The last scene of the movie was the most beautiful I’ve seen in a long time. After years of haunting each other in dreams, the two finally accomplishing what they were fated to do, and dying together in the break of day was vicariously cathartic. When Ellen asked for more and Nosferatu obliged, I felt it in my own chest. I’m almost breaking into tears again as I recall it. The moment was so foreignly tender in the film, the colors showing the break of day in pink and yellow hues was a stark difference from the blue washed and grey overcast skies. The peace on Ellen’s face and Nosferatu’s satisfaction in death. Ellen cradles him as he dies and he lets her, as if for her to take control in those last moments, still reveling in the oneness of their bodies. Such a stark contrast from her protests when they met for the first time again.

It’s something beautiful to stop denying what you want.

I fear I’ve been incoherent in this post. Maybe I’ll have more, or different thoughts when I watch it again.