The Nosferatu Effect: A Gothic, Collective Haunting

The seductive shadow cast by Nosferatu extends beyond critical and artistic accolades to its ability to collectively haunt audiences.

I need to share some heart barf and gush profusely about Nosferatu, but not in the way you’re likely expecting.

I’m not going to explore the depths of how the sound and score activate and elevate every nook and cranny of this film, Eggers’ masterful demonstration of what it means to “do your homework” when it comes to retelling centuries-old tales or his unparalleled use of light and shadow, or unpack the nuances of some deft and striking acting performances.

All these things are true, and many of my peers have already heralded them sufficiently. I have genuinely enjoyed wading through their thoughtful content.

Now that this exquisite film is available to stream at home, I want to discuss the experience of seeing it on the big screen and in the theatre (with obligatory snacks and pop—yes, concessions absolutely factor in).

First, I must offer a personal story to help you (at least slightly) understand my perspective.

PERSONAL STORY TIME

I have always been sensitive—like, extra sensitive. My brand of neurospice is like curry powder. It’s a punchy blend that includes the ever-divisive cilantro (coriander), which means I’m equally loved and loathed.

Regardless of likeability, this makes for a unique reality. I process sensory inputs much differently than most (yes, certain sounds, smells, and textures send me into the stratosphere) and possess an uncanny and strange connection to—how should I call them—energies. I don’t consider myself a medium or a witch; I’m just hyper in tune with natural and spiritual happenings and presences around me.

When focused and open to these moments and guests, I can pick up on the subtlest patterns and feelings that are often imperceptible to others. This sensitivity was amplified after I had my daughter.

Now, I’m sure some of you science-reigns-supreme types are going to chalk this up to hormonal imbalance and extreme sleep deprivation, and all I can say is that backseat driving is not a flex. I know what I felt, I know what was there, and I know I wasn’t alone. This wasn’t a one-off; you would need to craft narratives for various experiences and encounters peppering my existence.

For the first seven months of her life, my daughter never slept more than three hours. Each night, in the muted darkness of the after-hours, we swayed and fed in the comfort of a rocking chair.

Shortly after our wee hours feedings began, I started to feel them. Sometimes, it was just one. Sometimes, it was a few, like a silent cocktail party. But I could feel them. We weren’t alone.

The vast majority of them were harmless. I couldn’t make out personas for them. Like I mentioned above, they were more like energies than discernable beings. They were definitely people, though. Or the remnants of people, at least.

I would acknowledge them. Not out loud or anything, but in my head. I’d smile, give them a nod, and host a short, one-way dialogue.

That dialogue would be something along the lines of, “Hello there. Thanks for joining us. Feels rather awkward that you’re just hanging around while I’m feeding my child and lactating profusely slash embarrassingly from my other breast. But it’s cool. Do you. Don’t mind us.”

One night was different, though.

Our visitor was a single spirit, and it was not kind. It felt dark and menacing. I was not concerned it would harm my daughter or me; however, I did not want it around. It made me uncomfortable and uneasy. I held my breath as I felt out its intentions and decided what to do. It took up so much space.

I’m not sure how to describe it other than it felt lost. Worse, it was angry about feeling lost. It flailed around without purpose but with passion. It wanted or needed something it couldn’t get to. I likened what I felt to a manifestation of a spirit in purgatory.

Ultimately, I decided to talk to it. (Like, actually out loud, not just in my head.)

“Please. Leave us alone. Your energy is negative and would prefer you not be around my daughter. I appreciate that you are lost, and I am sorry I cannot help, but I need you to move on.”

And it did. The energy dissipated. It did not return. I appreciated that my message was taken as intended: I respected their turmoil but needed to protect my daughter. I sincerely hope that individuals got the closure they sought and could let go of their burden.

I felt other spirits here and there after that interaction throughout the entire time I lived in that house. That specific spirit never came back, though, and that specific feeling of being steeped in malevolence never came back, either.

That is, until my second viewing of Nosferatu.

There it was. My senses triggered in the opening sequence—the chill, unmistakable and demanding acknowledgement.

I sat, overwhelmed with disbelief and respect. I have never had a film (or any other media format) or other stimuli replicate that distinct feeling.

Even more uncanny?

I wasn’t the only one in those theatres to acknowledge it with an emotional, spiritual, and palatable physical response.

MY FIRST NOSFERATU EXPERIENCE

I saw Nosferatu for the first time on Christmas Eve in a full theatre. The second time was at a late-night screening almost three weeks later, in one almost two-thirds full. One thing was the same about my experience both times: The audience’s energy.

The auditorium was eerily quiet and still for the entire duration of the film.

I noticed it the first time because from the moment Ellen’s face emerged from the shadows as the film opened, there wasn’t a moment I felt I could eat my popcorn without disrupting the connection and disturbing the collective experience. I commented about it online when another horror-loving peer (in an entirely different country) made the same observation about their experience.

As the reality set in that this experience was being duplicated during my second viewing, I consciously tapped into my sensitivity and made myself more open to feeling the energy of my neighbours.

(And at least the second time, I ate my popcorn faster, so I was less preoccupied with my inability to consume salt to satiate my heart’s desire.

The space was alive with humble and dark curiosity and fearful anticipation, which radiated from the seats.

As the film progressed, it was easy to see who the nay-sayers would be: those touting, “It was too slow” or “It wasn’t scary enough.”

I didn’t formally survey those around me, however I feel confident asserting those few were in the vast minority. I also appreciate that not everyone is capable or willing to succumb to such profound darkness. Read that without arrogance and as a simple statement of fact.

I am acutely aware that my sensitivity is not widely shared, which is another reason this common experience was so moving (and a bit jarring) for me.

So, when people say this film is “haunting,” they mean it—whether they have the kind of self-awareness I do or not.

Because of the immersive nature of the film, Eggers recreated something I have only ever known in my psyche.

He triggered my kind of spiritual sensitivity more broadly and infected my peers with this perfectly poignant plague. He offered us a gothic fog, not a slasher’s thunderstorm. Rather than an earth-rattling boom, it envelops you and lingers. It’s one thing to “get” a good audience. It’s an entirely different skill to curate one consistently.

This. Ultimately, this is what I want to champion: NOSFERATU’s ability to achieve this level of collective disease and discomfort warrants celebration.

I mean, taking this one step further, this feat actually mirrors the film’s erotic undercurrent. Ellen seeks fulfillment and satisfaction in a few areas of her life—one of which is a base, carnal, and even primaeval kind of sexual satisfaction.

The female climax is notoriously elusive. If we’re really seeing this parallel through, suffice it to say Eggers gives a master class in clitoral (spiritual) stimulation. I, for one, am sufficiently satisfied and appreciative of holding shared space in that way.

For those who experienced this in the theater, count yourselves among the fortunate. For everyone else, I encourage you to watch this with someone (or someones) at home and not alone if you can. Feeding on others’ energy is this film’s lifeblood.

If you’ve already seen it solo, experience it again with others and see how it transforms your viewing experience.