Nosferatu disgusts its viewers, as all good horrors should. Across the backdrop of beautiful gothic sets, rats crawl and blood is spilt as Bill Skarsgård’s Count Orlok breathes down the audience’s necks. The possible interpretations for this remake (third time’s the charm?) are endless, ranging from blood borne STDs to immigration; Nosferatu is a film about many things. But what struck me upon watching was the unspoken discussion of consent. As the credits rolled in The Grosvenor late on a Thursday night, I was left with one question: is Ellen a non-consenting pawn or is she a powerful heroine; and are these mutually exclusive?
Ellen summons Orlok as a young girl, in a moment of lust and loneliness. It is because of this that we know it is Ellen’s sexuality that he pursues. Orlok refers to himself saying “I am just an appetite” – appetite being strictly erotic. Orlok’s control over Ellen’s body is clear in the scenes depicting her possession, he infiltrates every part of her being, in a way that is resonant with sexual assault an attack on a person’s entire being, not simply their body. Watching Nosferatu, I recognised the gradual battle of Ellen’s autonomy.
The final image of Nosferatu is one which left me unsettled for hours afterwards: the image of Orlok’s brittle, broken body over the lifeless Ellen. Ellen’s consent is given under duress, in a moment of paralysing desperation. Her sacrifice is physical. The professor, played by William Dafoe, describes Ellen’s final act as “a women’s sacrifice”, a phrase that rang familiar to me. Women’s sexuality has long been considered powerful, but Ellen’s sexuality is only rendered powerful when she relinquishes it, when it is used by someone else and not by her. Although Ellen’s character suggests that there can be strength found in weakness, heroic actions found in the softness of a Victorian woman intent on saving her husband, it is a shame that her heroism relies on the sexuality of her body.
I conclude to believe that Ellen’s consent is void, but I still view her in the light of a deserving heroine. I just wish the eroticism of Ellen’s “sacrifice” was less romanticised.
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