CNN
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“I feel you like a serpent crawling inside my body,” whimpers Ellen, played by Lily-Rose Depp — the tortured object of Count Orlok’s affection. In director Robert Eggers’ latest film, “Nosferatu,” the year is 1838, and the ancient Transylvanian vampire has been tainting Ellen’s dreams with psychosexual nightmares since she was a child.
The original “Nosferatu” — a silent 1922 horror film directed by F. W. Murnau, inspired by Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel “Dracula” — casts Ellen as an unfortunate and somewhat random victim of the Count. Eggers’ version, to be released on Christmas Day in the US, places Ellen at the center. The result is a gothic allegory of female desire and sexuality. “I am an appetite, nothing more,” drones the Count; a rotting, balding, corpse-like figure — with a mysteriously full chevron mustache — played by Bill Skarsgard. “‘Till you bid me, I come.”
What ensues is a somnambulant game of cat and mouse, with the suggestion — or actual depiction — of sex never being too far away. The more desperate the Count is to feast on Ellen, the more intense her nightmares become; resulting in the kind of eye-rolling, softly groaning fits often associated with the eroticized vampire genre.
For costume designer Linda Muir, who has been a mainstay on Eggers’ set since his directorial debut “The Witch” (2015), striking the balance between 19th-century period accuracy and sartorial seduction was key. “Absolutely, (we talked about) the sexual power of clothing,” she said in a Zoom call. The “diaphanous fabrics” reflected Ellen’s “own vulnerability, her fragility,” Muir added.
One of the most important details to nail for Muir was the characters’ sleeping attire. As typical of vampires, Court Orlok’s nocturnal circadian rhythm means much of the film takes place in the dead of night, with characters bathed in blueish moonlight. “There’s a lot of time spent in nightgowns,” Muir said. Floating and paper-thin, Ellen’s nightgowns are built to appear sensual — we often see them so sweat-soaked they’re transparent. “We did three different versions of weights and layering,” explained Muir. “We did mock ups and twirls of the different weights and had a fit model come in, and we filmed her in different lighting. Then we wet her. We totally soaked her like a wet rat, and we filmed that so we could see, you know, what are (the audience) going to see?”
Even outside of the bedroom, Ellen’s skin is a key part of her costuming. Blue paisley dresses, a nod to Orlok’s nickname for her, “lilac,” were cut with deep off-the-shoulder necklines, exposing her décolletage and, most importantly, her neck. The low neckline of one violet-hued dress is lined with white lace, while the detachable sleeves balloon at the elbow. It’s a silhouette that’s been recently reimagined on the high fashion runways, from Valentino’s Spring-Summer collection in 2019 to Simone Rocha Fall-Winter 2023. But if the dresses worn by Ellen appear modern on-screen, it is entirely coincidental, insists Muir, who held firm on historical accuracy. “Although what happens with beautiful designs is that anyone who loves clothing will say, ‘Oh my god, I would wear this now,’” she said. (Depp and Emma Corrin, who plays Ellen’s closest friend, Anna Harding, were both particularly enthusiastic, according to Muir, about the wearability of their costuming — from an outfit of black underpinnings to period-specific fingerless gloves.)
In fact, most of the visual direction came from a fashion journal written in 1838 — the exact year of Egger’s retelling. “I screamed with joy the day I found it,” said Muir. “It gave us the information for nightgowns, for drawers, for night shirts for men, for shirts for men… For me and Robert (Eggers), we find the idea that (the costumes) look realistic even more terrifying in terms of it being a horror film. If it were hugely stylized, that can be really beautiful and trippy, but it’s not necessarily as believable.”
The audience isn’t just invited to look at Ellen’s clothes, but consider them as plot devices, too. There’s the bodice she tears open during a moment of sexual frenzy (Muir used a special stitching technique that meant the seams were weak enough for Lily-Rose to tear apart) and the corset that becomes an instrument of physical restraint. As her sleeping trances increase in intensity, the town’s physician Dr. Sievers (played by Ralph Ineson) recommends using one of Ellen’s corsets to tie her to the bed. It’s both an added layer of sexual innuendo, and a nod to the garment’s controversial, and sometimes barbaric, history — since many doctors at the time linked corset wearing with disease and even hysteria. “Robert (Eggers), whether intentional or not, is a hugely feminist writer,” said Muir.
“Researching the corset was interesting to me,” she continued. “Because of Ellen’s (financially disadvantaged) position she doesn’t have a maid, and so it’s a self-tightening corset, which means it’s laced up the back still, but also the laces come to the front… It meant (Ineson, when securing Depp to the bed) could tighten the corset with her face being up.”
While Muranu’s 1922 “Nosferatu” also had an erotic edge, Eggers goes all-in with his psychosexual nightmare — and Muir’s sweat-soaked nightgowns and bursting bodices only add to the film’s fever pitch. Yet every sartorial decision is rooted in historical evidence. Women in the 19th century dressed surprisingly sexily, said Muir, pointing to the translucent fabrics and exposed skin common in 1810’s fashion — and sported by prominent figures like Napoleon’s wife, Joséphine Bonaparte.
“You’re not allowed to see an ankle,” she said. “That drives those guys crazy… It is always fascinating to consider what is taboo.”
