Nosferatu (2024) Feminist Horror: Power, Possession & Repression
- theghoulsnextdoor
- Feb 19
- 14 min read
Is Nosferatu a cautionary tale about repression, or an empowering story of feminine defiance? Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu (2024) is a chilling reflection of historical oppression, medical horror, and the fear of feminine autonomy. The film’s eerie atmosphere, psychological terror, and feminist themes connect directly to the real-life history of how women were controlled, misdiagnosed, and silenced in the 19th century.
The Ghouls explore Nosferatu through both film analysis and historical context—examining how the gothic horror of Count Orlok reflects societal fears of independent women, medical oppression, and patriarchal control. From Ellen’s supernatural descent to the real-world horrors of hysteria diagnoses, forced medical treatments, and the suppression of female autonomy, Nosferatu becomes a terrifying metaphor for historical and systemic abuse.
Sources in this Episode:
Leechcraft in British Medicine Re-imagining Bleeders: The Medical Leech in the Nineteenth Century Bloodletting Encounter
Other Reading:
Media from this week's episode:
Nosferatu (2024)
A gothic tale of obsession between a haunted young woman and the terrifying vampire infatuated with her, causing untold horror in its wake.
Director- Robert Eggers
Nosferatu: the Horrors of Female Liberation
by gabe castro
RED: Quotes, someone else's words.
Synopsis
Nosferatu is a haunting horror remake that delves into the Dracula-adjacent terror of Count Orlok’s twisted pursuit of love and acceptance. Of course, his version of love and acceptance comes at the expense of someone else’s freedom and happiness—typical vampire behavior. This film is a brilliant blend of gothic horror, psychological terror, and satanic panic, set in 19th-century Europe. At its heart is a married couple whose lives are torn apart by sinister pacts with demonic forces.
As a young girl, Ellen was an outsider. A naturally spiritual person with a touch of psychic ability (paging Professor Xavier), she evoked fear in those around her, who saw her gift as either a curse or evidence of madness. Longing for affection and comfort, Ellen turned to the darkness—and, unfortunately, it answered. Her desperate plea for connection forever tied her to the vampire creature Nosferatu.
Years later, Ellen’s life seems idyllic. She’s happily married, her melancholic past is behind her, and the hysteria that once plagued her is a distant memory. But her teenage "affair" with the darkness hasn’t forgotten her. Learning of her marriage, Nosferatu devises a sinister plan to tear Ellen’s beloved husband, Thomas, away from her.
Thomas, driven by a desire to secure a better future for Ellen and a fascination with the wealth of his best friend, embarks on a dangerous journey to the mountains to close a deal with the mysterious Count Orlok. In his absence, Ellen’s tranquility unravels. By day, she becomes comatose; by night, she is consumed by a manic, almost possessed state.
Desperate to save her, her caretakers enlist the help of a paranormal doctor, who quickly determines that Ellen isn’t sick—she’s under the control of something supernatural: a vampyr.
Eggers’ Nosferatu is a beautiful, gothic and moody masterpiece, brimming with chilling possession scenes, grotesque gore, and a savage exploration of the suppression of women’s autonomy and sexuality. Through Ellen’s story, the film weaves a harrowing emotional arc, balancing her inner strength with the terror inflicted by Orlok. With its haunting visuals and meticulously crafted period detail, this is Robert Eggers at his most ambitious, delivering a reimagined tale that will leave audiences shaken to their core.
Liberation & Healing: Come to Me
Nosferatu is a stunning horror retelling of a classic film, surprising me with its intentionality and exploration of the suppression of women. It uses Ellen’s tragic story to unravel societal fears of feminine independence and desire, offering a haunting critique of patriarchal control beneath its dark, moody veneer. As Eggers explained in an interview with CBS Saturday Morning, Ellen’s story is a late addition to the original 1922 film - the focus more on the men controlling and fascinated by her. Instead, Eggers wanted to focus on Ellen’s story entirely.
While I deeply enjoyed Eggers’ period piece The Witch, I never felt the “good for her” energy that many associate with the film. Instead, I left feeling torn over Thomison’s lack of autonomy, her hopeless circumstances molding her into the perfect vessel for Satan. Eggers’ Nosferatu similarly plays with this dichotomy of independence, revealing the sharp edges of a presumed choice.
In The Witch, Thomison’s family is slowly torn apart—both physically, as seen in the separation of the baby and her younger brother, and emotionally, with paranoia and faith-fueled fear breeding distrust and hysteria. In Nosferatu, Ellen’s power and gifts leave her vulnerable to neglect and abuse by those around her. Her sacrifice, in the end, can be interpreted as both a victory—a defiant stand against her oppressors—and a loss, reducing her to yet another pawn in a larger, inescapable scheme.
Ellen is a woman out of place and time. Her psychic and spiritual gifts mark her as an other, and in her rigid, patriarchal community, she is labeled melancholic, cursed, or even dangerous—politely dismissed as corrupted in a way society deems appropriate. Instead of celebrating her uniqueness, she is stifled, a reflection of an era that saw women’s individuality as a threat.
In this 19th-century hellscape of gloom and fear, women are expected to be seen—but only in a specific way. They must be demure, pure, and submissive. Any deviation marks them as outcasts, sinful, and dangerous. While Ellen’s spiritual gifts made her family uneasy—likely sparking fears of witchcraft—it wasn’t until she engaged in a sexual act that she was deemed truly lost and cast aside.
At the start of her new life, happily married—a nail properly nailed down—Ellen embodies the ideal wife: delicate, obedient, and perfectly in place. Her happiness is tethered to her husband’s success, her existence a reflection of societal expectations. Even her modest, meticulously tailored clothing reinforces this demure ideal—adorned with delicate flowers, covering her entirely. Every detail is intentional, from her attire to Eggers’ dialogue and set design, crafting a world where conformity is both an aesthetic and a cage.
Ellen’s home is pristine yet suffocating—pale tones, rigid symmetry, and ornate Victorian clutter embody the confinement imposed by societal norms. In stark contrast, Orlok’s castle is a decaying labyrinth of grotesque carvings and engulfing shadows, a physical manifestation of his corruption and the threat he poses to Ellen’s fragile sense of freedom.
In one hauntingly beautiful scene, Ellen drifts through her home like a ghost, her white nightgown billowing as if caught in an unseen current. She moves in a trance, her face vacant yet her motions eerily graceful. The house, bright and sterile, feels oppressive, while creeping shadows outside the windows claw their way in—a chilling omen of Orlok’s tightening grip on her life.
Ellen’s unraveling is as tragic as it is terrifying. With Thomas gone, she slips into a disturbing pattern—comatose during the day, wild and frenzied at night. Her "hysteria," a label slapped on women throughout history to dismiss their emotions and independence, takes center stage. But Eggers doesn’t let this outdated trope sit comfortably. Instead, he flips the script, presenting Ellen’s possession not as madness but as a supernatural manifestation of everything she’s been forced to suppress—her desires, her fears, her very self. It’s less about her "losing control" and more about the inevitable eruption of everything society has worked so hard to silence. She has moments of control and freedom from society’s expectations in these bouts of insanity where we see her in the same, stripped down clothing. Her hysteria allows her to vocalize and emote the pain she is otherwise forced to tamper down.
Costume design plays a significant role here. As noted by the film’s costumer in an Indiewire interview, titled The Costumes of ‘Nosferatu’ Are Gorgeous — They Also Tell a Story About Female Repression and Liberation, Ellen’s corset is a key symbol. Tightened by men and even worn in bed, it reflects the physical and emotional containment imposed on women of the time. Further, the specific corset Ellen is wearing in one scene in which her fits prove too much for the doctor, is tied tighter in the front - this design ensures that her anguish is visible, undeniable. Rather than silencing her suffering, it places it at the forefront, making it impossible to ignore.
Ellen’s wardrobe shifts subtly throughout the film. Initially, her dresses are intricate but restrictive, emphasizing her role as the dutiful wife. As her connection to Orlok deepens, her clothing becomes looser and darker, reflecting her descent into chaos and the breaking of societal expectations. In her emotional and sexually-charged scene with her husband, she’s in a plain striped dress that she tears apart in her grief and “madness.” The facade of structure crumbling away under her desperation to be seen and heard by the person who loves her and had previously been her healing and freedom. It isn’t until Thomas gives in to her darkness that they are able to truly reconnect and find power to fight back.
I am an appetite, nothing more
Eggers’ portrayal of Orlok as a predatory, manipulative force strips away any romantic allure typically associated with vampire stories. Vampires, an often romanticized creature of the night is absent of that allure here. It’s obvious that it’s not Orlok’s irresistible mystique that has a hold on Ellen but his supernatural power and control. Egger’s intentionally leaves Orlok decrepit and sinister. Further, her attraction and desire for him isn’t even about him, it’s about an answer to her cries in the dark - any answer would’ve worked for this woman who was so desperate for attention and care. She calls for “a guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, anything.” Orlok exploits this yearning, grooming her for his own purposes. It is the repression of Ellen’s darkness that opens her up to this vulnerability and abuse, in turn harming the world around her from her suffering.
Instead of those cliche tales of vampire romance, Nosferatu focuses on the horror of his abuse—physical, psychological, and emotional—and its devastating effects on Ellen and her community. This depiction challenges audiences to confront the reality of abuse and the resilience required to overcome it. With his unnervingly gaunt physicality, his slow, deliberate movements, and his grotesque makeup we’re offered an immediate sense of unease. Even Ellen confronts him at moments, denying any love of him and instead accusing him of this manipulation and abuse, of having taken advantage of her in a moment of weakness.
Orlok constantly speaks in cryptic, almost hypnotic tones, and implies to Thomas that he is both fascinated by and entitled to Ellen. Orlok isolates Ellen, threatens her community, and destroys her relationships, emphasizing the pervasive and psychological effects of his manipulation. This manipulation leaves Ellen with no choice but to confront and destroy him to reclaim her life.
Eggers’ Nosferatu reimagines this horror classic; effectively holding a mirror to societal anxieties about female liberation—an examination that feels as resonant today as it does in the film’s gothic setting. By framing Ellen’s story within the gothic horror tradition, Nosferatu critiques the rigid societal structures of the 19th century that demonized women’s agency, darkness, and sexuality. The film transforms her possession into a metaphor for reclaiming power, turning a classic tale of terror into a poignant exploration of autonomy, desire, and resistance.
Nosferatu History Primer: Women, Hysteria & Medical Horror
by Kat Kushin
RED: Quotes, someone else's words.
Women and Health in the 19th Century: Nosferatu History Primer
The film Nosferatu (2024), is set in the 1830s in the area of what would become Germany. This area was not a unified nation-state as we know it today, but rather a collection of independent states and territories loosely connected through the German Confederation (Deutscher Bund), which was established in 1815 after the Congress of Vienna. The German Confederation was a loose association of 39 German-speaking states in Central Europe, including major powers like Austria and Prussia, as well as smaller kingdoms, and free cities. The Confederation was created to replace the dissolved Holy Roman Empire and to coordinate the economies of the separate German-speaking countries.
The 1830s saw the early stages of industrialization in Germany. While the process was slower compared to Britain, certain regions, particularly in the Rhineland and Saxony, began to develop industries such as textiles, coal mining, and iron production.
The growth of industry led to the rise of a new working class, which faced harsh working conditions, long hours, and low wages. This period also saw the beginnings of the labor movement, with workers organizing to demand better conditions and rights. We see this a bit in the treatment of Thomas, in his pursuit of wealth under unreasonable conditions. While there wasn’t exactly a plague in germany at this time there were a handful of disease outbreaks, including Cholera, Typhus, and small pox. The plague was not that far outside public memory though, and had impacted people globally, just was not the only public health crisis to contend with. Plague was still actively feared though so it does make sense within the context of the film to have that be a major plot point.
The 19th century was also a time of transformation, a time when the social, political, and economic upheavals etched themselves deeply into the lives of women. Beneath the surface of industrial progress and revolutionary fervor, women bore the weight of systemic inequality, confined by societal expectations and constrained by a patriarchal medical system that often misunderstood or outright dismissed their experiences. These challenges, layered with myths and misconceptions, shaped their existence and health, both mental and physical. When we compare that to what we experience today, it does not feel THAT different. Women fighting for autonomy is unfortunately a tale as old as time.
The early 19th century was marked by the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815), which had a profound impact on Europe, including the German states. The wars led to significant political and territorial changes, culminating in the Congress of Vienna in 1815, which sought to restore stability and balance of power in Europe. The Napoleonic Code, introduced in the territories occupied by Napoleon, had mixed effects. While it granted some legal rights to women, it also reinforced patriarchal control by emphasizing the authority of the husband over the wife. The aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars saw the rise of nationalism and the push for unification in the German states, setting the stage for future political upheavals. During this period, women's roles were largely confined to the domestic sphere. They were expected to manage the household, raise children, and support their husbands. Legal Status Women were still largely considered legal minors under the guardianship of their fathers or husbands. They had limited property rights and were excluded from most forms of political participation. Social norms continued to emphasize the ideal of the "good wife and mother," and women who deviated from these expectations often faced social ostracism. Education for women was limited, and their participation in public life was minimal. As a result, women were fairly isolated from the larger sphere of society and opportunity.
Mental health care for women in the 19th century was a mirror reflecting the oppressive gender roles of the time. One of the most common diagnoses for women in the nineteenth century was hysteria. This term was used to describe a wide range of symptoms, including anxiety, irritability, emotional outbursts, and physical symptoms like fainting and paralysis. The understanding of hysteria was deeply flawed and rooted in myths about female physiology and psychology. It was often considered a uniquely female disorder, attributed to disturbances in the uterus. Diagnoses like "hysteria" became a catch-all label, reducing complex mental health struggles to caricatures of "female frailty." Women who might have been suffering from depression, anxiety disorders, or trauma were instead subjected to treatments that ranged from dismissive to outright harmful.
The "rest cure," a hallmark of the era, enforced isolation and inactivity, silencing women under the guise of healing. Instead of fostering recovery, these measures often deepened feelings of helplessness and despair, as poignantly critiqued in literary works like Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper. These treatments reflected a broader societal tendency to control and contain women’s autonomy, using medical authority as a weapon.
Invasive medical practices served as physical manifestations of the era’s misconceptions about women’s health. Procedures like hysterectomies or clitoridectomies, performed to "cure" hysteria, betrayed a profound misunderstanding of female anatomy and agency. Even electrotherapy, hailed as progressive, was more a testament to the era’s desperation than its innovation.
The application of leeches in medical treatment exemplifies the period's reliance on tradition over evidence. Bloodletting, rooted in the ancient humoral theory, was believed to balance the body’s fluids and cure ailments. Leeches, in particular, became emblematic of this practice. A leech could ingest about 5 to 10 ml of blood at each feeding, almost ten times its own weight. The use of leeches was greatly influenced by Dr. François Broussais, a Parisian physician who claimed that all fevers were due to specific organ inflammation. He advocated for placing leeches over the inflamed organ to draw out the excess blood.
The high demand for leeches led to the rise of "leecheries," early forms of industrial farming that underscored the commodification of medical resources. Yet, as scientific understanding progressed, the enthusiasm for leech therapy waned, leaving behind a legacy of misplaced faith in unscientific remedies. Popularity and Decline Leech therapy was particularly popular in Europe during the 1830s, especially in France. In Paris alone, 5 to 6 million leeches were used annually, and about 35 million were used throughout the country. However, by the late 1800s, enthusiasm for leech therapy waned as medical understanding advanced and new treatments emerged. Despite this decline, leeches are still used today in select medical situations, such as in microsurgery to reduce blood congestion in reattached limbs.
The realm of reproductive health was no less fraught. Pregnancy and childbirth were perilous journeys, marked by high maternal and infant mortality rates. Poor hygiene, lack of access to trained professionals, and the relentless cycle of multiple pregnancies left women physically depleted and vulnerable to complications like puerperal fever. Menstruation, surrounded by stigma and ignorance, compounded the challenges. Myths about "menstrual madness" or the supposed dangers of menstruation perpetuated shame and misinformation, further alienating women from understanding their own bodies.
The industrial revolution brought seismic shifts, drawing women into factories and mines where they worked long hours for meager wages in grueling conditions. While these roles challenged the traditional domestic ideal, they also underscored the exploitative nature of the emerging capitalist system. Access to education for women, though limited, began to improve slightly during this period, spurred by progressive thinkers advocating for literacy and learning as tools of empowerment.
Amid these struggles, seeds of resistance began to sprout. Louise Otto-Peters A prominent figure in the early women's movement in Germany, Otto-Peters was a writer and activist who advocated for women's rights and founded the first German women's newspaper, "Frauen-Zeitung," in 1849. Events like the Hambach Festival of 1832 saw women participating alongside men in calls for unity and civil rights, even as their contributions were often sidelined. The festival was a significant event in the history of German nationalism and liberalism, symbolizing the growing demand for freedom and democracy.
The Revolutions of 1848, which swept across Europe, including the German states, saw women becoming more politically active. They participated in demonstrations and political clubs, demanding greater rights and freedoms. However, their involvement was often met with resistance, and many of their demands were not immediately realized. The period saw the formation of early women's associations, which aimed to address social issues and advocate for women's rights. These associations laid the groundwork for future feminist movements. These calls for civil rights resulted in panic from the government who attempted to stifle their voices further. The Prussian law of 11 March 1850 (Das Preußischen Vereinsgesetz) prohibited the admission of women to political associations and restricted their attendance at political meetings. These battles for autonomy would continue, as we eventually saw improvements of women’s rights during the Weimar Republic in Germany, and then backtracking again in World War 2.
The treatment of women’s mental and physical health in the 19th century was inseparable from the broader systems of oppression that sought to define their roles and limit their autonomy. Whether through misdiagnoses like hysteria, invasive medical procedures, or the commodification of their labor and bodies, women were systematically denied agency and dignity. Yet, the same era that sought to constrain them also bore witness to their resilience. The foundations laid by early activists and thinkers would become the bedrock of future feminist movements, carving pathways toward equity and understanding in the centuries to come.
The legacy of this period serves as a stark reminder: the systems that marginalize and exploit are both persistent and adaptable, but so too is the human spirit that resists them. Women’s fight for autonomy and health in the 19th century is a testament to the enduring struggle for justice and recognition in the face of systemic oppression.
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