In a small mining town in Tasmania there’s no Buffy the Vampire Slayer in sight, leaving local residents vulnerable to the predatory whims of Count Orlok in Keziah Warner’s adaptation of Nosferatu. The original 1922 German silent film Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, directed by F. W. Murnau, was unofficially adapted from Bram Stoker’s Dracula with characters and locations changed due to fears of copyright infringement. Warner has taken a similar approach with this rendition, shifting geography with subtle jabs at the often-obscure Eastern European origins of vampires in popular culture.
Starring Jacob Collins-Levy (The Witcher: Blood Origin, The White Princess) as Count Orlok, alongside Sophie Ross (Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again.), Keegan Joyce (Because the Night, Cloudstreet), Max Brown (The Gloaming) and Shamita Siva, Malthouse Theatre’s production uses the financial woes of a regional town as a metaphor for carnivorous wealthy benefactors consumed by capitalistic self-interest. Tom (Keegan Joyce) and Knock (Max Brown) work for the mayor’s office, and alongside local journalist and Tom’s girlfriend, Ellen (Shamita Siva), they strategise ways to save the town from its overreliance on mining and the ongoing detrimental environmental impact. When Tom gets an unexpected invitation from a wealthy financier in Sydney, he’s unintentionally persuaded to bring him back to town to set up a winery to rejuvenate the local economy. However, as the town doctor Kate (Sophie Ross) forewarns the audience, this handsome, evil stranger is about to wreak havoc and reap death.
Anne Rice’s debut novel Interview with the Vampire emphasises the homoerotic, sadomasochistic aspect to vampire storytelling. This is apparent in the 1994 movie adaptation starring Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Kirsten Dunst, as well as the 2022 TV series starring Game of Thrones’ Jacob Anderson. In Nosferatu, the hypnotic hold this monster in human form has over those he desires is depicted as a form of coercive mind control and love bombing often deployed by narcissistic gaslighters. Orlok manipulates his prey and demands unconditional loyalty. The queer tone and portrayal of Orlok’s relationship with Tom and Knock exemplifies this, lending itself to titillating and confronting scenes on stage – relevant at a time when fluid sexuality and toxic relationships are increasingly part of the vernacular.
The production leans deeply into the mythology of vampirism: from the absurdity of garlic allergies and heightened senses, macabre nocturnal habits and proximity to werewolves, and the comical sartorial choice of a cape. It’s hard to replicate the visual effects deployed by television shows and movies within the canon into a theatre production, but Nosferatu does its best. The set design is minimalist but effective, replicating the Victorian-style doors of a townhouse façade against bright red curtains. Eerie sounds including loud indistinguishable whispers and distorted paranormal voices add to a horror-filled tension so thick, audiences could sink their teeth into it. There are enough blood splatters and shadow play to appease enthusiasts without turning off the fainthearted, and lighting choices of neon green, blue and red add to the ambience.
Collins-Levy’s titular performance grounds the show. His portrayal of a mysterious stranger in a new town is reminiscent of the Salvatore brothers in The Vampire Diaries. His presence and voice commands attention, making him the perfect pseudo-Dracula. He gradually unmasks his identity, cajoling his victims with sarcastic airs, soliciting invitations into buildings in the vein of True Blood and making self-aware jokes about his age. His measured execution and way of storytelling contribute to much of the humour and entertainment in the show – any scene he’s in is always memorable.
The other cast members are each given their moment to shine: Joyce and Brown do excellent impressions of limp corpses, Ross is a convincing harbinger of danger and Siva delivers a headstrong performance in her debut with Malthouse Theatre. However, the variability in acting styles across the cast distinguishes the theatre pros from screen actors, including the ability to project and enunciate dialogue. In all-cast scenes when multiple characters are talking over each other or parallel scenes are happening in tandem, it felt hard to grasp the context. Live performance is a tricky art to master, and thespians can only become more agile with different forms through further opportunities.
One other weakness of the show is the confusing nature of the mining plot. The dialogue around it feels convoluted, which often leads to over-explanation where succinctness would have prevented tedium. It’s hard to feel emotionally invested in the township’s plight due to this and the storyline feels unnecessary – a mysterious stranger arriving in a remote suburb would have sufficed.
Nosferatu appeals to anyone with a curious appetite for supernatural storytelling, dark comedy and blood – you’ve been warned.
Nosferatu plays at the Malthouse Theatre until March 5, 2023. Find tickets and more information here.
