How in the world can the talents of John Malkovich and Willem Defoe, coupled with the potential of (another) modern remake of the powerful Nosferatu tale end up a loser? That is the only mystery in this film. I often wonder why Hollywood and the film industry in general seems incapable of producing the sort of quality films abundant in the '40s, 50s, and '60s. Films like this provide at least part of an answer: tremendous amounts of talent and money are squandered on ridiculous drivel like this movie. I suppose that there is some sort of post-modern pseudo-intellectual point to this meandering, frustrating flop, but who gives a crap?
Avoid at all costs!
Avoid at all costs!