The Economist (2022-02-26) Riva

80 Culture TheEconomistFebruary26th 2022

Thebirthoftheundead

Out for the count

O

nehundredyearsago,inMarch1922,

the first major film adaptation of Bram

Stoker’s “Dracula” had its premiere in Ber-

lin. Not that it was called “Dracula”. The

film-makers hadn’t asked for permission

to adapt the famous vampire novel of 1897,

so they changed the characters’ names.

Jonathan Harker, the estate agent who ven-

tures to Transylvania, was renamed Thom-

as Hutter (and played by Gustav von Wan-

genheim). Harker’s fiancée, Mina, became

Hutter’s wife Ellen (Greta Schröder). Count

Dracula is Count Orlok (Max Schreck). And

the film, directed by F.W. Murnau, luxuriat-

ed in the shiver-inducing title “Nosferatu:

A Symphony of Horror”.

No one was fooled. Stoker’s dogged

widow, Florence, sued the producers for

copyright infringement, and the courts

ordered all copies of the film and negatives

to be destroyed. If it weren’t for a stray

print that turned up in Paris, one of the

masterpieces of Weimar cinema would

have been lost for ever. (Today viewers can

stream it on Shudder, a service dedicated to

horror and thriller titles.)

A century on, “Nosferatu” is still re-

vered for its experimental techniques—

shooting on rugged locations as well as in a

studio;usingstop-motionanimationand

fast-motionfootage—andfortheglutof

horror-movieconventionsitestablished.

Thefilmincludesvillagersinatavernwho

warn the hero not to proceed, and the con-

ceit that vampires are burnt to ash by sun-

light. It is the archetypal “Dracula” film.

And yet its most strikingly modern aspects

are those that leave Stoker’s novel behind.

One departure from the source material

is that when Orlok travels from Transylva-

nia to Germany, he brings along a swarm of

plague-carrying rats. Crosses are chalked

on doors in the fictional town of Wisborg; a

line of coffins is carried down the main

street. After the influenza epidemic that

began in 1918, these images would have

chilled audiences as much as did the grisly

count. They remain chilling today.

Another change is the omission of Stok-

er’s macho band of vampire-slayers. While

the men in “Nosferatu” bustle around,

achieving nothing, it is Ellen who consults

a book of undead lore, against her hus-

band’s instructions, and she who sacrifices

herself to defeat Orlok and save the town.

Ellen even shoos the useless Hutter out of

the house so he won’t get wind of her plan.

The producer, Albin Grau, wrote an arti-

cle in 1921 describing the first world war as

a “cosmic vampire”, and some critics see

“Nosferatu” as a response to the wartime

slaughter that helped push women into the

workplace. Whatever the reason for Ellen’s

courage, this feminist twist on Stoker’s

story established another horror-movie

staple—the woman who deals with a hei-

nous villain single-handedly.

Think of Ridley Scott’s interstellar vam-

pire film “Alien” (1979). After the male crew

members unwittingly invite a toothy pred-

ator into their spaceship, ignoring the ob-

jections of Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), it is

up to her to destroy the thing herself. It

may be a coincidence that Ripley’s first

name is Ellen, too. But these twoheroines,

decades apart, are united by a corebelief:

monster-hunting is women’s work.

As “Nosferatu” shows, killing monsters

has always been a job for women

home

entertainment

TheNixonpresidency

Watchdog barking

F

iftyyearsagothismonth,Richard

Nixon embarked on his historic trip to

China. Nixon loved planning it, recalls

Dwight Chapin, an aide who helped pre-

pare the visit. Mr Chapin’s ghostwritten

memoir captures the excitement of the

mission, as well as his awe at the presi-

dent’s strategic vision. “We are going to

China”, Nixon said at the time, “because in

50 years we will be adversaries and we

must be able to talk to one another.”

Those were heady days for Mr Chapin,

brought up on a farm in Kansas and now

witnessing great-power politics, being

served duck brain at a banquet with Zhou

Enlai and, at just 30, impressing the Chi-

nese premier with his youth. Thanks to his

loyalty and organisational flair, he had

progressed from working as an advance

man on Nixon’s failed bid for California’s

governorship in 1962 to occupying an office

next to the president’s. His secret-service

codename was “Watchdog”. As Nixon’s ap-

pointments secretary, he kept his daily

schedule, “working with five of the most

impressive words in the English language:

‘The White House is calling’.”

After China came Russia. Mr Chapin

helped organise the first trip by an Ameri-

can president to Moscow, where Nixon

signed the Strategic Arms Limitation Trea-

ty and his aide found himself admiring the

beauty of the American ambassador’s resi-

dence. Mr Chapin began to harbour plausi-

ble thoughts of himself one day becoming

an ambassador in a place like this.

Then it all came crashing down. In De-

cember 1972 Mr Chapin was abruptly fired

from the White House in an effort to kill a

growing scandal. He would become the

first official to be indicted—on four counts

of perjury—in the Watergate affair. As he is

at pains to point out, he had nothing to do

with the burglary at the Watergate building

and played no part in its cover-up. But he

had hired a former college roommate to

carry out dirty tricks on Democrats (he

calls them “political pranks”), at the sug-

gestion of Nixon and Mr Chapin’s mentor,

the chief of staff, Bob Haldeman. A court

decided he had lied about the shenanigans

to a grand jury. He spent nine months in

Lompoc penitentiary in California.

Looking back, Mr Chapin has no re-

grets. He considers himself to have been a

political prisoner, the victim of a campaign

The President’s Man.By Dwight Chapin.

William Morrow; 480 pages; $29.99 and £20