Let's talk about bloodsuckers. Robert Eggers and Ryan Coogler have both dropped vampire films, but they're coming at the genre from completely different worlds. Eggers is busy resurrecting Murnau's century-old 'Nosferatu' like it's sacred text, while Coogler's 'Sinners' is pushing vampire mythology into territory we've never seen before. Same monsters, wildly different visions—and the gap between them says everything about who is preserving tradition and who has to reinvent it to be heard. These two films aren't just about the undead; they're about whose stories get to live forever.

Preserving the Canon: Eggers' "Nosferatu"

I love the classics as much as the next person, and Eggers's Nosferatu is about as fanboy as you can get. The meticulous attention to detail, the reverence for the source material—it's almost religious in its approach.

The film faithfully resurrects that 1922 vibe while adding just enough contemporary technical prowess to feel fresh. The shadow work is particularly remarkable—you can see Eggers studying how Murnau created tension with nothing but light and darkness, then applying those same principles with today's gear. Bill Skarsgård's Orlok channels Max Schreck's iconic performance while adding new layers of discomfort that get under your skin.

The atmosphere is dark, brooding, and unsettling, capturing the dread and paranoia that made the original so effective. You feel the weight of history in every shot—post-WWI anxiety, fear of contagion—all carefully presented like horror's greatest hits.

I dig Eggers's deep dive into the historical context, including the use of Romanian dialect. It's the kind of detail that makes film nerds swoon and casual viewers feel like they're experiencing something substantial.

But here's my question: was he saying anything new?

For all its technical brilliance and reverence for cinema history, Eggers's "Nosferatu" feels more interested in preservation and homage than conversation. It's reproducing rather than responding. And what's up with seeing Ellen Hutter, played by Lily-Rose Depp, through the male gaze AGAIN? (Wait... is Nosferatu basically the vampire version of The Idol?!?!) The victimized, pure woman whose body becomes the battleground between men feels like a leftover from another era that deserved scrutiny rather than faithful reproduction. Missed opportunity for a fresh take there.

Breaking New Ground: Coogler's "Sinners"

Meanwhile, Ryan Coogler's "Sinners" is doing something completely different. Set in the 1930s South during the height of Jim Crow laws and KKK terror, Coogler transforms vampires into a powerful metaphor for cultural extraction and appropriation.

In "Sinners," vampires are musicians who can "pierce the veil of time and death through sheer talent." These undead artists don't just drain blood; they drain creativity, cultural expression, and soul. This brilliant reimagining allows Coogler to explore the theft of Black musical traditions—particularly the blues—by white performers and executives who profited from Black suffering while erasing Black creators.

The characters in "Sinners" feel alive in a way that's almost ironic for a vampire film. They're multidimensional people with personal and political struggles that exist within both the vampire framework and the brutal reality of the Jim Crow South. The protagonist's journey raises questions about survival, compromise, and resistance that resonate far beyond the horror genre.

Coogler's exploration of cultural appropriation makes "Sinners" truly extraordinary. The vampire becomes a perfect metaphor for extraction—taking something vital from someone else to sustain yourself while leaving them diminished. When white characters "feed" on Black musicians' talent and repackage it for white audiences, the parallels to real musical history are unmistakable. From blues to jazz to rock to hip-hop, American music history is full of Black innovation being co-opted, sanitized, and monetized by white performers and executives.

Okay, what was up with those Native American characters in Coogler's film though? They showed up for like five minutes total but felt weirdly important. Was Coogler basically saying "look, these white folks are so racist they'd rather get their blood sucked dry than listen to indigenous wisdom"? Maybe it's just a not-so-subtle reminder that before America had a vampire problem, it had a genocide problem. I probably need another viewing to fully get what he was going for, but knowing Coogler, nothing this guy does is accidental.

The film's stunning cinematography and powerful music create an experience that's visually and aurally intoxicating. The music isn't just soundtrack; it's a central character that connects the story and deepens the themes. Coogler understands that to tell a story about musical appropriation, the music itself needs to be present, powerful, and undeniable.

We Gotta Talk About The Women

Let's be real - Eggers might give his female characters more screen time, but he still can't help killing them off to restore the status quo. Take Ellen in "Nosferatu" - sure, she gets a whole psychological backstory, but what happens? Her "monstrous" sexuality and mental illness make her so threatening to the patriarchy that she has to sacrifice herself by the end. Classic horror move: make the weird woman die so everything can go back to normal.

Meanwhile, Coogler's women in "Sinners" are actually allowed to exist without being walking metaphors for societal disorder. His characters like Annie with her Hoodoo practices and Mary navigating her racial identity aren't just there to freak us out before being destroyed. They form their own bonds, have their own agendas, and don't need a man's permission to matter in the story.

The difference is stark: Eggers gives us a woman whose "empowerment" is choosing how she'll die to save everyone else, while Coogler gives us women who build community and face ancestral trauma without needing to be exterminated for the credits to roll.

Two Directors, Two Approaches

Same monsters, wildly different visions. This conversation feels especially timely given that both films were released within just four months of each other in 2025, creating a perfect moment to examine how two acclaimed directors approach the same genre from completely different angles.

I'm not knocking Eggers for what he achieved with "Nosferatu." His film is a technical marvel and a love letter to cinema history that will thrill many viewers. But placing these two films side by side reveals something worth discussing about how filmmakers from different backgrounds approach genre filmmaking.

Eggers, as a white filmmaker, has the luxury of treating cinema history as something worth preserving exactly as it is—shadows, problematic gender dynamics, and all. His relationship to Murnau's work is one of inheritance; he's continuing a tradition that he sees himself as part of.

Coogler, as a Black filmmaker, approaches the vampire genre differently—not as sacred text to be preserved but as malleable material that can be reinvented to express new ideas and perspectives. His relationship to the genre is transformative rather than preservationist.

Why is this distinction important? Because Eggers, like other white filmmakers, HAS a cinematic past to build upon, while filmmakers of color have barely participated in the conversation and therefore have less to reference. I'd argue that faithful remakes should be controversial not because they might "mess up" the original, but because they risk simply regurgitating ideas from a single cultural perspective without expanding the conversation.

What This Says About Us

This contrast asks us to do what art should always make us do: contextualize the conversations we're having with ourselves and reflect on the reflections of society. It raises questions about who gets to be the keeper of tradition and who must innovate to be heard. It asks us to consider whether preservation or reinvention better serves horror as a genre and cinema as an art form.

Which approach do you think horror needs more right now? The careful preservation of Eggers or the bold reinvention of Coogler?

I'd argue we need a little less preservation and a lot more reinvention—the reverence for history and the courage to transform it. But I also think we need to pay attention to which filmmakers feel compelled to do which, and what that says about whose stories cinema has historically prioritized.

After all, you can only preserve what's already been ALLOWED to exist.

What do you think? Does horror, or Cinema for that matter, need more preservation of its classics or reinvention of its tropes? Drop your thoughts in the comments below.