诺斯费拉图：夜晚的幽灵

To Be Read Aloud in His Voice, Obviously

转载自：Lithub

ByWernerHerzog December 16, 2019

A gloomy moon shines on the silhouette of a gloomy castle. The coach drives through an arched doorway into a sort of forecourt. Harker climbs out, and the coachman indicates with an imperious gesture that he should mount the steps before him. Harker remains standing indecisively before a large, closed portal. As he is mustering the courage to knock, the leaves of the door creak, and slowly, very slowly they swing open of their own accord. Inside all is dark.

Out of the darkness emerges an almost rigid figure in a tight-fitting black jacket. Its shoulders hunch forward slightly, and its hands are cramped together. The legs appear to be long and thin, and the fingers seem to be long as well, pale, with elongated claw-like nails. The face is as pale as a corpse, the head completely bald. The ears are crumpled, and pointed like a bat’s.

The eyes that stare at Jonathan cause us, like him, to shudder. Count Dracula? Jonathan asks. Yes, he is Count Dracula, and he welcomes him to his castle. He has been expecting him and invites him to enter. The night is cold, and he must be tired and hungry, the Count says.

Dracula takes a lit candle from a ledge along the wall and lights the way. When he holds the candle in front of himself for a moment, Harker thinks he can see the light shining through his body. But that effect disappears almost at once, for the Count takes pains to keep the candle to one side of his body. The door creaks shut behind them.

*

The dining hall, lit by candles. A fire flickers in the fireplace, casting crazy shadows on the walls and ceiling. The table, chairs, and other furniture very large. A long oak table and chairs with high, uncomfortable backs. We can tell how thick the walls are by the embrasures of the windows, which are barred. Despite its generous proportions, the room feels gloomy and inhospitable.

Two trunks with iron fittings, apparently locked for centuries. On the table stands an iron candelabrum from the late Middle Ages, and indeed everything here seems to originate in that period. The table is set with a sumptuous meal, but for only one person.

Dracula takes the seat at the head of the table and places Harker beside him where the meal prepared for the guest has been laid out. Harker hesitates, not sure at first how to break the silence; out of embarrassment he begins to talk business, producing the papers on the house and a letter from Renfield. He explains that the folded sheet of paper contains the layout of the house, which will certainly be of interest to the Count. Dracula pays it no mind, however; he has his eye fixed on Jonathan. He should help himself, he says softly; unfortunately he will have to dine alone.

The knife slips and slices into his thumb. In a flash Dracula is standing beside him, grasping his wrist.

It is almost midnight, and at this hour he, the Count, does not eat. Unfortunately, too, the servants are not available now, so Jonathan should allow him, the Count, to see to his comfort. Dracula speaks with exceptional courtesy, all in a very soft voice. Something about it conveys menace; his very presence fills us with trepidation.

Jonathan overcomes his nervousness and begins to eat heartily. The long journey has indeed made him hungry, and he applies himself enthusiastically to the wine. After a while he senses he is being watched intently and looks up. We see Dracula from close up. He is hiding his face behind Renfield’s letter, which is encoded in almost illegible hieroglyphs. Slowly he raises his eyes from the page. His gaze meets Harker’s. Both hold their breath for a moment, and then Harker resumes eating. Suddenly a small grandfather clock buzzes and begins to strike.

The clock close up. With every strike a little skeleton hits a small anvil with an ax. At the stroke of 12 a door opens, and the figure of death appears, holding a scythe. It swishes the scythe mechanically through the air, then disappears jerkily behind its door.

Dracula is highly aroused. He pricks up his ears. Suddenly the grisly howling of wolves can be heard from outside. Listen, Dracula says, those are the children of night. What music they make! He notices Harker’s terror, but then Harker catches himself and assumes a sheep-like expression. Ah, young man, Dracula sighs, as a city dweller he, Jonathan, cannot place himself in the soul of a huntsman.

Harker has become shaky and does not pay proper attention as he cuts himself a piece of bread. The knife slips and slices into his thumb. In a flash Dracula is standing beside him, grasping his wrist. He is about to apply his mouth to the blood, but Harker’s alarmed reaction causes him to pause. A terrible conflict takes place inside the Count. Then he releases Harker’s hand, excusing himself with the argument that the knife might be contaminated and Harker could end up with blood poisoning.

He should let him suck the wound—the oldest cure in the world. But Jonathan declines politely, saying it is nothing, a tiny cut like that is not worth mentioning. But to Dracula the wound proves irresistible; he can no longer control himself—or can he? No, he refuses to allow himself to show his true face so soon. He turns away, starting to return to his seat. But as he turns, his hand, as if no longer in his power, darts toward Harker’s, and faster than the speed of light seizes it like a steel claw.

The rest of Dracula’s body spins as if electrified, and at that same moment his mouth attaches itselfto Harker’s thumb like a leech. For several seconds the two of them remain motionless, until the vampire lets go, as if struck by a blow. He recoils at his own loss of self-control. Jonathan should understand, he says, he wants only the best for him.

Harker, by now on his feet, backs away and falls into a large leather chair near the fire. The flitting shadows of the flames are joined by two large fluttering, flitting bats. Slowly, very slowly the vampire approaches. They should stay up together, he says softly; sunrise is still a long way off, and during the day he is always out and about. Overcome with nightmarish fear, Harker shrinks deep into the armchair.

*

Lucy’s room. She is tossing and turning, tormented by dark dreams, when a slight sound makes her sit up suddenly, her hair wild. She looks like someone who is not yet awake. The window is open, and the curtains stir slightly in the nocturnal breeze. A large black bat has become tangled in a curtain, where it is jerking its wings and clinging to the fabric with its hook-like claws. Its mouth gapes wide as it squeaks venomously. At the sound an abrupt, inexplicable shock courses through Lucy’s body.

*

Harker, still in the heavy leather armchair, opens his eyes and looks around, drunk with sleep. Only with difficulty can he shake off the oppressive dreams he had during the night. What happened? Where is he? He looks around and recognizes the room, which only now, in the daylight, reveals its shabbiness. The heavy draperies are moth-eaten; there are spider webs in the corners, and dust is everywhere, as if the place has been unoccupied for decades. A ray of light enters through one of the windows, shining directly on Jonathan. Strange, hollow notes of a fiddle can be heard from outside, like someone practicing runs.

Harker yawns. His eye is drawn to his thumb, and he remembers cutting himself. He touches his neck. What is this? A mosquito bite? He gets up and goes over to a mirror on the wall. Hesees two puncture wounds side by side, not large, not conspicuous, but certainly odd. For a moment Harker is taken aback, but then we can see that he rejects the thought that has occurred to him. He inspects his surroundings more thoroughly. He sees that the table has been set, quite obviously for him. It veritably groans with dishes.

Before he sits down to eat, however, Harker takes a closer look around. The main entrance is securely locked, but a door to one side of the dining hall is open. He wonders where his luggage might be; it is missing. The side door takes Jonathan into a strange, gloomy corridor, almost like a dark tunnel. From there a small door opens into a room with a bay window. Ah, there are Harker’s travel bag and the saddlebags, neatly placed on a chair, along with his coat and hat. A bed, a candelabrum, a few pieces of furniture, all in manorial style.

The castle here is so unreal that sometimes I am tempted to believe it is just a figment of my dreams.

The bay window juts out like the prow of a ship, offering a view of a bright day and wooded mountains. Not a house, not a village in sight. A strange, unreal wind seems to blow through the castle, which seems like something in a dream. Harker pokes his head out the window, high above the ground. Far below yawns part of the inner courtyard. Down there in a niche he spies a ragged gypsy boy, practicing his fiddle with utmost concentration. Harker calls to him, but the boy is so engrossed that he does not hear him. An air of mystery surrounds the lad.

Next we see Harker stepping through a door into the courtyard, but now no one is there, although the fiddling can still be heard, clearly and unmistakably.

Harker continues exploring the castle. The gloomy corridor up above extends all around the castle, with other smallish rooms with bay windows opening off it. He comes upon an old kitchen, equipped with a stove but no other appurtenances. All the exits are locked up tight. Before Harker wends his way back to the dining hall, he opens a door into what turns out to be the library.

A strange, gloomy, dusty space with barred windows. Bookshelves up to the ceiling, with thousands of volumes, left unread for decades. In a gallery reached by a short staircase a collection of stuffed birds and other animals. All these rigid objects placed without rhyme or reason. The passage of time has faded the collection to the point that none of the natural colors remain.

Harker returns to the dining hall and sits down calmly to eat. The fact that he cannot get out of the castle seems not to preoccupy him. For now his bodily needs are well met. From outside the fiddling can be heard, disconcertingly hollow.

*

Jonathan is sitting at the window and staring out, deep in reverie. In his hand he holds the medallion with Lucy’s portrait. He pauses and looks at it attentively. Then he extracts a notebook and writing instrument from of his saddlebag, reflects for a bit, and begins to write. His handwriting is fluid but full of character, and we can read along.

Lucy, my dearest, he writes. There is no postal service here through which I might send word to you, so I shall keep a journal, in which I can record all my thoughts and feelings for you at home. So last night, after a toilsome journey, I reached my destination in Transylvania, the castle of Count Dracula.

He breaks off and looks out through the shattered panes of his window. Outside wind tosses the crowns of the large trees. Ravens screech. Jonathan resumes writing: I had oppressive dreams last night and hope that will pass. They have left me feeling torpid, but perhaps that also comes from the insect bites on my neck. Ah, well, I hope to bring my business with the Count to a happy conclusion this evening. The castle here is so unreal that sometimes I am tempted to believe it is just a figment of my dreams.

陆续看了三部吸血鬼相关的电影《诺斯费拉图》《诺斯费拉图：夜晚的幽灵》《惊情四百年》都是讲房地产职员受到吸血鬼伯爵的委托去办理一桩生意来到伯爵的古堡所产生的故事。里面的情节非常相似，里面男主角的同事总是被伯爵逼疯进了精神病院，男主角的爱人总是能和伯爵产生情感上的问题。而剧情相似的原因是它们都是以《德古拉》的原著小说为基础，不过最早的版本也就是茂瑙1922年拍的的版本没有买原著的版权，为了没有版权的问题，里面的德古拉不叫德古拉，范海辛也不叫范海辛，他们换了名字。不过这三个版本值得比较一下，当然不是比那一版的德古拉演的最好，因为德古拉这个角色化妆的加成太大了，把化妆带来的效果看成是演员的演技本身就是外行的行为，况且三部电影风格有很大的不同，对于演员的要求也不同，所以不讨论表演上的优劣。

茂瑙在1922年就拍出了《诺斯费拉图》这样的作品，确实是让人赞叹。里面影响比较深的是在剪辑上通过展示一些类似于捕蝇草这样奇特的生物来和超自然产生联系。在这么早的恐怖片里，已经可以看到恐怖片的一些基本特点了，这种特点就是不自然，不自然的东西往往是恐怖的，《闪灵》为什么伟大，因为《闪灵》在用了斯坦尼康的跟随长镜头这样的不自然的镜头运动这样的手法来产生恐怖的感觉。在这部里拍摄吸血鬼趴在窗户上时，窗户是井字形九宫格，这种几何形状就是一种不自然感觉。在赫尔佐格翻拍的版本里，古堡里男主角住的房间的窗户都是碎的，不自然的感觉相当强。而比较有名的《惊情四百年》就和恐怖关系不大了，更多是爱情故事，里面用了很多叠化来产生梦幻的感觉，不过我个人不喜欢《惊情四百年》，尽管里面有加里·奥德曼、薇诺娜·瑞德、安东尼·霍普金斯、基努.里维斯这样的大牌，科波拉的视听语言也不可谓不漂亮，但是里面的爱情有些牵强，吸血鬼和女主角的爱情是女主角是吸血鬼前世爱人的转世这样的硬设定赋予的，而不是产生于两个人自动爱上的人物弧光。

而我最喜欢的居然是《诺斯费拉图：夜晚的幽灵》，也就是赫尔佐格对于茂瑙的《诺斯费拉图》的翻拍，里面还有阿佳妮和年轻的时候的“元首”布鲁诺.甘茨，这个翻拍才符合我的期待，就是给这个故事赋予实感，我印象比较深的是当男主角切到手流出血，德古拉要舔男主角的血，而男主角躲开，这里镜头随着男主角的运动从固定镜头变到手持镜头，从固定到手持，不仅可以表现角色的心理变得慌乱，手持镜头还增强了真实感，有利于对于恐怖的表现。而《诺斯费拉图：夜晚的幽灵》的一个很大的特点就是长镜头的使用，长镜头产生的真实感和不可逃脱感极大增加了恐怖的氛围，角色和德古拉处在同一个镜头，而镜头始终不切换，这种长镜头带来的未知对于恐怖感的帮助非常大。电影里不同于另外两版的男主角离开古堡后依然是正常人，这部里男主角最后真的变成吸血鬼。而电影里另一个特点是电影里大多数人实际上并不承认吸血鬼的存在，而把德古拉带来的灾难视作瘟疫，而当这场“瘟疫”不可挽回以后，人们索性放弃了希望在街道上狂欢，这种末世感的营造还是很有意思的。

以前看过一两部赫尔佐格的电影，总觉得电影里的故事演进方式怪怪的，不是纯靠情节(推理式的预想)推动，也不是靠诗意的感觉引导，有种说不出的疯癫在里面。但看这部电影感觉不太一样。我觉得有一种类似哲理的演进的东西，作为电影的内核存在，仿佛电影本身被导演以哲理诗的方式构建和呈现给我们，我们可以看到种种元素背后的理念如何相互抗衡。也许赫尔佐格的别的电影也采取了这种行进的方式?

摄取永恒之果的恶魔，一种人与上帝之间的理念作为恶魔被构想，并被放入传统的吸血鬼故事里。这个理念是由一个对于永生，对于无穷时间的世俗化解释引起的矛盾所构成的，任何存在者(一个纯粹理念的至高存在者除外)都不能是永生的，那么从这个角度看，被构想出的诺斯费拉图就不能是一个生命，而是非生命(然而他渴望爱，渴望成为"生"，渴望不再只是一个逡巡于阴影底下的坏念头)，那么他是什么？吸血鬼? 魔鬼? 一个坏的理念? 随着镜头我们跟随男主人公来到诺斯费拉图的古城堡，我们看到一个坚韧的精神是如何在阴翳之中前行，并且像命中注定一样走向了一个反生命的地方，一个吸吮着生机的死亡之地。而这个坚韧的精神是在爱之滋养下变得如此，一个坚韧的精神在死亡的边缘最终走向自己的归宿，也是自己的反面——来自非生命(但又不是单纯的死亡)的威逼。最终女主牺牲了自己消灭了诺斯费拉图，连同诺斯费拉图的破旧身骸一起陨落的可不止是瘟疫，还有一种坏念头：永恒的生命，相反，女主坚持生命之永恒，只要河水仍在流淌，生命就不会止息，永恒作为谓词被归还给了神圣的上帝，然而作为理智动物的人，一种幻相或者迷雾是必然的，这种迷雾植根在理性本身，它时不时会反噬自身，它与生命一样不会死，只是变换着形态延续下去。

几次要暂停下来大喊“Bravo!”阿佳妮苍白病态又极具古典感的面庞，眼睛瞪大望向人的一瞬，七魄便没了三魂。讲了一个好故事，又不仅如此，从吸血鬼口中说出“时间是个深渊……”，形而上的深度直逼大部分文艺片。配乐异常精彩，那些幽暗、深沉、偏执的力量左右着人间。“上帝常常在我们需要他的时候缺席。”一个吸血鬼倒下了，千千万万个吸血鬼站起来。上帝无用，绝望与虚无常在。