In cinema, the possibility of horror is more unnerving than its actualization, particularly if a filmmaker is able to dramatize the precise moment when the banal becomes uncanny. In 1932's Vampyr, Carl Theodor Dreyer draws such a transition out, in ebbs and flows, over the course of the film's running time. Adverse to makeup and other overtly specialized effects, Dreyer often forces us to scrutinize an image for its subtle notes of wrongness.
Chuck Bowen
October 5, 2017