Said quote defends the existence of Shadow of the Vampire with mock pretentiousness, and it recognizes the outlandish notion that someone might accept Merhige's movie at face value, just as Gladiator has probably inspired audience members everywhere to query "Maximus" at their favourite search engines. And for the duration that Merhige and Katz have tongues planted firmly in cheek, their efforts are generously funny, even if some of the humour seems anachronistic. (There are big laughs at the expense of writers and students of the Stanislavsky Method, both of which can be found in any contemporary send-up of La La Land.) Take Willem Dafoe, unrecognizable beneath thick latex as Max Schreck, the bloodsucking lead in Murnau's production. The uniquely charming actor, one of the few to not embarrass himself in portraying Jesus Christ, isn't only asked to deliver jokes in a Transylvania 6-5000 accent: his Schreck spoofs the archetypal tragic vampyr--Dafoe is playing a mostly cranky, forgetful old man whose major affliction is an empty stomach.

Merhige also subverts Weimar-era artistic types with a general tweaking of Murnau's clan. Shadow of the Vampire depicts--somewhat indefensibly--an egotistical helmer who doles out information to his peers on a need-to-know basis (as there are plenty of directors who deserve to have the pedestal kicked out from under them before Murnau, it's a shame that he becomes a token of Hollywood narcissism, with less weight given to his command of the medium than to his powers of persuasion); a diva starlet (Catherine McCormack) with more, but no less insincere, respect for the theatre; an alcoholic, Aryan flyboy cameraman (Cary Elwes, channelling Klaus Kinski?); and so on. There is the implication, not made strongly enough, that Schreck is the most harmless vampire of them all, and even the suggestion is indicative of Shadow of the Vampire's reductionist leanings. The characters are more behaviourally than conceptually effective; thank goodness for the unvaryingly fine performances. I'd love to join the critical community in their unanimous adoration of the film, but it occurs to me the film's premise has one note and strikes it half-heartedly.

While Merhige nails the nuances of a fascinating period in twentieth century history (save a passage of dialogue that equates Murnau's greatness with Eisenstein's, who wasn't known at the time of Nosferatu)--the painstaking recreation of Murnau's hand-cranked footage is particularly arresting--I sympathized a bit too dearly with Schreck, who desires sustenance--I yearned for something more fleshed-out than this freakshow sitcom. Additionally, Shadow of the Vampire is faced with the dilemma of having to end, and this is when faux self-importance gives way to something blurrier. A witty, not-scathing-enough satire turns nasty and alienatingly moralistic. The gifted Merhige should have listened to the advice of many a scientist before him: back to the drawing board.-Bill Chambers