Popol Vuh
Nosferatu

Nosferatu, the Prince of the Night: the camera slowly pans - from right to left and vice versa - over the rows of mummified bodies found at the Mexican Museum of Guanajuato, evoking shivers that freeze the blood and seal from the opening credits the empathic atmosphere that permeates the entire film.

The maestro Werner Herzog filmed the mummies in 1960 (approximately) and only in 1978 did he use the footage in the making of an official work of his already remarkable filmography. Never was a choice more fitting, especially given that the selected music was composed and performed by Popol Vuh, the late Florian Fricke's ensemble. The adhesion between music and images is overwhelming, an adjective perhaps less appropriate for the almost metaphysical and ritual slowness of this film's opening, but suitable for describing the depth of involvement it has on the viewer.

The otherworldly choruses of the long piece "Bruder des Schattens- Sohne des Lichts," counterpointed by the mournful sound of a flute, accompany the vision of ancient and astonished faces resting on moist stone, before following the slow-motion flight of a black bat. Indulging in this journey to the underworld where nothing human moves and it is only the vampire's simulacrum that shows signs of life, the Popol Vuh suite evolves majestically, dragging the mind to the spectral forests of the Carpathians. And then, fading into a more reassuring string arpeggio, to the autumnal colors of the town of Wismar, laid out like a Flemish painting on the still waters of the canals that lead to the Baltic.

As had already happened with the masterpiece "Aguirre," where the musical theme blended with exceptional synergy with the Andean landscapes and the tragic events of the Kinskian conquistador, in "Nosferatu" the collaboration between Herzog and Popol Vuh proves successful. Although Fricke and his associates' contribution is limited to the long initial piece and a few minimalist fragments throughout the film (the farewell scene between Mina and Jonatan on the beach), the strength of this soundtrack is undoubtedly measured by the sound the group was able to create for this film.

In fact, the director was able to wisely insert classical scores in various narrative passages that, probably, required a more incisive historical dimension. Hence, pieces from Wagner's "Nibelungen" and a Mass by Gounod, which are placed on a different plane compared to the mantras of Popol Vuh. However, it is their music that is the true stylistic sound of the work, capable of restoring that timeless and esoteric dimension the film needs to go beyond the mere storyline. This "Nosferatu" is, after all, a remake of a 1922 film, silent, in black and white, a masterpiece of Expressionism that by the late Seventies could only be re-proposed with a new interpretation, needing a narrative and scenographic development suited to color (and Herzog's modus of staging) and the tastes of an audience that was on the verge of rediscovering gothic fascination. Thus, the original soundtrack's contribution creates a pivotal point allowing the director to renew Murnau's character motifs, clothing them in more modern suggestions without losing the strictly epochal connotation of the story.

In this sense, a piece like "Brude des Schattens" is perfect: the sounds and structure glide between genres without marking any, becoming the dreamlike seal of this ancestral dimension that sends shivers down your spine and transports far away.

The album also includes other tracks, at least one of which was already part of the Popol Vuh repertoire. These are very pleasing and incisive compositions, but they fit less well into the context of the soundtrack; in fact, they appear only marginally - as mentioned - throughout the film, which, having circulated in a version with an alternative edit (shorter, lacking at least two important scenes), raises the doubt that originally the music was meant to have greater prominence.