IT is surprising that a silent film made in 1922 is still considered by many - critics and punters alike - as the pinacle of the vampire genre. Yet, German director F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu, still retains a palpable sense of creepiness that some say has never been improved upon. That eight decades on, a film should come along about the making of Nosferatu is a high mark of respect, even if that film is as much gothic parody as gothic horror and it allows itself the liberty of blending fact with fiction.

Not a great deal of detail has been passed down about the making of Nosferatu. F.W. Murnau, the director of the silent classic died prematurely in a car crash at the age of 47, taking many of his filmmaking secrets to the grave with him.

Steven Katz's script for Shadow of the Vampire takes the bare bones of what we have and cooks them in a warped gothic imagination spiced with irony and dry humour.

When denied the rights to make a film based on Bram Stoker's novel Dracula, by Stoker's estate, F.W. Murnau (John Malkovich) decides to go ahead and make his film all the same simply changing the name of the title and the characters. Determined to create his most authentic film to date, he chooses to shoot on location in Czechoslovakia rather than recreating his sets in Berlin studios.

From the outset Murnau remains secretive about the shoot, not even revealing to his producer details of the unknown actor Max Schreck (Willem Dafoe), who will play the vampire Count Orlof. Murnau merely dismisses enquiries stating that Schreck is a devoted method actor who has gone to Czechoslovakia to submerge himself in his part. He also makes it clear that Schreck will always appear in costume and must always be addressed as "Count Orlok".

The film begins to get interesting when the cast and crew arrive in Czechoslovakia. The location is perfect. The villagers are wide-eyed with superstition, and crucifixes are plastered everywhere. So much so that at one ironic point, when shooting a scene with lead actor Gustav (Eddie Izzard) in his bedroom, Murnau is caused to snap that there are too many crucifixes in shot.

Shreck, when he appears, instills the fear of God into all but Murnau who treats him like a child. Hunched, bald-headed, with vulcan ears and the facial expression of someone who has just bitten into a lemon, it is soon clear that Schreck is more at home ruminating in his coffin rather than descending into thespian banter. As Gustav comments at one hilarious point, where Shreck has just snapped a bat out of the night air and gobbled it ravenously, his dedication is amazing.

Then things start going wrong - people get ill, accidents happen and in spite of Murnau's blunt threats ("I am warning you: You will have no close-ups!") the unconventional Schreck proves a difficult, uncooperative actor. The plot darkens.

Visually the film is very rewarding, with its strong period ambience and convincing recreations of the original Nosferatu down to the exaggerated style of acting that typified silent screen performances of the day. As well as playing up the Art versus Life theme for laughs, much of the comedy has a modern quality - after all back in the decadent Recreational drug-taking and egotistical thesps were common in the Twenties too.

Performances are strong all round. Malkovich as a laudanum-injecting obsessive provides a stream of sardonic put-downs and asides about his actors, when not manipulating their performance through the megaphone. Catherine McCormack is suitably stellar as the morphine-addicted and spoilt star. Eddie Izzard camps it up without overdoing it, offering many comical touches.

However, it is Willem Dafoe, unrecognisable as Schreck, that stands out. His performance is masterfully observed with all its eccentricities like the clicking of his grotesquely long fingernails and hissing conversation, sometimes reduced to little more than a snort. The story becomes more ludicrous as the film rolls, but the performances carry you through to the end.

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