The Vampire’s Curse on Media Literacy

DISCLAIMER: Before I go any deeper, I’d like to acknowledge that access to education is a privilege—one that my state school thankfully provided throughout my adolescent years. This think piece isn’t targeted toward people struggling with access to education. Rather,  an exploration of my feelings regarding the current state of media literacy in society, and how that intersects with the overwhelming saturation of disinformation online.

If you’re still reading, you might be thinking: What specifically drove me to this essay-length grappling? It was Nosferatu TikTok discourse—because, of course, it was. It was January 1st. I’d just rescued a cat, and my hero ego was utterly blissful as I rocked up to my pre-purchased cinema screening. My very long-awaited Robert Eggers x Nosferatu ‘Roman Empire.’ I’d been sending unhinged fan mail to Robert Eggers for years, begging him to make this film. It doesn’t matter; it’s here now.

I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was alluring and captivating from the first frame to the last. The cinematography was outstanding, the acting was phenomenal, and it was unnervingly exciting—driven, palpable, foreboding. A lurking, lustful, foreboding energy loomed over this classic vampiric tale. As a lifelong goth head, it ticked all the boxes I’ve been ardently longing for. Of course, there were things I wanted more of—more exploration of the world Ellen had been in before she felt compelled to call out into the darkness, more play with her ethereal, not entirely ‘human’ identity. I wanted Eggers to fill in the visual spaces of my curiosity, as he tends to do in his work. But what we were delivered was a gothic tale of love, inner darkness, grief, and loss—at least, in my interpretation. 

This is where media literacy comes into play. We have the ability to put the pieces of the puzzle together through our media literacy, examining content clues, and drawing on our knowledge of history, folklore, and original texts. For example, Nosferatu may be interpreted as an allegory for the plague during a grim era of human history. We can also explore repressed trauma, perhaps seeing Ellen’s darkness as symbolic of certain personal struggles, and we can interpret vampiric desire in our own complex ways. However, these interpretations are subjective—not indisputable facts. Cinema is a medium for personal enjoyment and reflection, not a platform for projecting biased self-insertions that ultimately spread harmful misinformation across the internet.

A common refrain in online discourse is, "It's about THIS, and YOU'RE WRONG if you think otherwise." This mindset is particularly rampant in comment sections, which often transform into echo chambers, reinforcing the original poster’s biased views. Apps like TikTok and Reddit amplify this problem, allowing misguided and disillusioned opinions to spiral into supposed "facts" or "fiction." It’s dangerous that these pockets of the internet become powerful, misinformed forces, influencing algorithms and reaching vulnerable groups—such as the elderly, the uneducated, or those who are generally offline. One of the scariest outcomes of this is when AI-generated content finds its way to the naïve, especially in politically sensitive areas. A comment like, "Nosferatu is a dangerous film exploiting SA victims in an unflattering light" is one example of the dangerous rhetoric I see circulating. These kinds of sweeping statements are reckless to make, let alone spread. If that’s how you felt while watching the film, I truly sympathise if it caused you discomfort or triggered past trauma. But that doesn't make it an objective truth for everyone else who saw it. 

The statement "Nosferatu is a dangerous film exploiting SA victims in an unflattering light" is a prime example of the kind of dangerous rhetoric that is increasingly circulating online. Such claims are not only misleading, but they also show a profound misunderstanding of the film’s historical and cultural context. Nosferatu, as a product of its time, was made in 1922, when societal attitudes, especially toward themes of trauma and victimhood, were starkly different from today. To label the film as "exploitative" without considering its historical significance or the allegorical interpretations available to viewers today risks erasing the multifaceted nature of the film. This kind of reductive critique oversimplifies complex narratives, reducing them to modern, one-dimensional interpretations that do little to reflect the actual intent of the creators or the cultural landscape of the period.

Moreover, statements like this are reckless because they oversimplify the deeply nuanced nature of art. Film, as a medium, invites a variety of interpretations, and these interpretations are often personal and subjective. What might be seen as a representation of trauma for one viewer might be read as a metaphor for societal collapse, fear, or other themes for someone else. When we reduce a piece of art to one potentially harmful interpretation, we lose the opportunity to engage with it in its full complexity, and worse, we risk spreading a narrative that distorts the truth. The internet has created a dangerous environment where emotionally charged, unchecked opinions are easily amplified, turning subjective readings of art into accepted "truths." This form of discourse, where feelings trump context, threatens to undermine the very fabric of critical thinking, which is essential for engaging with complex ideas and art.