On the 12th floor, there was no Christmas or Hanukkah. The halls were lit with candelabras, and the suites were filled with a mix of spooky Nosferatu merch (including a Heretic perfume designed to smell like “an encounter with an apparition in the cold, damp caves of Count Orlok’s castle”) and tired film industry professionals, emailing away. A publicist led me to the room with the sarcophagus, framed by a garish blue neon light. It looked deep, like a swimming pool, with an emasculating stool positioned below for easy entry. Surely the hulking Count Orlok, played by Bill Skarsgård, wouldn’t need this kind of assistance?
A camera was positioned above the sarcophagus, and a photographer showed me pictures of the day’s occupants. Some people posed screaming, and some posed like the dead, arms folded across their chests. Lily-Rose Depp, who stars in the film as the haunted object of the ancient vampire’s affections, was photographed with a hand pressed melodramatically against her forehead, like a silent movie star.
I climbed in, trying to summon Depp-like poise and finding none. The coffin was stationed sort of high up, and I wobbled my way in, the way a vampire only would if they were really tired and hadn’t eaten anyone in a while. Everyone in the room was very encouraging, and then I was inside the sarcophagus, its walls looming above me.
The sarcophagus was very roomy, stretching over eight feet long and three feet wide—both Orlok and his beloved could fit, if they were spooning. The mattress was soft and comfortable, and I sank into it, though, if you have a spare $20,000 to drop on a replica of a vampire’s sarcophagus, it might be worth it to spring for a Hästens instead. The nearly four-foot-tall walls provided a comforting barrier against the world. Perhaps the undead also yearn for the womb.
