"Is this your wife? She has a lovely throat."

So goes a memorable epigram of Count Orlok -- the titular vampire of Nosferatu who boasts one of the most frightening, unforgettable faces in the history of film -- as he gazes at the voluptuous face of Greta Schröder.

It is Orlok's monstrous glare that dominates the eerie German masterpiece from 1922 and has lingered in the nightmares of viewers for 80 years.

First-time viewers might be surprised to discover, however, that the pointy ears and skeleton-like head were intended to represent another classic movie face: the conversely suave, sleek Count Dracula, as popularized by Bela Lugosi in Universal Pictures' 1931 release.

Nosferatu director F.W. Murnau set out to be the first to bring Bram Stoker's Dracula novel to the screen, but his efforts were stymied by Stoker's estate, which would not grant Murnau the rights to make the film. The result resembles the familiar Dracula story in every respect, except that the character names are different. For instance, it is Hutter who seeks to make a deal with the Count instead of Harker, and his wife's name is Ellen (as opposed to Lucy).

It isn't the story at all that sets Nosferatu apart from the other Dracula films, however. It is the taut, almost rhythmic suspense Murnau generates throughout -- in combination with the astounding, shadowy visuals -- which showcase the high point of German expressionism.

There is so much to be treasured in the visual scheme of Nosferatu -- from the bleak, cavernous interiors of Orlok's castle to the lush, but foreboding landscapes. Two particular images haunt me increasingly more with each viewing. One is that of Ellen pensively awaiting her husband's return on a shoreline ominously adorned with gravestones. The other is a cleverly grisly visual pun involving a carnivorous plant one character dubs the "vampire of the vegetable kingdom."

The latter example hints at the film's deftness at suggesting inner themes beyond the classic Dracula story. For instance, there are several moments in the film where viewers can stop and analyze ambiguous clues to the story's subtler sexual implications.

One example of this occurs when the virginal Ellen reads that, in order to destroy Count Orlok, she must let him into her bed and "keep the vampire by her side until the cock has crowed." The ensuing scene far more closely resembles the aftermath of a rape than that of a vampire attack.

I'd recommend bypassing the usual slasher-movie Halloween night fare this year in favor of a horror classic that, in addition to being terrifying, you can really sink your teeth into.