By Matt Soergel
Florida Times-Union

A good death scene is every actor's Holy Grail. It's no different for the leading man of the movie-within-a-movie in Shadow of the Vampire -- even though this particular actor, who eyes his death scene with so much relish, is already among the ranks of the Undead.

This vampire is played by Willem Dafoe, perhaps our best all-purpose villain, who gives a performance here that'll knock you out of your multiplex seat -- a performance so pungent you'd swear you could smell the centuries of death that have settled into his death-white pores, into his black robes, under his 5-inch fingernails.

Shadow of the Vampire is built on this simple, almost irresistible conceit: What if Max Schreck, the actor who played the terrifying Count Orlock in the 1922 silent classic Nosferatu, was actually a real vampire?

Perhaps, this movie cheekily suggests, that's why Schreck was so appropriate for the role.

Without Dafoe, Shadow could easily have been an arty inside joke best appreciated by film nuts and critics. Indeed, though he has an eye for gothic gloom and a deft touch with dry-as-dust comedy, Shadow director E. Elias Merhige doesn't seem to be terribly concerned with momentum.

Luckily, Dafoe is there to perk it up when it needs perking, providing both pathos and laughs.

John Malkovich, in the rare position of having a movie stolen from him, plays Nosferatu director F.W. Murnau, a genius with a bit of the madman in him.

He tells his film crew gathered in 1921 Berlin that he's found the vampire he needs for Nosferatu, a method actor extraordinaire, one Max Schreck, who will appear only in character throughout filming -- and only at night.

"Max's methods are, um, unconventional," Murnau says blithely.

Well then, what about his motivation? It seems that, unknown to cast and crew, Murnau has promised Schreck a bloody payoff at the end of filming.

But Shadow also cleverly shows us that at least part of what drives this ancient vampire is the fact that once he's committed his image to the camera, he will indeed live forever. He'll truly be Undead, found generations later on the shelves of better video stores everywhere.

Dafoe's Schreck is a wreck, what with his pale, rotted skin, his black eye sockets, his bald, chalky dome, his unpleasant teeth and his ancient stoop. It's a bit of an acting stunt, sure, made possible by hours of makeup each day.

But Dafoe makes his Schreck villainous, pathetic and sort of appealing. He's actually eager to please, eager to hit his marks right, eager to help make the movie better. There's just the little problem of his bloodlust, a thirst that cannot be denied.

That craving sets his extravagant fingernails a-clacking. Impolite sniffing noises come from within that hawk nose of his. And grumbling noises issue from within his vampire's tortured body, moans of hunger and lust.

Shadow of the Vampire gets a witty performance from Cary Elwes (Robin Hood: Men in Tights) as a dashing, cocky cinematographer, and English comedian Eddie Izzard is wonderfully dunderheaded as Nosferatu's horrible leading man, Gustav Von Wangenheim, who has to share the bulk of Schreck's scenes.

But this is Dafoe's turn to shine, and he does: Just watch him as he is upbraided by Malkovich's Murnau for stealing the blood of a crucial cameraman.

"Why him!" Malkovich roars. "You monster! Why not the script girl?"

"The script girl?" Dafoe licks his lips with sudden delight. "I'll eat her later."

And no doubt he will, if given the opportunity.