Lorna Irvine reviews 'a funny, ravishing' film.
Putting the 'dead' in deadpan, this vampiric study in ennui is nothing like the Twilight franchise, not even remotely like Kiefer and co, and in no way aligned with Lee, Cushing, Lugosi or crosses and garlic. Leave such cliches in the Hammer studio where they belong.
Adam (Tom Hiddleston) and Eve (Tilda Swinton) are the attractive undead lovers of the title, regarding the modern world with an air of detached, snobbish amusement. They condemn the vacuous scenesters around them as 'zombies'- unthinking, soul-sucking people with little purpose. Music industry types, particularly from LA, get a satirical kicking. Adam plays music and there are many 'guitar porn' shots of his collectables; whereas Eve is a voracious reader and writer. Both are stylish polymaths.
Here, these vampires are more knowing, more rock 'n' roll- and they are connoisseurs of blood, drinking Type O Negative in fine goblets, as though drinking a nice Merlot. Adam has a tacit agreement with a doctor (Jeffrey Wright) whereby he sneaks in to hospitals as 'Dr Faust" in green scrubs under cover of darkness and steals pure blood from the fridges.
The lovers live a hidden life, away from prying eyes, until two events upset their smug complacency: Eve's little sister Ava (Mia Wasikowska) appears in Adam's home completely unexpected, and their friend, the playwright Phillip Marlowe (John Hurt) becomes contaminated. The former scene is a little annoying as Ava is rather irritating- but also, conceptually this is tainted by the ultimate dysfunctional vampire family having already been explored: Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and adopted 'daughter' Kirsten Dunst in Interview with the Vampire. The latter scene is in contrast very moving, with Hurt providing his usual classy turn as the witty, somewhat embittered writer, and Swinton's cool finally melting at losing her dear friend.
There is a woozy, almost narcotic feel to Jarmusch's overhead angles, and endless tracking shots create a sustained tension. All of Jarmusch's trademarks are here: the languid, almost soporific pace; multi-culturalism, represented by trips to Tangier and Detroit, and of course, the love of retro style music. In this case, post-grunge and world music features heavily, with live sets by White Hills and Yasmeen, but there's a nod to Charlie Feathers, Stax Records, The Dirtbombs and Jack White.
A funny, ravishing looking paean to legends, immortality and the passions that shape us... but be warned- its slow-burning beauty may make you feel rather sleepy.
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