Film Review: Only Lovers Left Alive
This haunting Jim Jarmusch film doesn’t subvert traditional vampire mythology. It’s all there- the lust for blood, the aversion to daylight, the immortality. The notion of vampires who embrace Americana- one adores guitars, lives in Detroit, and contemplates the city’s decline and deindustrialization- is not quite as traditional, but it’s far from strange. Thankfully, Jarmusch realizes this. He takes these mythological aspects as a given and focuses instead on their implications. Like the most breathtaking cities- Paris, London, Vienna- these characters have endured centuries of history, and this is apparent in every conversation they have. Philosophies and movements from bygone eras line the corners of their minds. Bright stars with whom they’ve interacted- Shelley, Schubert, Byron- are long dead, but the vampires live on. And like the most breathtaking cities, there is something despondent and somber about them. This is less because of the horrors of the past and more because of how the aura of bygone days creates a barrier between them and the present. They are anachronisms. Only Lovers Left Alive is aware of the Romantic beauty in that, especially when paired with an intimate relationship with the past, but it’s also aware that there’s something deeply, ineffably sad in that too.
The film is not driven by plot or even by the actions characters take, but rather by atmosphere and tone. This is the right decision, for the film is at its best when it is merely observing how the vampires live, both by themselves and with each other. It takes what would be a joke in a lighter film- how the vampires’ extended lives lead to them having difficulty relating with mortals- and transforms it into solemn drama. Even if they were not trying to keep their identities secret from mortals, they would likely avoid mortals. An early scene has a vampire name a guitar after a figure from the English Civil War. To Ian (Anton Yelchin), who sells him the guitar, the name means nothing, but the film implies that the vampire knew him all those centuries ago. Only when the two vampires are with each other can they breathe. Only then does their sense of abject isolation drop away. They drive through the barren streets of Detroit in the middle of the night, only a few lights piercing through the darkness. The loneliness of their surroundings highlights by contrast the strength of the relationship they share. If the film eschewed traditional narrative structure entirely and focused more on the contours of this relationship, it would have been distinct. The first and better half of the film is rather plotless, but in its second half, the film becomes more conventional.
There is clearly defined drama and tension. The characters have an objective and stagger toward it. While the film doesn’t struggle at traditional storytelling, the second half exposes flaws that were forgivable when the atmosphere was foremost. As the film nears its conclusion, it tries too hard to make itself seem meaningful. Many of these insights are profound, but a few are perfunctory. The film’s overreliance on easy symbolism becomes increasingly detrimental.
That the main characters are named Adam (Tom Hiddleston) and Eve (Tilda Swinton) is groan-worthy, but it’s not entirely pointless. Drawing a connection between their bloodlust and Eve’s taking the apple is strained but not impossible. Likewise, in a film about that hints that Schubert’s Adagio in C was actually composed by Adam, the reference to the theory that Shakespeare stole the work of Christopher Marlowe (played here by John Hurt- yes, he is a vampire too) is not out of place. However, for every sensible reference, there are two or three which only exist so classic literature nerds can grin with delight and mumble, “I understood that,” with the excited reverence of a comic-book fanboy watching an overlong Marvel movie. Stephen Dedalus, Joyce’s stand-in for himself in Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses. Daisy Buchanan, for whose affection Gatsby yearns in The Great Gatsby. Doctor Faust, the man who sold his soul to the devil. None of these references actually matter. If they were removed, the film would lose nothing. In fact, it would be more focused and cohesive. They would be more forgivable were they less frequent. There is nothing wrong with an auteur including a few references to works they adore in an otherwise unrelated work. However, the sheer number of these references necessitates that they amount to something, but they don’t. In addition to literary references, there are references to Dr. Strangelove and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, but these are no more meaningful. They become an encumbrance on the film as its pace starts to accelerate. Because the first half is so atmospheric, the film wasting a little time with pointless references is not a problem, but in the second half, these references detract from the feelings of tension and suspense the film attempts to evoke.
One could, if one tried, draw a link between the surreal dread and uncertainty of Dr. Strangelove with that of Only Lovers Left Alive, but that would be a tenuous link, not least because this film does nothing to encourage it. This film is no more connected to Dr. Strangelove than it is to several dozen other films. Only the musical references are pertinent, as this film heavily incorporates music into both its narrative and its character work. The start of the film is a series of dizzying match cuts linking Adam and Eve, who start the film on different continents, through their love of music. Some of the film’s most romantic and fascinating scenes take place against the backdrop of diegetic music, and its soundtrack is a pleasant tour through music history. The combination of pieces from several centuries ago and those from the past century is somehow not jarring. Rather, it’s unusual in a slightly surreal but not unpleasant way that adds to the film’s ambience and furthers the sense that these vampires are apart from contemporary society.
Notably, when Eve’s sister Ava (played by Mia Wasikowska) emerges into the narrative at the halfway mark, the film demonstrates the negative effects she has on Adam and Eve by having her mess with Adam’s instruments. Music cannot be extracted from their lives. It is the connective tissue that prevents them from losing touch with their love for each other and the people they were in centuries past. That Ava, thrillingly contemporary and unconcerned with channeling her bloodlust into non-violent contexts, contrasts sharply with her sister and brother-in-law introduces a new dynamic to the film, and with her, it pulls a clever double subversion. When she appears, she is far from the crazed tyrant the film implies she is through the central couple’s discussions of her, but her behavior throughout the second half of the film demonstrates that she nonetheless poses a risk to civil society. She’s an electric presence, a chaotic pulse of sex and violence. Nonetheless, her appearance brings to the film baggage it doesn’t need. It’s at its best when it’s exploring its characters, not pressuring them.
4 out of 5 Stars
