.
I was worried that Only Lovers Left Alive was going to push the "vampirism as addiction" metaphor too hard, which hasn't really been an interesting take for twenty-five years - thankfully whole it is there the film's not really interested in it, and when it is it's not the least bit judgmental about it. Instead Jarmusch is much more interested in just giving us a strange and surprisingly silly little story of a love spanning the endless centuries, but in miniature, a snap-shot. So what we get is Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston being the slimmest most languorous of besotteds, stylishly devil may care and sweetly, insistently in their own little world. (That world is half-told a rapturously metallic Detroitian wasteland, shot like firecrackers snapping off inside of rust cans.) That is spans the globe and all of eternity's just a quirk, s'all. Mia Wasikowska shows up to squeeze a few bonus smiles and giggles into the proceedings with an adorably annoying performance - and you know the craft services tables went unheeded on a set where Mia is the chunky one.
(Bonus: see my pictures of Tilda, Jarmusch
and Jeffrey Wright at the NYFF right here.)
.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment