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| Man, those sensous curves. That's a 1905 Gibson L1. |
Curzon Soho, 14/2/2014
Once in a while a film comes along that ticks so many of the right boxes that one hesitates to go to see it for fear of disappointment.
Only Lovers Left Alive was one such film for me. Directed by Jim Jarmusch, starring Tom Hiddleston and Tilda Swinton, this comedy about a rock musician vampire with a fetish for vintage guitars and valve electronics, set in Detroit and Tangiers has plenty to live up to. And it does exactly that.
Hiddleston and Swinton play Adam and Eve, a pair of louche centuries-old vampires lovers, living in modern day Detroit and Tangiers respectively. Whether they are
the Adam and Eve is left open to interpretation. They are mentored by John Hurt's elderly Marlowe, who kicks off a running gag by repeatedly suggesting that he is responsible for Shakespeare's oeuvre. Gothic and suicidally romantic rock star Adam, once friends with Byron, Shelley, Tesla and Einstein, wants to get his music heard but understandably, given that he is an ageless vampire, wishes to keep a low profile. There are hints that he was the brains behind Schubert and Paganini. There are diverting asides about how this motley crew cope with the realities of vampirism in an oblivious modern world full of 'zombies', their ironic term for the not-undead. The sensitive Adam despairs at how the zombies are living their lives and ruining the planet. Mia Wasikowska plays Ava, Eve's sister who comes to stay once the lovers are reunited. Detroit, with its abandoned districts and cavernous disused theatres provides a fittingly eerie backdrop for their story.
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| Eggboxes. Proper old school. |
The plot, which hinges on the lovers reuniting and their search for untainted blood (that ol' blood as heroin trope is played to the full), is wafer thin. This film is all about the laughs and the details. Adam, whose look and even
his house is clearly modeled on a mid 1970s Jimmy Page, is the main figure of fun. He has a penchant for vintage guitars made of 'mother of toilet seat', Rube Goldberg-like contraptions based on mid-20th century electronics, and is a bit emo, in the modern day parlance. Wasikowska is a brash presence for her few scenes, and even John Hurt has a little twinkle in his eye, but Hiddleston and Swinton play their parts in exquisitely, resolutely deadpan fashion. This low key mumblecore-influenced farce and love letter to art and beauty is what those of us who like films and have an interest in rock musicians, vampires, vintage guitars and gothic houses filled with valve electronics have been waiting all our lives for. There must be a few of us out there. 4.5/5
