Only Lovers Left Alive

Their names have a Biblical ring, and their romance thrums with the fated thrall of Shakespeare’s most famous duo; they are Adam (Tom Hiddleston, Thor: The Dark World) and Eve (Tilda Swinton, Moonrise Kingdom), star-crossed lovers of both an expected and an unusual kind. Even while inhabiting different cities and continents – him in Detroit, her in Tangier – their passionate pairing dwarves all others, their nocturnal lives together expanding and extending as age dares not weary their forms. Their bond is elemental, biological and fundamental, forged, fuelled and forwarded in blood; their undying affection and infatuation is only enhanced by the unrelenting passing of time.

Depression brings the dutiful eternal duo back together, as reluctant rockstar Adam sees only the fleeting and futile in the surrounding world of petty people he calls zombies, and the ethereal and assured Eve attempts to arrest his mounting melancholy as only she can. Alas, an unwelcome third party gatecrashes their reunion: Eve’s flighty, mischievous sister Ava (Mia Wasikowska, Stoker), previously stricken from their presence for more than eight decades. As restless and impulsive as her kinfolk are considered and calm, Ava’s intrusion – and insatiable thirst for the increasingly elusive red elixir that remains their kind’s weakness – cannot bode well for Adam and Eve’s amorous idyll.

So unravels Jim Jarmusch’s suave, sultry rendering of that ever-popular, always intoxicating gothic staple – a vampire love story. The writer/director eschews the more obtuse and elliptical leanings of his most recent fare (2005’s Broken Flowers, 2009’s The Limits of Control) for the simple and straightforward; however, his expert evocation of an eccentric, inimitable atmosphere and tone can’t be shaken. With its haunting tendencies intimated in its title, Only Lovers Left Alive is an ode to a lingering trope, an appreciation of an enduring type of story, and an unashamedly doting look at lasting adoration.

That little narrative detail drives the deadpan but surprisingly droll film, yet the obvious beats are continuously, episodically struck, is indicative of the filmmaker’s familiar structure; it is the mood and the look that matters, as much as the surrounding story. The minutiae that does surface is playfully steeped in repetitive references and manifestations of the characters’ artistically-discerning preferences: think John Hurt’s (Jayne Mansfield’s Car) appearance as friend and blood dealer Christopher Marlowe (yes, that one), remembrances of pals long gone (Lord Byron and Mary Wollstonecraft, to name just two), culturally-significant adopted monikers (from Doctor Caligari to Daisy Buchanan), and constant shout-outs to Adam’s musical influence (including upon Schubert). And yet, though the pseudo-cool of the too-many mentions initially grates, in calling up a wealth of contextual material, Jarmusch’s heartfelt and humorous homage-like efforts work.

Aesthetically, with the assistance of cinematographer Yorick Le Saux (Carlos), editor Affonso Gonçalves (Beasts of the Southern Wild), and Cannes Soundtrack Award-winning composer Jozef van Wissem, the feature can’t be faulted; this is a movie showered in intricate visual style, and scored with darkness but also devotion in mind. Every frame is exquisite, both to gaze upon, and to reinforce the thematically-intended ambiance. Every sound and chosen song elicits an instinctive response. The actors – including the eager Anton Yelchin (Star Trek Into Darkness) as Adam’s go-to man, and the cautious Jeffrey Wright (Broken City) as his source of stolen sustenance – are forever gifted a sumptuous backdrop for their performances.

And, in the central coupling, what performances they are: Hiddleston is simultaneously effortlessly alluring and disarmingly despondent; Swinton manages to stay within type yet still exude vulnerability in her composed mystery. Their pairing is one of perfect casting, and one pivotal to Jarmusch’s envisioned romantic endeavours, with Wasikowska’s delightfully spirited turn providing the ideal contrast. It is in Hiddleston and Swinton’s rapport, beyond all the feature’s other impressive flourishes and slender faults, that audiences warm to the film’s contemplation of love beyond the obstructions of mortality, and to the tentative tale that results. It is in their embrace of emotion that viewers will believe; they are the Only Lovers Left Alive.

Rating: 3 ½ stars out of 5