Only Lovers Left Alive

The concepts of art and entertainment are so extremely intertwined in our culture that it's usually impossible to disentangle the two. Yet I'd argue that one exception to that rule is Jim Jarmusch's 2013 vampire tale, Only Lovers Left Alive, which always succeeds as an art-piece to be admired, but for the most part fails as any type of entertainment.

Tom Hiddleston stars as Adam, a reclusive musician, who mostly just wants to be left alone. The only two people he seems capable of standing are Eve and Ian. His relationships with both of these people are somewhat anomalous, presenting the viewer with questions that director/ writer Jarmusch has no interest in answering.

As a recluse, Adam abhors the fact that his music has started to generate a fan base, yet he maintains a friendship with his biggest fan, Ian (Anton Yelchin). Yes, this relationship is partially explained by strictly pragmatic concerns on Adam's part: he uses Ian as an errand boy, especially when it comes to indulging in Adam's hobby of collecting rare guitars. But you can sense a real mutual affection between the two, and, tellingly, Adam tends to allow Ian to stay and socialize whenever he makes deliveries.

Eve (Tilda Swinton) is Adam's wife, though, considering how clearly, completely, and passionately Adam and Eve are in love, it seems very odd that, as the movie opens, they are separated.

Adam and Eve (who are not, as far as I can tell, supposed to be the biblical Adam and Eve), not incidentally, are secretly vampires. Jarmusch plays a bit of homage to a few aspects of vampire lore, but he's mostly interested in exploring the melancholy of immortality. Indeed, the melancholy of immortality is such a central theme to this film that the phrase could have been used as the title. Adam, it seems, is prone to stretches of depression. Lately, he has been especially depressed about humanity's mistreatment of history's greatest scientists. If that seems an abstract thing to get depressed about, consider that eternity provides plenty of time to ponder the abstract.

And that's what Adam mostly does in this movie: He ponders the abstract. And mopes about it. And ponders some more. And mopes some more. If that sounds like boring stuff for a movie, you'd be right. When Eve moves in with him, you hope that the new dynamic between the two characters will shake things up, but Adam, though happy to be reunited with Eve, remains morbid and pensive.

Now, I said that this movie succeeds as art, and despite my complaints, I stand by that remark. Hiddleston is excellent (and excellently cast) as Adam. He infuses the character with a dignity that would otherwise escape such a downer of a character, and the nature of the role allows him to expertly underplay the more dramatic moments. When Adam loses his temper in one scene, for example, Hiddleston doesn't even raise his voice -- although we do detect the hint of a quiver in his voice, letting us know that that rage is buried just beneath the surface.

Jarmusch and his set designers also deserve praise, for the homes of Adam and Eve are truly wonders to behold. Adam and Eve have spent centuries collecting things, and the clutter in their homes is the best example of that self-contradictory concept, "organized chaos," that I have ever seen. I especially liked how their clutters are similar, but not identical, illustrating their differences in personality. Every room in Eve's apartment is filled with stacks of books. Adam, meanwhile, has a couple of book-stacks himself, but his clutter is more dominated by the dozens of guitars on display. Eve uses an iPhone 4. But when she video-chats with Adam, Adam must use a 1950s television set and 1990s cordless phone that he has somehow connected and modified for the purpose. (My favorite aspect of Adam's clutter, though, has to be his wall of portraits. Displayed are a dozen or so portraits of those who are, in his mind, the greatest artists in history: Aristophanes, Da Vinci, Marlowe, Poe, Twain -- and, I noticed, Buster Keaton and Neil Young.)

Unfortunately, Jarmusch also succeeds brilliantly in duplicating Adam's melancholy, and infusing nearly every scene with it. Artistically, thematically, it makes sense. As entertainment, it's pure folly. Seriously, how many scenes of the main character silently sulking and staring into space for minutes at a time are we supposed to endure?

The only real life in this film is provided by Mia Wasikowska, who plays Ava, Adam's troublesome sister-in-law and unwelcome house guest. I can't say that these scenes are enjoyable, exactly -- Ava's character is truly annoying, as she's the type of person who thinks it's funny to intentionally push a person's buttons as much as possible, and then gets upset when Adam, the victim of her constant mischief, finally draws a line.

But at least Wasikowska brings some energy to her scenes. Even annoyance at one of the characters is a welcome break from all the dullness that both Adam and Jarmusch seem so obsessed with.