Only Lovers Left Alive - 3/5
In the failure of all other Jim Jarmusch movies to match the joy of ‘Ghost Dog,’ I’ve decided to find my own meaning in his movies. Who knows! Maybe it was the meaning he intended for it??? Anyway, here’s some bullshit. If you love something, it can go a number of ways – specific to my point, two: you either decide to make it a part of you, turning it routine, or you get tired of it. This movie deals with both of those. The routine of a centuries-long love affair where they don’t need to be around each other to know they’re a part of each other’s lives (while at the same time, offering nothing revolutionary) and the general anhedonia of livin’, brah that is broken when you discover something new and wonderful. A whole life and this thing exists?? How did I not know?? Discovering punk rock when you’re 85, on your deathbed, and wanting nothing more than to keep living just to catch up on 40 years of history. It’s that feeling, wrapped in a movie about dour been-there vampires who just aren’t making out like they used to.
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