: I just about strained my eye muscles with all the rolling they did during the scene that introduces Hurt's character. One of my pet peeves about movies is when, say, a husband and wife call each other by name and remind each other of things that they surely don't have to mention, solely for expositional purposes. With vampires who've been together for epochs, it's even more pointless. And yet, there's Eve urging Marlowe to come clean as the pen behind Shakespeare, just so us idiot zombies will know who he is. Nonetheless, Jarmusch has a fairly novel take on vampires (a term that never comes up), from how they look and live to how one might commit suicide. But the smartest thing he did was assembling his cast, especially Swinton. It's easy for actors to fang scenery to ribbons when playing immortal bloodsuckers, but the two leads are superbly subtle. Adam's laconic restraint when dealing with his human hipster gofer Ian (Anton Yelchin) makes it clear how he could pass as an imperious, reclusive rock auteur, but when Ian betrays him, he seems almost as sad as angry. And when Adam pauses when Eve asks how he is over a transatlantic call, Swinton's face and body language tell you everything you need to know about what his reaction means and how their relationship works. The two leads are also preternaturally charismatic: A lingering shot of the two of them sleeping naked, intertwined, pale and lean and gleaming, is likely to cause all sorts of ambisexual vapors.