That title about sums it up for me. A gorgeous film filled with handsome people, beautiful decor, rivers of technicolor red number nine, and music by Delibes. But you might as well be crazed with battery acid while watching it if you expect it to make any sense.
The story, what there is of it, has already been outlined. But what about those mad monkeys at the beginning? What does the "manic monkey" have to do with anything? OLD monkeys, yes. Well, maybe. I still don't know how the deteriorating monkey has anything to do with the story, especially when it not only grows old instantaneously but decomposes into dust in a jiffy.
How can Deneuve promise anyone "eternal life" when her previous lover, David Bowie, comes to look pretty dead after a while? And what, exactly, is "eternal life" if Deneuve can fall a couple of flights and not only get old pronto but die and turn skeletal while screaming.
If the vamps need to feed their hunger for blood in order to keep from aging, then why does David Bowie not turn back into his old Etonian self after slaughtering the young violinist and presumably sucking her blood? There are gouts of that cute kid's blood all over the sheet music. What was wrong with her blood. Was it corky?
And what about the skater who is a Tiny Tim lookalike?
The ending I won't bother to go into. Well, okay, I will. Sarandon and Deneuve have become lovers and the shivering, sweating Sarandon must suck her boyfriend's innocent blood to restore her well being. But then why does Sarandon then plunge a tiny blade into Deneuve's carotid artery? Or was it the other way around -- the scene is so clumsily edited that either event fits into the scene.
This may be a cult film, but it's not a cult that I belong to. The plot is a reckless jumble of expediencies. I wouldn't watch it again, although I wouldn't mind saving the soft-core encounter between Deneuve and Sarandon on some other tape. Those softly billowing see-through curtains over their entwined bodies are very exciting, although I missed the jasmine-scented candles.
Go ahead and watch, if you like. De gustibus non disputandum est. It's very stylishly done. Deneuve is languid, flawless in her icy beauty and there is a great seduction scene when she sits in the darkened room playing the Flower Duet from Lakme on the piano and describes it to Sarandon as a song of two Indian women thrilling over the beauty of a lake, marveling over its birds and flowers. Sarandon remarks, "It sounds like a love song to me," and she's right, and she goes on to ask, "Are you making a pass at me?" Without turning away from the piano, Deneuve says, "If I am, I am not aware of it." I say, Ha Ha. By the way, their love making is very tender. Women know how to treat one another. But I'm surprised neither objects when the other bites hard enough to draw a couple of mouthfuls of blood from that oft-used injection site on the inside of the elbow. But, again, there is no disputing taste.
The story, what there is of it, has already been outlined. But what about those mad monkeys at the beginning? What does the "manic monkey" have to do with anything? OLD monkeys, yes. Well, maybe. I still don't know how the deteriorating monkey has anything to do with the story, especially when it not only grows old instantaneously but decomposes into dust in a jiffy.
How can Deneuve promise anyone "eternal life" when her previous lover, David Bowie, comes to look pretty dead after a while? And what, exactly, is "eternal life" if Deneuve can fall a couple of flights and not only get old pronto but die and turn skeletal while screaming.
If the vamps need to feed their hunger for blood in order to keep from aging, then why does David Bowie not turn back into his old Etonian self after slaughtering the young violinist and presumably sucking her blood? There are gouts of that cute kid's blood all over the sheet music. What was wrong with her blood. Was it corky?
And what about the skater who is a Tiny Tim lookalike?
The ending I won't bother to go into. Well, okay, I will. Sarandon and Deneuve have become lovers and the shivering, sweating Sarandon must suck her boyfriend's innocent blood to restore her well being. But then why does Sarandon then plunge a tiny blade into Deneuve's carotid artery? Or was it the other way around -- the scene is so clumsily edited that either event fits into the scene.
This may be a cult film, but it's not a cult that I belong to. The plot is a reckless jumble of expediencies. I wouldn't watch it again, although I wouldn't mind saving the soft-core encounter between Deneuve and Sarandon on some other tape. Those softly billowing see-through curtains over their entwined bodies are very exciting, although I missed the jasmine-scented candles.
Go ahead and watch, if you like. De gustibus non disputandum est. It's very stylishly done. Deneuve is languid, flawless in her icy beauty and there is a great seduction scene when she sits in the darkened room playing the Flower Duet from Lakme on the piano and describes it to Sarandon as a song of two Indian women thrilling over the beauty of a lake, marveling over its birds and flowers. Sarandon remarks, "It sounds like a love song to me," and she's right, and she goes on to ask, "Are you making a pass at me?" Without turning away from the piano, Deneuve says, "If I am, I am not aware of it." I say, Ha Ha. By the way, their love making is very tender. Women know how to treat one another. But I'm surprised neither objects when the other bites hard enough to draw a couple of mouthfuls of blood from that oft-used injection site on the inside of the elbow. But, again, there is no disputing taste.