The Hunger... Catherine Deneuve and David Bowie are rich, handsome, and oh-so stylish as inhabitants of the night. Wearing sleek outfits and classy sun shades, they haunt rock 'n roll clubs on the stalk for young blood, whom they bring back home to their incredibly lush mansion for a late-night break.
Being a vampire never looked more horny, but there is a price : Bowie starts to age so fast he wrinkles up in the waiting room of a doctor's ( Susan Sarandon ) office. Tony Scott's ( Ridley's bro ) directorial debut, changed from the Whitley Strieber novel, revises the vampire parable with Egyptian inflections and removes all references to garlic and crosses and wooden stakes--these parasites can even walk around in the daylight--but the ties between blood and sex are as robust as ever.
Scott's background as a prize winning commercial director is clear in each luxuriously textured frame and his densely interwoven revising, but the moody atmosphere comes at the cost of dramatic pressure.
At times the film is so languid it becomes mired in its misty, impeccably designed visible style. In its own way, The Hunger is the ideal vampire film for the '80s, all poise and angle and surface beauty. Sarandon talks truthfully about the film in the documentary The Celluloid Closet.