ON THE GENERAL DIRECTION BY NEIL JORDAN, THE CINEMATOGRAPHY, AND THE EDITING OF THIS FILM.
I'm lumping all this together because I truly don't know how to separate a director's contribution from that of the cinematographer and the editor. I don't know enough about film making. I don't know how much David Geffen influenced the film scene by scene. I wasn't there, and I don't have that experience on any film.
So, let's talk about the film as a film: Once again, the entire look of the film was perfection. It caught the dimness, the filth, the fragile handmade luxury and ornate aspirations of the 18th and 19th centuries; it caught the mud on the hem of the garment.

Over and over again, the viewer was brought in close to the faces of the characters, to hear them speak softly, to watch their eyes, their mouths. This was superbly and fearlessly intimate. Yet the camera moved back to Lestat the room to be magnificent; Brad Pitt was mercilessly pursued by the camera in prepubescent beauty and appeal were utterly respected. The handling of all players was masterly.

The pace of the film for me (and most readers calling in) was terrific. The film is genuinely thrilling. It is entertaining! You walk out exhilarated. You feel good and you want to go back. Many, many readers call me to say that they have seen the film over and over again. There is no lag for us in the second half of this film, and there is no conspicuous absence of anything. It was an extraordinarily satisfying film.

The film achieved the Dickensian goal of being meaningful and fun; of being deep and interesting and fun. No small feat in an age in which ``realism'' has become synonymous with "serious" and we are told that films about everyday life should command our respect over everything else.

The film's moral themes came across to me as clearly realized: we can conceive of immortality, but we're mortal. Inside each of us, regardless of outward grace, there is a misfit. That misfit at times feels like a monster. That misfit may at times behave like a monster.

Whatever Neil Jordan's comments to the press, he seemed to believe in that and to make it work on the screen. The film is one which the audience starts talking about, discussing, arguing before they ever leave the theatre. The film invites analysis. It invites a return viewing. It makes a difference to the people who see it.

The boldness of the scene with the whore and coffin is deeply disturbing in and excellent way. It makes you think about what you might do if you were Lestat. It makes you think about things you've done for entirely personal reasons. But it is disgusting.

The two panoramic scenes in Paris -- Claudia dancing with Louis at a ball; Claudia twirling in her new adult dress before the dressmakers -- both were appropriately immense and unstinting. (Again, the hair of the characters is eccentric. Louis with that long flowing hair in a 19th century Parisian ballroom? It make me think of the wild west. But I loved it!)

Neil Jordan's humorous scenes were a true comic relief. Though I would never have recommended them or written them -- killing poodles, letting the piano teacher fall dead on the keyboard -- I liked them and felt they were handled cleverly. They worked. And the shift between seriousness and humor worked.

The last scene involving Lestat: I was glad to see him, glad to have him back. When he said, "I feel better already," I loved it. When he pulled the lace out from under his sleeves, I was overjoyed. So all that worked for me. It was enough in keeping with the ending of my script and the book for me to be happy, for me to see the possibilities of a sequel. But I didn't write it.

(I see no problem in moving from this Jordan created scene into TVL. None whatsoever. There are all kinds of ways to do it and be true to TVL, the book.)

FILM CHOICES
made by Jordan and others, perhaps. This movie obviously did not go into the heads of the vampires. It really didn't go into the swoon as they experience it in my novel or script. It didn't really show the distortion of the senses of the vampires. It made, however, a very interesting substitution.
In victimization scenes, the camera focused tightly on the eye of the attacking vampire; it gave us a portrait of the attack which had tremendous visual power. Jordan seemed utterly unintimidated by the plethora of bad vampire movies and vampire scenes that came before him. Perhaps this close up on the eye of the vampire, this attention to the choreography of the victimization scene, was trying to make us feel the swoon. I don't know. The film very successfully used a levitating scene as a substitute for the swoon in the first instance. Whatever the reason, over and over again, the film presented the moment of attack and submission as potent and worthy of serious treatment. I found these choices extremely satisfying.

There's no doubt in my mind that vampires are a metaphor for the predator in all of us, and that Louis and Lestat and Claudia speak directly to the ruthless part of us...especially to those of us who live in affluent twentieth century America, surrounded by luxury and miracles, and yet painfully aware of what goes on in other parts of the world. The film never shied away from this. Again, I am confused by some of Jordan's statements about it. But I found these ideas to be eloquently embodied in the film.

I have only just begun to think about some of the questions the film posed: how far will we go not to be alone; how much will we sacrifice morally in order to attain our definition of magnificence, greatness or independence; the nature of dependency and love. The film isn't talking about mere survival; it's talking about the possibility of grand achievement as well as endurance-- it's talking about reaching for the sublime.

These camera shots of killing over and over were rooted in these elements. I liked them.

THE FILM'S POINT OF VIEW.
As far as I can tell, this film is shot from our point of view, the point of view of the reader of the book or the viewer of the movie. This is not a criticism. It is a comment on something I find very intriguing. What I mean is this: We are being told the tale by Louis, but the camera doesn't show us what Louis sees or how he sees it. The camera stays at the footlights of the stage, as though this were all a play -- an acting out of the book.
Over and over the camera lets characters enter from left and from right as they would on a real stage; it brings them together for medium shots in which they speak their crucial lines. It draws back on panoramic scenes, well beyond the tactile sensations being experienced and described by Louis. There are scenes in which Louis isn't present: Claudia's attack on Lestat, for instance.

There is as far as I can tell only one point of view shot in the whole film. This occurs when Claudia and Madeline are being carried down a passageway. You get one shot of the faces of those carrying them. I'm not sure whether it's from Claudia's point of view, or Madeline's. If there are other such shots I missed them.

Again, this isn't a criticism. I find this an interesting approach on the part of the film makers. Perhaps it is most effective as showing the scope of the story, which is essentially small and gigantic simultaneously. It's several people talking about salvation and damnation amid spectacle that rivals the most high tech modern extravagance.

Whatever, I'm delightedly puzzled over it. It worked well, but why was it that way? What would have happened if we had seen things more consistently from Louis' point of view? For example, when Louis first comes upon Claudia, what would the scene have been like if we had drawn in close on her as he sees her, rather than in close on both of them? What if we had heard her heart the way Louis hears it? What if we had gone into his head for the swoon? What if the sudden entrance of Lestat had been hazy?

I'm not suggesting any of this. The film is immensely effective the way it is. I am simply pointing out that this was a choice that the film made, and one that worked, though I never expected it and can't fully explain it.

I suspect that the full impact of this "stage footlights point of view" was to make the contents of the film appear highly significant, which of course I believe it is. I liked it. There is something classical about making a film this way. The story is supposed to be subjective, but the drama is presented as though it has important meaning for us all.

QUIBBLES.
Loving this film as I do, I hesitate to say anything critical really. But there are a few things that struck me as not so good. Mostly they had to do with editing, or with the unfolding of the story. They are the kinds of things that can be fixed.
The film watcher in me really wanted to know:

Why didn't the vampires, Louis and Lestat, smell the decaying human body under Claudia's dolls? If I lived in that apartment, I would have smelled it. Certainly they would have. Why and how did the human body remain undiscovered? Do these characters have powerful senses or not? I'm puzzled.

Why would dead blood affect a vampire? Why did Lestat get so hurt by drinking "dead blood?" I don't get it.

Did Lestat receive enough wounds from Claudia to really disable him? I don't think so. It should have been a much more violent attack with much more rents in the flesh. Lestat is a very strong guy. I don't get it.

How the hell did Lestat survive the fire in New Orleans?

Why wasn't Lestat in Paris? Shouldn't he have been there to show us 1) that he had survived and 2) to climax the dreadful kangaroo court trial of those who had attacked him? I missed him in Paris. I don't think the film lagged -- I cherish the discussion between Brad and Antonio in this portion of the film -- but Lestat's appearance would have been highly effective for me. This doesn't mar my enjoyment of the film. I just wish it had been different.

I thought the shot of Superman on the theatre screen, as seen by Louis, and the shot of the theatre marquee saying TEQUILA SUNRISE as Louis walks off were unforgivably indelicate and stupid. To throw up the words TEQUILA SUNRISE at that moment blew the mood utterly. I winced. When I watch the film now, I close my eyes at that part!

Why did the vampires break so many necks and spill so much blood? Aren't they too powerful to be so unskilled? Why were we treated to the scene of the prostitute with her legs sprawled apart with blood gushing down her dress? In the context of the film, does Lestat really go for that sort of thing? I know, I know, Janet Maslin thought this was the central image of the film. I didn't.

Why did the vampires so brutally bully the girl on the stage of the Theatre of the Vampires? I don't get it. Why did they push her and shove her? They are immortals. They are very strong, and she is very weak. Why the indignity, the vulgarity? Why wasn't she thoroughly and mercifully enchanted at the end the way she was in the book? Why was the scene so gratuitously nasty?

Why was the final exchange between Louis and Lestat so brief? Good grief! Didn't Louis have a few questions? Didn't he have more to say to Lestat after all that time? I don't get it. How could he just walk out of there? I couldn't have. Again, it was beautifully done, but I wish it had been different.

How did Lestat get to his position at the very end of the film? How? Couldn't there have been some indication of how he managed to be where he was in his last scene? The overall effect would have been stronger for me if there had been some clues. Again, I love the film, it worked. But I wonder...

Once again, why didn't the vampires cry blood tears!

My last question: why was this film an R rated film? Couldn't it have been just as significant and just as thrilling without being an R rated film? I am assuming of course that the R rating had to do with the nudity and the misogyny in the film, the sadism towards women with heavy sexual overtones. If I'm right, then why was that necessary?

Vampires don't have sex. They transcend gender. Vampire gore appears in comic books, cartoons, and PG movies, doesn't it? what's with the rating system? And what's with the gratuitous cruelty to women in this film? Why? I think the film could have kept all of his philosophical and psychological complexity and been PG or PG-13.

I'm raising this point because the Vampire Chronicles have thousands of very young readers. For them, the books are extremely accessible. They read the books in school. They talk about them with their teachers. They write papers on the books. They call me with questions and write me wonderful letters. I've been asked to speak at schools about these books, and I have.

I have spoken at an elementary school. I have spoken at a college. I have been interviewed in school newspapers as well.

Couldn't the film have been just as accessible to the young as the books are?

I hope kids and their families disregarded the R rating. I hope the young readers got to see the film or that they will when it comes out on videotape. I think it says important moral things, and it is enchanting and spectacular. It's a banquet of images and words and colors and movement. I hope kids overlooked the vulgarity and the brutality of some of the scenes. If they can overlook prime time TV and cable, why can't they see this film?

These nasty and mean scenes didn't ruin the movie for me, and I would let any child go to see it. The film has a redeeming moral context and undeniable splendor that kids are entitled to enjoy. But I don't like the handling of those anti-female sadistic parts. And I would have softened them, tried to transmute them with style, or -- to put it bluntly -- done them in such a way as to achieve a wider audience rating.

We cannot make only that art which is acceptable to children, but we must remember that MOBY DICK and THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA,
and HAMLET can all be read or viewed by children without risk. Consider the appeal of THE RED SHOES and TALES OF HOFFMAN. Consider perhaps that the kids who did get to see IWTV may remember it in the way my generation remembers THE RED SHOES and TALES OF HOFFMAN.

There is a venerable tradition to making the most serious statement in a form that can be understood by an eight year old. I respect that tradition. That kids read my books gives me joy. I'm proud of all my readers, the very young, the very old, the seemingly mainstream, the eccentric, the cerebral, the whole crowd. I ought to be. I'd be a fool not to be proud of being a "popular" and "mainstream" writer. It feels great.

ON OTHER CRITICS AND THE CRITICAL RESPONSE TO THIS FILM.
To echo the offhand remarks of Saturday Night Live's Brooklyn characters, "Forget about it!"
As for TIME and NEWSWEEK, I think we as readers and film lovers have to reconcile ourselves to the fact that these publications have become virtually worthless in covering books and film. The magazines are obviously fighting a losing battle with television and computer networks, but they aren't putting up much of a fight. Their reviewers seem shallow, stupid, and unforgivably uninformed. Let's kiss them good-bye.

TIME and NEWSWEEK, you no longer play a significant role in covering the news surrounding the arts, or in covering the arts themselves. You could turn this around. You could start writing reviews which are actually intelligent essays; you could return to commentary with perspective and validity; you could do your homework on the context of the films and books you review. Eh. I've given up on you.

The success of INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE is only one of many, many proofs that these magazines are no longer major cultural players. It is sad.

On the NEW YORKER, Pauline Kael, I miss you. Tina Brown, why don't you open up the NEW YORKER to teams of reviewers of films and movies? Give us a real controversy of criticism -- review more books, more films and publish more reviewers. I'd love it, but I read the magazine every week no matter what.

On Janet Maslin in the New York Times, though I cherish her great praise of the film, I disagree, as already stated, with the dismissal of the ideas of the film and her dismissal of the richest, most complex and most thought provoking films I've ever seen. People will be viewing it and talking about it when we are no longer here.

On Caryn James, I treasure what you wrote in the New York Times.

On LIZ SMITH and her very frank and brave questions as to whether or not IWTV was a gay allegory, and her question as to why people just don't make a gay film, and why do gays have to be disguised as vampires -- Here's my answer. Ms. Smith, the gays are us. That's all there is to it. There is no disguise. Gay allegory doesn't exist apart from moral allegory for everyone. This is now evident.

PHILADELPHIA made the statement in a very direct way. Tom Hanks in that film played a man that could be any one of us for any number of reasons! Years and years ago, a gay allegory was made called BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN. For most of its artistic life, people have been totally unaware that this film is a gay allegory, and with reason. IT DOESN'T MATTER. If it's about gays, it's about all of us, the secrets we carry, the traits which set us apart individually from others, the burdens we bear, the rage we feel, and the common condition that binds us.

The characters of IWTV aren't gays disguised as vampires. They are us. They are us in our loneliness, in our fear, in our spiritual and moral isolation. They are us in our ruthlessness, and in our desperate quest for companionship, warmth, love and reassurance in a world full of gorgeous temptations and very real horrors. They are fallible beings with the power of gods; and that is exactly what we are, all of us.

In sum, INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE is bigger that a gay allegory, and so is almost any gay allegory.

Gender influences everything but determines nothing! Vampires transcend gender. We as a modern people transcend gender, though we can never escape it. Ours is a time for which there are no precedents with regard to gender and freedom. Look in vain to ancient Rome. Look in vain to the Middle Ages. There has never been so much affluence, scientific knowledge and so much common awareness of violence and injustice. There has never been so much real wealth for so many, combined with instantaneous media confrontation of poverty and suffering. Some of us see life as a horror story, but a horror story with great, great meaning.

ON THE HORROR GENRE:
If we learn anything from this period in film history, let us learn this: that fantasy and horror can speak to the ordinary and the most eccentric; fantasy and horror can embody and reflect the most common and the most dreaded pain we all share; fantasy and horror can speak to the addict, to the celebrity, to the gay man, to the gay woman, to the housewife, to the working man or woman, to me to you, to the truck driver, to the brain surgeon, to the monk, to the nun, and to the child. Poetry thrives in fantasy and horror books and films; so do great visions of truth. The ambition and the potential of these genres is limitless.
Finally, let me describe another aspect of this unique time. Today, what we share is more important than what sets us apart from one another. What we have in common is infinitely more important than what divides us. It has never been that way before, and the possibilities as well as the responsibilities are endless.

This is the full meaning of INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE. Kinked? Yeah. Weird? You got it. Universal? Most certainly.

With love,

Anne Rice
New Orleans, Louisiana
1994
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