I reacquainted myself with this movie recently. Like the insidious Silence of the Lambs it proves that you can show gay acts on the big screen so long as you clearly equate it with unredeemable perversion. In SotL the gender ambiguous serial killer is beyond redemption.
In Interview a bit more fun was had by all. Firstly I have to remark that the movie enjoys its acts of explicit mutilation. Someone [the Celluloid Closet writer?] once remarked that violence in films is gratuitous while sexual content is reticent, coy, suggested. We are able to view, often lingeringly, mutilation, but a penis, especially erect? Impossible. In contemporary TV as shown by ABC Australia, the colonial equivalent of BBC1, you can see a crime show like Wallander set in Sweden, where there is a very high aesthetic used in constructing sets and atmosphere, but it is accompanied by forensic violence. Compare it to a series about London lawyers, Silk, where there is no violence as pornography, where social issues are engaged at length, and the class structure is deftly critiqued, the cosy link between establishment and legal power. Silk demands complex writing, in skilfully depicting interpersonal relationships.
Vampire’s relationships are fiction & myth. I watched intently when Banderas and Pitt met in Paris, both vamping with their long glossy locks. Cruise’s late entry, however, trumped all earlier shows. I feel better already, he sighs, having supped on fresh hemoglobin. Then he throws away the cassette of the Interview: Whining, whining, I had to endure centuries of Louis whining.
NEVER, in any other film that I can remember, has an actor walked on, virtually as an epilogue, and so successfully demolished the impact of the central character. That waas a triumph, for which, the dubious sexual politics of the film might almost be forgiven.
Also the emergence in post-colonial literature of the narrative, especially the re-tracing of diasporic culture that Rice manages by means of Louis’ Interview. And of course seeing that quartet of BIG MEN, Cruise, Pitt, Banderas and Slater, kissing each other on the neck. Cruise’s devil may care handling of the car fits neatly with his real life rep as a Scientologist elect, in being encouraged, as one of the privileged few, to raise merry [one might say gay] hell.