30 years ago, Kathryn Bigelow rebooted vampires in Near Dark to very little fan-fare

There was as many fresh and exciting things to say about Vampires in horror back in the year 1987 as there is in the year 2017--which is, not much. Part of the fun of an artist tackling a genre story, though, is them not only embracing the established tropes of that genre, but refining them in potentially exciting ways. The late 80's, gluttonous and flush with horror creature features, was a damn perfect time to do this. 

 

As a somewhat nascent director, Kathryn Bigelow (of future The Hurt Locker and Zero Dark Thirty fame) cut her teeth in an historically overstuffed horror sub-genre with the crimson cloaked Near Dark. A modern Vampire tale, the film is a fascinating flirtation between the American Western and American Gothic. That she leaves such a strong impression from behind the camera is a testament to Bigelow's talent for both control and creativity. 

 

Focusing on the potentially doomed romance between a newly turned Vampire (Caleb) and his sire (Mae), Near Dark spins the familiar yarn of the newborn vampire who didn't ask for this life and does not want to kill to survive. This values system is at odds with the Vampire clan into which Caleb has been born. The group, with whom we spend most of our time, is rounded out nicely with: Bill Paxton, providing an unhinged brutality as Severen; Joshua John Miller as the young rascal vampire Homer; Jenette Goldstein as Diamondback; and finally The INIMITABLE Lance Henriksen as her main squeeze and the group's leader, Jesse. 

 

Stranding Caleb between two families, his struggle plays out predictably (perhaps), but not without thematic heft. With his desperate father on their trail and his younger sister eventually used as a pawn, the plot has precious few twists or turns--but that's okay. It's not the intricacies of plot that reverberates. The film isn't big on exposition, and that's a good thing. It not only puts the well established Vampire rules into a refreshing and less hokey light; it gives the film's central love story a quiet subtlety that could have easily been far too maudlin. This is a western, after all. 

 

As far as atmosphere goes, one of the most striking things that stands out when you watch Near Dark is its coldness. It's practically frostbitten. This covers both the film's thematic elements as well as its desolate, rural aesthetic. Using miles and miles of rolling black hills against long stretches of empty road, Bigelow's strength for visual storytelling lies specifically in the way that it interacts with and offsets the admittedly basic foundation of the plot. Which, is to say: it has no business being this damned beautiful. 

 

Near Dark is the kind of horror film where the gore and horror, while certainly present, are merely incidental. I mean, this is all kind of grotesque in one way or another, but not necessarily because of the blood and guts. The darkness here is bleak and grim, but utterly romantic. That was kind of a hard selling point for the time period--well, probably any time period. Fans reacted accordingly and opted to, ya know, not see Near Dark. Like, meaning barely at all. What did they see, in droves, a couple months prior to its release? Lost Boys. But, what can ya do? 

 

Near Dark ended up being rather singular. It didn't breed a lot of imitators. This is for several good reasons. Chiefly, no one cared when it was released and it took quite a while for it to become a cult classic that it is. Secondly, it wouldn't be that easy. Near Dark's individuality comes from its clarity of focus and the ambitious hands of its director. The Vampire conceit was a means to an end. What Near Dark was interested in was creating a universe where the relief of finding your soul mate is only rivaled by the exquisite pain of belonging.