For Bigelow’s grisly gang, killing is quick and dirty. There’s no romancing life on the road, or the way they handle their prey, but there’s poetry in the ferocity of their primal abandon. There’s an inherent sexuality in the act of bloodsucking, but in Near Dark it often feels more like fucking. (Hitchcock would be proud of the industrial pistons pumping away in the background during one scene’s feeding frenzy.) The word vampire is never mentioned, and there are no capes, fangs, or other theatrics — though its killers luxuriate in the spectacle of their bloodshed (see: the bar scene).
Thank you, Alison, for your look back at this horror classic.