In the harsh light of day, boots crunch on ash. A harpoon line sings through the air, dragging a creature of the night into the sun to burn. This is not gothic romance; this is John Carpenter's Vampires—a blue-collar western where the hunt is a dirty, lethal job. The stakes are scarred from use, the jackets are sun-bleached, and the pared-back acting makes the labor feel punishingly real.
But ...
