The Limits of Control
“Two espressos in separate cups.” This is so Jarmusch, really. That line is the essence of the film. Actually his old films were not like that at all, I think that “Night on Earth” was the first episodic super-stylish Jarmusch, and the newer his films are, the more stylish and luxurious his films look like. I wonder if I mind that we have lost the raw, gritty Jarmusch of Permanent Vacation and Mystery Train, but I find myself loving his table shots (whether it’s coffee, fruits or a gun) and the fact that his characters are now walking through Hollywood-ish romantic places instead of poor American cities. He has kept his use of unusual, indie music and the panning shots through the city though, thank God.
Isaach de Bankolé has only one single facial expression in the movie. The dialogue is completely pointless and somewhat elitist and pretentious. Nothing really happens at all, and yet I find myself watching this movie instead of taking a nap. Just recently, I was saying that I found “Platform” to be too slow, but actually “The Limits of Control” is much, much slower. I can’t help but be fascinated by the film, even though theoretically it’s the exact opposite of films I like: I prefer films with some sort of meaning, a suspenseful story, lots of action, dialogues and fleshed out characters. None of these apply to “The Limits of Control”, and yet I am explicably drawn to the film.
More than anything else, I am in love with the details: The two espressos, the plastic raincoat, the matchboxes, Madrid, the recurring guitars, the carefully chosen interior architecture. (Even the train is stylish!) I am wondering how I would feel about seeing “Broken Flowers” again. I felt that “Broken Flowers” seemed weary and not very interesting, I even thought it was because Jarmusch got old. Perhaps he did with “The Limits of Control” even more, but at the same time, it feels so… contemporary? Incredibly beautiful? Unreal?
Coming back to the pretentiousness of the film: If it really were elitist and pretentious as a lot of critics seem to think, I would probably hate the movie. I have never seen Jarmusch as an elitist though, in fact I think he is much more real and down to earth than most others. His movies don’t, they just show details. People speak about ‘pretentious’ topics such as the universe, life and art in quite a confusing way, but all of them speak about themselves and their own impressions. It’s more about liking or not liking rather than what is good or real. Or the characters express a belief that doesn’t feel imposing but makes you think “Oh that’s an interesting way too see it, but I don’t see it that way”.
I have no idea whether it is the case or not, but I feel like Jarmusch’s films are so much more honest to himself than an elitist director could possibly be.
I thought that the name of the cinematographer sounded familiar, and oh my God, how familiar! Christopher Doyle made the most horrible Paris je t’aime part (Porte de Choisy), but also Three, Hero, Infernal Affairs, Chungking Express… I am amazed.
I love the scene where he goes into that underground bar-type thing. It’s a special scene, and somewhat cliché: The scene is in the middle of the movie, and it’s the only time when he actually does seem to show any feelings at all. He actually smiles!
Oh my God, why did I never go to the Reina Sofía? It has so many nice pieces.
I love the scene where he sits down in front of that completely pointless white piece of… art?, stands up and leaves. I liked how he opens his jacket to sit down, and it makes a lot of sense that he then changes back into his ‘normal self’ (or so I assume). Nevertheless, the whole part with Bill Murray was kind of boring though – that is the one part where the atmosphere of the movie didn’t do so much for me.
At the end of the day, I feel (or I fear!) that I like this movie because it’s a Jarmusch. Because I know what to expect in his movies and what not to expect, and perhaps I am on the same wavelength. Jarmusch is my Kundera in movies, except that Jarmusch doesn’t talk so much.