So. I'm going to try actually writing something for once, instead of just posting a sentence and a picture; we'll see how that goes.
Pre-cursors: This may contain spoilers for the film (depending on how you define "spoiler"). Also, this is 100% my
opinion, A.K.A. I'm allowed to have one and you're allowed to have a different one so don't get mad.
Alright.
The Limits of Control is a film by Jim Jarmush, starring Isaach De Bankole that was released this year. The New York Times, in their
review of Jarmush's work, described it as a "minimalist exercise in the key of cool". I completely agree with that sentiment, can't think of a better way to describe it. It looked fantastic; a big theme of the film was art and different periods/movements, and it seemed to me that everytime a new one was introduce, whether thematically or blatantly, the preceding shot of "the Lone Man" (De Bankole) mimicked the period described.
That isn't the best example but I didn't want to spend hours looking; to me it's reminiscent of Hopper (there's a better example somewhere, these two are a bit too close together for Hopper's alienation, but you get the idea). So that was cool. Other cool things include Gael being beautiful in full-on cowboy attire:
Tilda Swinton in a white wig/hat/raincoat:
and like I said, really cool shots and a "storyline" (I'm currently using the term loosely) that's more of a game, discovering the relation of dialog to theme to image.
However, I came into the film (maybe it's my fault for having expectations) thinking I was going to watch a story unfold -- after all, the DVD packaging bills this as a story, not an "exercise" -- this does not happen. To sum the plot up in a very concise nutshell: De Bankole, the "Lone Man" and main character in the story, spends his time traveling back and forht between about 3 locations for the majority of the film -- a cafe, an art museum, and a room in an architecturally fantastic tower:
I repeat, beautiful imagery. But this, to me, does not a movie make. To continue with the plot: The Lone Man meets a series of different people in one of the above listed locations, who has a one-sided (De Bankole has VERY few lines) conversation with him in which they give him "instructions", which everytime sounded to me more like a bunch of philosophical and/or self-referential in terms of the film itself, dribble that culminated in a specific say, sentence that sends The Lone Man to one of the other locations to look at a painting or contemplate the words while lyingon his back in bed, not sleeping (he never sleeps). No exposition, no story, just this sequence of events repeated for 2 hours.
Aside from the imagry there were clear themes that were certainly developed in the philosophical sense that they kept coming back up, and there were a lot of quirky details that would have enriched an actualy story. However, these elements that I found to be positive merely kept me sitting in front of my tv, hoping that something might actually happen, not necessarily enjoying what I was watching.
Maybe this is a lesson in packaging, in being more cautious the next time I make the block-and-a-half trip to my local Blockbuster, to realize that just because the box of a movie has a cool picture and sounds intriguing from the back, does not automatically, based on those two small details, mean that I will love or even like it. Maybe if I'd known it was an exrcise and not a story, I would have approached
The Limits of Control in a vastly different way and thus enjoyed it.
I hate to say this, but the film, being the first Jarmush work I've seen, was exactly what I was afraid it would be. Which is to say, 've heard a lot of pretentious film kids talk about how awesome he is, and based on my opinion of everything else they say/their attitudes thought that to watch a Jarmush film would be to view pretention on parade. However, I don't wan't to counter-asshole that sentiment, and as friends have told me that Jarmush has produced much better, interesting films, I'm going to give him another try. But for now, he's not my cup of tea.
What can I say? I got what he was going for (contrary to certain art friend's beliefs) but I wasn't a fan.
At least it looked cool and was weird. I leave you with "Forrest Whittaker Tits", or a woman in a see-through raincoat who remains this way in al of her scenes, who possesses nipples that point in opposite directions.
Then again, this is the first thing that has provoked an actual blog from me, and I've been bitching about it for weeks so clearly it's left an impression and maybe there's something to be said for that.
But I for one prefer entertainment. Thank you and goodnight.
Labels: movies, UGH
