Part of the Jim Jarmusch ‘All About the Masters’
Series
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“Your sick minds have been polluted with crap. Your music, movies,
science. Fucking bohemians on hallucinogenic drugs. All that shit has poisoned
you. And it has nothing to do with the real world. And I suppose you believe
that by eliminating me, you will eliminate control over some fucking artificial
reality.”
Bill Murray’s character, a foul-mouthed white-collared bureaucrat of some
sort, utters this very sentence in The Limits of Control, and it is here
that my own mental switch went from not interested to absolutely fascinated. It’s
just too bad that it wasn’t long after that the movie was over, and it was an
inexplicable slog to sit through getting this far, albeit being peppered with
some redeeming qualities.
The Limits of Control follows
the exploits of a character known only as the Lone Man (Isaach De Bankole), who
is an enigma of a man, talking only when absolutely necessary, always very calculating
and observant of his surroundings. As the film opens, he is being cryptically
briefed on something like a job. From this point forward, the Lone Man will
frequent a café with very specific coffee order. Occasionally, he will be
greeted by a seemingly random passerby, have a brief conversation about the
arts, and receive a message transported via a matchbox (which the Lone Man will
physically consume after reading the message). Or the Lone Man is in the confines
of his hotel room, where he does these meditative stretches of some kind. And
then there are his various interactions with a Nude Woman (Paz De La Huerta),
though there is nothing particularly sexual in their encounters.
Who is he? Why the specific coffee orders? Why the matchbox messages?
Well, I suppose that’s up for us to interpret. Let it be known that I have zero
issue with films like this. I love when movies leave blanks in between the
lines for the audience to fill in. Still, though, there must be some sort of narrative
substance for the audience to work with, but it’s just short in The Limits of
Control. Scenes and inexplicable
action linger on for moments at a time, only to lead to cryptic conversations
that offer absolutely nothing to the greater picture.
While I can be somewhat forgiving of the open
form of the film, what I cannot excuse is the lack of noteworthy performances
amongst the talent present here, including Tilda Swinton, Gael Garcia Bernal, John
Hurt, and Bill Murray among many. It’s not that they’re bad…they just have
nothing to work with, as if they were handed pieces of a puzzle with no puzzle
to implement the pieces into. Part of me wants to say that Isaach De Bankole
offers something, but I think that’s more because we accompany him throughout
the entire film.
Also, while this isn’t quite a criticism, as
much an indie film as The Limits of Control most definitely is, it felt nothing like
a Jarmusch film. His brand of humor and overall filmmaking is completely
nonexistent. If the dialogue were more fleshed out and more like dialogue,
maybe I could hear Jarmusch in the words of the film. The only thing remotely
telling you that this is a Jarmusch film are some of his regulars present here,
most notably Bankole and Murray. For anybody wanting to get into Jarmusch, do
not start here.
Not that The Limits of Control is without any kind of credibility.
The film overall may be a numbing watch, but the cinematography by Christopher
Doyle will keep your eyes satisfied. Many beautiful telephoto shots, alongside
cityscape vistas that are curiously claustrophobic. Additionally, I found the
soundtrack fantastic, filled with neo-psychedelic soundscapes, courtesy of
artists like Boris and Bad Rabbit. In short, the film is a feast to the eyes
and ears, at the very least.
But that scene with Bill Murray really got me thinking about The Limits of Control, and in a good way. With all of that postmodern
nothingness for over an hour and a half to lead to that quote (please see the first
paragraph of this review), perhaps Jim Jarmusch has made the ultimate anti-film?
A film that dares challenge the idea and supposed value of artistic depths in
movies? I admire such audacity. Perhaps one day I will warm up to The Limits
of Control. For now, though, as much as I kind of saw what I think
the point of it all was, it still has to be somewhat satisfying to get to that
point, which it wasn’t.
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