FILM REVIEW: Paterson (2016)

Part of the Jim Jarmusch ‘All About the Masters’ Series

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When I exchange stories with friends, I have a tendency to throw in the most minimal and, frankly, meaningless details in my monologues. It’s not something I go out of my way to do; it just kind of happens – it’s something like muscle memory at this point. Perhaps it’s some subconscious need to paint as full a picture as possible. After all, the big picture may be what’s important, but that big picture wouldn’t exist if not for the little details. It is this love for those little details that makes Paterson the film that it is, and what Jarmusch has brought us is not only one of his very best films, but one of the best films of the decade.

Paterson follows a week in the life of Paterson (Adam Driver), a bus driver in the city of Paterson (the film acknowledges this irony). It’s not a particularly exciting or pivotal week in his life; just his day-to-day proceeds, whether he’s curiously eavesdropping on the conversations of bus passengers, sharing the excitement of his girlfriend’s (Golshifteh Farahani) passions and hobbies, having a beer at the bar down the block, or relaxing by the waterfall with his lunch. What is unique about Paterson, though, is his seemingly second-nature ability to incorporate every single little detail of his life into his writings – Paterson writes poetry in every spare waking moment of his life.

Laura, his girlfriend, is always encouraging Paterson to publish his poetry, but Paterson simply doesn’t find any need to. Not out of introversion or insecurity, but simply out of a sincere humility. To Paterson, to write poetry is like breathing or drinking water, and Adam Driver’s excellent performance makes it work. Jarmusch has some of the coolest casts in film history, but it wasn’t until this marathon of his work that I’ve begun to appreciate just how strategic he is in his casting choices.

It’s a compliment I’ve made time and time again; every performance in his work, even in his weakest films, is perfectly in tune with the tone and subject matter of the film, and Driver’s Paterson continues this beautiful trend. Without being too dismissive of the rest of Paterson’s cast; everybody else is just fine. Farahani is simply adorable as Paterson’s enthusiastic and passionate girlfriend (rest assured, though; she is no Manic Pixie Dream Girl); Barry Shabaka Henley adds a nice coolness as the bartender of a local pub; William Jackson Harper is equal parts comic and tragic as an incompetent lover, always bringing his relationship issues loudly public. Ultimately, though, this film belongs to Adam Driver.

It’s a thing of beauty watching Paterson utilizing the insignificance of everyday details and putting them in his poetry – it’s almost mesmerizing. I credit this to the exquisite imagery. There’s plenty of the usual Jarmusch wide angles, but what he exercises in Paterson is the perfect amount of light. I don’t think I’ve ever see Jarmusch implement light so much like he has in Paterson. Lots of fluorescent lights shining down, or colorful sunrises and sunsets. It adds to the inspiring effect that writing has, but it never goes overboard and becomes a cliché. He knows exactly when to play it up, when to play it down, and exactly how many notches to adjust.

Paterson just may very well be Jarmusch’s most heartfelt and sincere film to date. While he has never gone embarrassingly out of his way to be “cool”, there are certain ingredients to his movies that always make for that signature Jarmusch coolness, most notably the prominent appearances of underground rock icons and the discussion of music to follow. Though there’s a few conversations about famous poets and such here and there throughout Paterson, they are only gently peppered. It’s a welcome expansion of horizons for Jarmusch’s track record.

Prepare the tissue box as well. It’s not that Paterson is a sad film; it’s simply just one of those films that is just plain powerful, working on the most minimal and human of levels. When I first saw Paterson, I was enjoying what I was watching, but I wasn’t sure I was liking it, per se. Then comes the softest gut-punch you can think of: I dare not spoil events, but all I can say is that Paterson loses a particularly treasured possession. There is no breakdown or even hint of affect from Paterson. You can only read his face and all of its subtle gestures. Additionally; it’s typical for Jarmusch to show his protagonist crossing paths with a totally foreign character who appears to be riding some kind of parallel path. Paterson includes such a scene following Paterson’s loss, and he chats poetry with a Japanese tourist. One of the best lines in modern movies follows: “Sometimes an empty page presents more possibilities.”

I am almost tempted to put this in my Greatest Favorites, but we’re going to hold off for now (it’s only 3 years old at this point). I wouldn’t be surprised if I do, but in the meantime; Paterson is not just a wonderful movie, but a miracle of a film. It is a humble, timeless, and deeply moving celebration of the beauty of mundanity, something perhaps only Jarmusch can accomplish. All of this is further bolstered by what may very well be Adam Driver’s finest hour in his acting career. There’s so much to say, but I can’t quite find the words at this point. All I can really say is “thank you, Mr. Jarmusch.”