|
"The poem of poems would embrace the sense of confinement, the getaway, the vicissitudes of the road, the wan bliss on the rim." (Beckett, "Recent Irish Poetry") The teenaged punkette from Budapest (Eszter Balint) strolling through desolate Lower East Side streets, a rare tracking shot to indicate a snarl of graffiti ("U.S. Out of Everywhere Yankee Go Home"). Her cousin (John Lurie) is her reluctant host in the New World, his buddy (Richard Edson) matches him in lowlife loafing and palooka hipsterism. An immigrant's education, the enigma of football, the Zen of TV dinners. "I got my meat, I got my potatoes, I got my vegetables, I got my dessert. And I don't even have to wash the dishes." Life on the margins, an America where inertia is a spiritual aesthetic and racehorses are named after Ozu pictures, Jim Jarmusch wouldn't want it any other way. Unbroken setups bracketed by blackouts, constructions to gladden the hearts of Bazin and Eustache, as minutely controlled as a Paul Klee. "It's kind of a drag here, really." Solitaire cheaters and filched Chesterfields, a kung-fu spectacle reflected on the listless audience munching popcorn. "Beautiful city," Cleveland, plus ça change... Figures in the Midwestern tundra, such languid terrain that the elderly aunt (Cecillia Stark) who sauces her Hungarian mutterings with the occasional "son of a bitch" seems like a geyser of vitality. A view of frozen Lake Erie makes for a blanched screen, music and slang are prized comforts in a perpetual winter. "It's Screamin' Jay Hawkins and he's a wild man, so bug off." A road movie about stasis, a warm movie about coolness, a beautiful movie about bareness. It all leads down Florida way, a beachside windfall followed by dispersion between airport and motel. "This looks familiar..." And they talk about indie cinema. Cinematography by Tom DiCillo. With Danny Rosen, Rockets Redglare, Rammellzee, and Sara Driver.
--- Fernando F. Croce |