The Limits Of Control
When I don't get what the fuck is going on in a movie, I tend to wait patiently, hoping for an ultimate payoff. But I walked out of The Limits Of Control empty-handed. Like other Jim Jarmusch films, it toys with genre - it's structured like a spy caper. But it's a series of opaque meditations on the nature of existence. Perhaps the limits Jarmusch is testing are his audiences' imaginations... or their tolerance for bullshit.
The film's simultaneous strength and weakness is its inscrutable protagonist (Isaac de Bankolé, who also worked with Jarmusch in Night On Earth, Ghost Dog and Coffee and Cigarettes). He's clearly a control freak, from his tai chi exercises to his standard coffee order of two espressos in separate cups. He's even impervious to the luscious charms of naked lady Paz de la Huerta, so no wonder he gives the audience nothing.
Still, I wanted to see this dude fulfill his mission, but the ending, with Bill Murray as a supercilious executive, was a total letdown. Anyway, I enjoyed the extraordinary cinematography. Christopher Doyle creates a meditative and occasionally hallucinatory feel that reminded me of his work on Gus Van Sant's Paranoid Park.
Format: Cinema
Mood: Make a therapy appointment now
Keywords: Jim Jarmusch
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