Broken Flowers

Part of the intrigue of a Jim Jarmusch film is the space he allows to fall between words and action. The moments of waiting for a reaction stretch on and on in an imitation of reality as opposed to constant forward momentum of typical Hollywood fare. Broken Flowers, the newest film from Jarmusch, stars Bill Murray as Don Johnston, an aging Don Juan, in search of the woman who has anonymously informed him twenty years down the line that he has a son. Murray is more understated in this performance than he has ever been. There is no mugging for the camera, no nervous energy, no puppy dog eye rolls; just stillness and slight reactions. In fact Murray could challenge Buster Keaton for the title of “Stone Face” with his turn here.

The energy of the film is derived from the women in Don Johnston’s life, the ex-lovers: Sharon Stone (widowed white trash mom), Frances Conroy (repressed hippie real estate agent), Jessica Lange (ex-lawyer turned animal communicator), and Tilda Swinton (biker chick). In fact, two of the supporting actress roles are perhaps even more memorable. Chloe Svenigy as Lange’s overprotective assistant is territorial in her rebuking of Johnston’s intrusion. The other is Alexis Dziena as the exhibitionist daughter Lolita who smolders in that peculiar naïf way that Humbert Humbert knew so well.

Also in a superb turn is Jeffrey Wright (Angels in America) as a spleef-smoking, amateur sleuth (Winston), who Mapquests the journey for Johnston and provides an excellent mix disc for him to listen to in the car. That’s one thing about Jarmusch; his taste in music is excellent. Starting with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “I Put a Spell on You” in Stranger Than Paradise, to the Tom Waits’ score in Night on Earth, to the jazzy tunes in Broken Flowers, he picks evocative tunes. Surprisingly there isn’t any great musician turned actor performances this time out. Mystery Train contains two such turns with Screamin’ Jay as the desk clerk and Joe Strummer.

All in all, I find Broken Flowers to be a better film than the last couple by Jarmusch. Coffee and Cigarettes was fun, but slight, as any cobbled together series of shorts made over a twenty year period would be. The best bit was probably Iggy Pop and Tom Waits hanging out together. Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai was interesting, but lacked a sense of “realness” that his other films possess. Even when the ghost of Elvis shows up in Mystery Train its OK because everything else is so grounded in probability (Japanese tourists; widows transporting coffins; drunken late night shootings) that the impossibility gains weight. With Ghost Dog the “realness” of Mafioso types and an avenging African-American samurai becomes too fantastic. I can relate to the reality of playing cards, losing money at the track, and listening to the same song over and over again like in Stranger Than Paradise, but I can’t relate to killing someone. Maiming, yes. But not killing.