Film Review: THE LIMITS OF CONTROL (2009, Jim Jarmusch)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 116 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Isaach De Bankolé, John Hurt, Tilda Swinton, Paz de la Huerta, Gael García Bernal, Bill Murray. Cinematography by Christopher Doyle.
Tag-line: "For every way in, there is another way out."
Best one-liner: "The Sufi say each one of us is a planet spinning in ecstasy. But I say each one of us is a set of shifting molecules, spinning in ecstasy."

Jim Jarmusch is a master filmmaker. I love his deadpan humor, his visual style, his strange, earnest slapstick. But THE LIMITS OF CONTROL is not a good movie. I feel as if I can speak with authority because I've made the same mistake: You're on vacation with friends who happen to be actors and you happen to have your camera, so you start shooting. “God, it looks great! I'll write a scene or two as I go along. Here, stand in front of this neat building and brood.” Next thing you know- BAM- you've got a movie, right? Not really. This has the trappings of a cool 60's Eurocrime film, but that's all it's got.

Christopher Doyle's visuals are crisply elegant- deep blues, fiery reds, beautiful countryside, and angled modern architecture.


Isaach De Bankolé is a man on a mission. He always orders two espressos in separate cups.

He exchanges matchbooks and cryptic, quasi-existential banter with brilliant actors who were probably just in the neighborhood that day and Jim was like 'Hey, you want to do a scene?'

It’s punctuated by Isaach staring at the cityscape, doing tai chi, and visiting museums. The scenes of Isaach gazing at artwork just make you wish you were watching Bronson in THE MECHANIC, where scenes of him scrutinizing Bosch were bookended by that rare beast called a 'narrative.'

In DOWN BY LAW, Jim's coup was to not show the specifics of the jailbreak- we have characters in prison, then they're on the lam. The movie is about the characters, not the tunneling, the subterfuge, the act of breaking out. But here, there's not even character- there's empty words, blank stares, an issue of Italian Vogue come to life- a parody (?) of an art film. Jim realizes this and he accordingly ups the T&A ante, but, sorry, no sale.

There's a lot of name-dropping, too- names like Welles, Kaurismäki, Tarkovsky, Hitchcock. Yup, we know those names. Yeah, I've seen STALKER. We're both pretty smart for knowing those names and having seen STALKER, don't you think? For those who say it’s a blank slate meant to be read through the critical lens of your choice, I say it's better if viewed as the live-action version of CARMEN SANDIEGO, with Tilda Swinton as Carmen,

Bill Murray as The Chief,

Is Bill Murray working for ACME or V.I.L.E.?

and John Hurt as Baron Grinnit.

John Hurt answers some questions regarding his theft of the Sphinx. Click on the pic for a larger view.


I’d have to be drunker than Chris Doyle to recommend this. Two stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: PSYCHO (1998, Gus van Sant)

Stars: 3 of 5.
Running Time: 105 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Ann Heche, Bill Macy, Vince Vaughn, James Remar (RENT-A-COP, THE WARRIORS), James LeGros (PHANTASM II, ACE HITS THE BIG TIME), Viggo Mortensen, Julianne Moore, Philip Baker Hall, Rita Wilson, Robert Forster (ALLIGATOR, VIGILANTE). Music by Bernard Herrmann and adapted by Danny Elfman. Cinematography by Christopher Doyle.
Tag-line: "Check in. Unpack. Relax. Take a shower."
Best one-liner: "She might have fooled me, but she didn't fool my mother."

Perhaps Gus van Sant wanted to prove that 'movie magic' doesn't necessarily reside on the duplicatable surface. Well, Gus: point taken. Like the clone of a human being would not possess the same memories (or soul), a nearly shot-for-shot remake (with the same script and Herrmann score) of PSYCHO is going to strike your average cineaste as ill-advised. [Gus does add a few flourishes (i.e., Mom Bates lets down her hair, murders are crosscut with subliminal flashes of gals in lingerie, rolling clouds, and cows (!).]

Or maybe it's a goat? It's only on screen for like 1/20 of a second.

But by no means is this "bad" bad. It's packed with talented actors, all trying their best: Bill H. Macy as Arbogast, Viggo Mortensen as the hayseedily sincere Sam Loomis, James Remar as the stern state trooper,

James LeGros as the car salesman, Philip Baker Hall as the sheriff, and Robert Forster as 'the guy who gets to explain everything at the end.'

Forster spells it all out.

Ann Heche (as Marion) is no Janet Leigh, and her haircut is pretty questionable, but she holds her own.

 

In the middle of all this is Vince Vaughn (a few years before he began exclusively playing himself) as NORMAN BATES. Wearing sort of queer-coded bowling attire and engaging in some dubious line readings, Vaughn is in wayyy over his head, and he knows it.

Consequently, the level of fear he exudes in each scene varies depending on how talented his costars are (note his heightened jumpiness around Bill and Viggo).

He does nail that final stare, though, so it's not a total loss.

Anyway, I guess Gus couldn't decide whether or not to have this thing take place in 1960 or 1998. Well, to be more accurate he did decide––the opening titles say "1998," but he neglected to tell his cast, all of whom seem to have costumed themselves. Julianne Moore, for example, rolls in with headphones, a backpack, and a hoody––pure 90's.

Mere seconds later, Bill Macy scoots in wearing a zany royal blue suit straight from the 50's. I guess Gus also neglected to tell Bill Macy that he wasn't playing Sky Masterson.

Viggo attempts to mentally reconcile the collision of 50's and 90's happening before his very eyes.

 
Macy is the best. And he really milks that stairwell tumble for all it's worth.



Nice! Three stars.