Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is...Infinite: Dead Man (1995)

Here I go finding myself already recanting statements from mere recent blog posts within the context of this all Western month.  I boldly asserted that it would take a lot to beat out Rio Bravo for the top spot, and while it is still excellent and deserved of high praise, Jim Jarmusch's take on a western that is Dead Man, is nothing short of perfection.  I was sold from the moment Crispin Glover delivered a mad monologue on the nature of knowledge, only to be absolutely hooked in by the very authoritative and aging presence of Robert Mitchum.  Of course, Dead Man is not simply excellent for its cameos (believe me there are a ton) but also for its absolute commitment to a specific ambience and visual narrative that manages to exist both within the confines of the western genre, while also pushing far beyond what constitutes the grounds of cinema.  Much like Coffee and Cigarrettes, another wonderful work by Jarmusch, Dead Man is an episodic experience, temporal and, arguably, spatial time are cut throughout by the use of fade-outs and fade-ins pushing towards a transcendent world, only held together by the presence of a singular character.  Unlike, Coffee and Cigarettes, Dead Man could easily exist within a bizarre dream sequence wherein the death fueled surrealist sequences and stark black and white cinematography cause one to think that the film may well be from the ouevre of Maya Deren as opposed to the constantly hip and always distinctly cool world of Jarmusch.  Dead Man exists as a sort of nightmare film one that is not as much creepy as it is incredibly oneiric, in fact, its use of chiaroscuro and shadowing make it reminiscent of the darkest of film noir works, only heightened by the thundering guitar riffs of Neil Young whose work on the soundtrack is top notch.  Dead Man is so many things, whether it be an existential reflection of naming or a critique of man's quest for power through produced wealth it does so with such a considered and focused narrative that I am quite certain it is my new favorite Jarmusch work, not to mention a great contender for a top twenty five film if I ever get around to reworking that list.


Dead Man centers on the travels of William Blake (Johnny Depp) a distanced and introverted young accountant who has been assigned a job in Machine, a town aptly named as it is on the cutting edge of industrialization in the west.  Upon arrival to his job, however, he is informed by the supervisor that he is far too late for the job and will have to seek work elsewhere.  In a moment of frustration he approaches the president of the company John Dickinson (Robert Mitchum) who indifferently dismisses Blake, instead; embracing his personal wealth as well as a rather fond admiration for his stuffed bear.  Defeated, Blake heads to the local saloon only to feel alienated by the rough and rumble nature of the place, stepping outside and helping a young woman who has been degraded by a patron mistaking her for a prostitute.  The incredibly grateful woman, who turns out to be an ex-prostitute lays down with William, much to the chagrin of her lover Charlie Dickinson (Gabriel Byrne) who arrives to their room post-intercourse.  Enraged Charlie attempts to shoot Blake, killing his lover instead and in a quick reflex Blake shoots Charlie.  This action results in his needing to flee, although he has been injured in the shootout, eventually passing out once he makes it to the woods.  Unfortunately for Blake, the Charlie he killed is directly related to John who uses his wealth and power to send a group of expert gunslingers after Blake.  Blake awakes to a hefty Native American man cleaning his wound and spouting about the absurdities of the white man, the man Nobody (Gary Farmer) upon Blake's name, assumes him to be the famous poet, treating him with a spiritual reverence, assuming him to be a spectral representation of the writer.  Needless to say, Nobody and Blake form a duo on the run from Blake's captors, who become more in the numbers as Blake grows in infamy, mostly a result of accidental killings and as a result of a considerable amount of help on the part of Nobody.  Eventually, however, the constant attacks grow to high and Blake is fatally wounded, leading to Nobody taking him to a Makah village for a final set of healing practices, which seem to double as funeral rites, considering that Nobody then sends Blake out to sea, only to result in Blake watching Nobody be gunned down by a pursuing gunslinger, left spiritually alone to float out to sea and perhaps into nothingness.

This movie is deeply ponderous and perfectly planned right from the opening moments.  Much like an early Buñuel film, Dead Man places clever, as well as obvious, hints and foreshadowings to Blake's evident death, whether it be coffins and animal skulls in the background, or a transfiguring of Blake's face into that of a skull during Nobody's peyote fueled vision quest.  While Jarmusch takes this existential preoccupation with death and identity to surrealist proportions, it is not a theme entirely unrelated to westerns as a whole.  Often, westerns by their very nature propose this question of one's meaning in the face of certain death, however, it is usually established within the opening shots, with a ton of deaths or a clever escape by the protagonist from a hanging or bar beat down.  This is not the case with Dead Man, viewers are asked by Jarmusch to move through a incredibly intertwined temporal and spatial narrative that implodes with death, each character becoming more attached to the viewer only to be killed off by the bullet of a gun at the last possible moment.  Jarmusch clearly wants those watching to value the death of each individual, even the despicable characters, because, after all, it is a piece of humanity being lost to what the narrative seems to imply is nothingness.  Often the camera lingers on a dying body, a particularly great example is one of Johnny "The Kid" Pickett (Eugene Byrd) as his young body floats in a puddle, blood slowly seeping into the murky water, made all the more poetic by the black and white cinematography.  Of course, the viewer is not to necessarily place their own identity in relation to these images, but instead; view them vicariously through the bewildered and growingly alienated Blake who seems to simply float through the world as an almost spectral presence, always nearly avoiding death and transcending physical harm, however, even Blake the apparent spirit of the film is capable of destruction.  Yet while Blake can be harmed, it is clever that the film closes on him floating away and not dying, making the deeply disconcerting nature of death seem frivolous in the spiritually calming nature of the closing shots, perhaps a gentle pat on the back from Jarmusch saying that worrying about death is futile, because when it comes it will simply happen and pondering over it would only result in misery and desolation.

Key Scene:  While this film is incredibly perplexing and serene, there are the classic moments of Jarmusch humor throughout, one such being Billy Bob Thorton's character spouting the world "philistine" as well as bemoaning being shot, which provided an excellent reprieve from the intellectually hefty nature of the film.  Also Iggy Pop in a dress certainly helped the scene.

This is a criminally under viewed film in that everyone should watch this, I cannot recommend it enough and demand that you seek out the bluray immediately.

Free Your Mind, And Your Ass Will Follow: Platoon (1986)

Over the years Oliver Stone has sort of gained a reputation as being an abrasive director who often loses sight of making a good film due to his penchant for making politically scathing commentaries within his work.  Fortunately, on a few occasions Stone manages to keep the criticism focused enough to create a spectacular work, this is the case with Wall Street and is certainly the case with Platoon.  In the same vein as war movies like Saving Private Ryan and Thin Red Line, Platoon is loaded with a veritable who's who of emerging Hollywood actors, and a few veterans colliding together in brilliantly stacked performances, ranging from a smile-wielding Forrest Whitaker to a soft-spoken, yet suave Johnny Depp.  A film with a frenzied pace and incoherent editing structure, Platoon depicts a film about war as though the viewer is actually amidst the action, perhaps due to the fact that Stone himself was a Vietnam veteran, helping to explain the vehement and focused rage of his films.  At no point in the film does the narrative fall stale and having known the plot to this film well before its viewing, I found myself nonetheless blown away by its cinematic presence and general enjoyability.  Trying at times and poetic at others, the mix of cinema verite and exploitative grandiosity comprises what could well be one of the best war films I have ever seen, if it were not for the existence of Stanley Kubrick.  Platoon is an American classic and deservedly so, it like Citizen Kane or Easy Rider has a very real place in the historical landscape of American cinema and society.

Platoon introduces us to the hellish experiences of one enlisted soldier named Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen), who has done the unthinkable and actually volunteered for service.  Along side a gang of lively soldiers, Taylor experiences the emotional and physical drains of war.  This includes amongst other individuals King (Keith David) a wise-cracking African-American man on the lookout for a means to leave the jungle, Sergeant O'Neill (John C. McGinley) who strives to gain promotions within his squadron despite being overlooked multiple times, as well as the less than authoritative Lieutenant Wolfe (Mark Moses) who is clearly scared by the entire Vietnam ordeal.  However, much of Taylor's war experiences are contentiously battled between two sergeants, one the hippy, hash smoking Sergeant Elias (Willem Dafoe) who clearly tries to befriend those around him and wants nothing more than to leave and Sergeant Barnes (Tom Beringer) who is ruthless and maniacal, seeing the war as a means to purge the earth of lesser beings.  Constantly confronting one another over the "soul" of Taylor, Barnes and Elias become incredibly confrontational to the point that Barnes kills Elias in cold blood during  a shootout, ultimately, leading to the squadron being disbanded.  After a short rest, Taylor is sent back out to war and, after yet another skirmish, finds himself with an opportunity to exact revenge for Elias and act he quickly undertakes, killing Barnes.  Ultimately, the film reminds us that war often pits allies against one another, leaving the enemy secondary, at least this is how Oliver Stone remembers Vietnam.

I could go into detail about how Platoon focuses on the intensity and sporadic nature of war, or I could talk about the racial vision of Stone's Vietnam.  More so I could talk about this film's political nature as it relates to other Stone movies, however, none of these approaches quite matches the idea of possessing souls as it relates to Platoon.  In this context, Barnes and Elias represent two reapers of souls, Barnes for the evil and Elias for the good, or so it seems, it could be said that both are simply corrupt soldiers seeking to validate their existences.  Furthermore, both Barnes and Elias have their assumed apostles, the various troops in the squadron siding with whom they find the most reflective of their own ideals.  It is saturated with religious metaphors and imagery from the presence of crosses, to somewhat ironic ankhs, as well as the now famous and oft-parodied death of Elias, which is all to Christlike.  Furthermore, it is, in my belief, no accident that Christ Taylor, becomes Christ T., a bit on the nose but quite fitting with Stone's religious study of war.  Overall, the film reads as a glorified study of The Golden Rule, one that is, ultimately, questioned, revisited and undermined in two hours of cinematic perfection.

Key Scene: Guns and smoke...and not from firing said gun.

This is a classic, and undeniable stamp on the greatness of American cinema, and while I watched it on Netflix, I would venture to say that the bluray is worth looking into, I know I intend to grab a copy.

We're Out Of Peanut Butter Super Chunk: Benny and Joon (1993)

I defy you to find a sweeter movie than this one.  Benny and Joon is a cult classic of sorts, its rather absurdist story and quotable dialogue make for a great movie that is neither over the top, nor lacking in frill.  It is a simplistic film about romance, family, and making ends meet in a world that constantly challenges normalcy.  Benny and Joon offers both a well paced narrative and subtly shot film that is as easy to watch as it is to enjoy.  Employing popular music and classical cinema images, the film is a revisiting of slapstick of years gone by, as well as a complete rethinking of the romantic comedy tradition.  It is a film that is both normal and unusual simultaneously, a rare thing in cinema, particularly after the 1960's.

Benny and Joon is rather unusual in its character choices.  The title characters Benny (Aidan Quinn) and Joon (Mary Stuart Masterson) are siblings living in a suburban northeast town.  Benny is a easy going mechanic whose only devotion is taking care of his mentally challenged sister Juniper "Joon."  Sadly, Joon is proving to be more and more burdensome causing Benny to question her ability to remain in a normal social setting, as well as questioning his own sanity in taking care of Joon.  Just as things appear to be impossible, one of Benny's friends pawns his cousin Sam (Johnny Depp) onto Benny.  Fortunately for Benny, Sam is just as eccentric as Joon and proves to be her ideal companion.  After a confrontation between Benny and Sam over Sam's intimacy with Joon the two separate, resulting in Joon's hospitalization.  Benny and Sam through a joint effort rescue Joon from the hospital and in the closing scenes Sam and Joon are shown making grilled cheese together on a ironing board.  I should note that this is a rather cursory overview of the film, but is in order to segway into my critical analysis of the film...being its textbook creation of a cult classic.

Benny and Joon is an exemplary film in relation to making a quotable and image driven cult film.  Every element of the film is undeniably personal and has the heir of being part of an inside joke that the viewer has generously been invited to witness.  This comes most obviously in the rhetoric between Benny and Joon, between Peanut Butter Super Chunk, betting drop chord in poker games and ping-pong it is very much a film about a familial relationship.  Viewers may not partake in these specific rituals, but they certainly have their own eccentric habits with family that helps to relate.  Secondly, the setting of the film helps to add to the cult-like nature of the film.  Benny and Joon's house is obviously a residence beyond their means, given that they are both orphans.  Regardless, their house is full of unusual artifacts more appropriate for a small town history museum and Joon's paintings, which are quite good and very modern.  It is obviously a house of the director's personal favorites, as opposed to a believable place of residence for two struggling siblings.  Finally, it is a cult film because William H. Macy has a role in the film, as arbitrary as it may seem he seems to show up in every damn cult movie I know and love and seeing him in this only added to its already unusual flare...mustache and all.

Benny and Joon is a perfect date movie.  It is sweetly romantic and quotable.  I would recommend  viewing a copy with someone dear to you, because it will only increase its enjoyability.