Floristic Catatonia

BROKEN FLOWERS (2005)

FLORISTIC CATATONIA

The house lights dimmed, and there we were in an unidentified suburban neighborhood. A post person—who of course at first we didn’t notice was female—wandered through a brilliantly colored maze of children’s outdoor tea set furniture, big wheel tricycles, slides, and beach balls—and dropped off a wad of mail at the house. Was this home some kind of day care center we wondered? And then the mail was dropped off in the door slot of the neighbor’s house—a modern split-level with natural rock siding décor around the door, a well manicured lawn with nicely trimmed low bushes. This we found out was the home of Don Johnston. He was an early retiree—who had made a bundle in “Computers”. Yet, it is revealed later—this man was so adrift and disconnected from the world at large that he did not even own a computer.

Bill Murray—he of the stone face, pockmarked cheeks, and mix-master splayed gray hairdo—was sitting in that house on a massive cold dark brown leather couch. He was sitting upright, uncomfortably rigid—and he was wearing a warm-up track running suit that zipped up in front. He was staring blankly at a wide screen plasma television. We patiently watched TV with him, and after a while we noticed that he was watching a movie—some black and white classic about the Borgia family. It appeared to be a film out of the ‘30s. Then we were treated to the “great profile” of John Barrymore playing Don Juan. The acting was histrionic and melodramatic—like a silent feature—yet there was a soundtrack and all the dialogue was clearly audible. What was this film I wondered?

After some research, I solved that mystery. Actually there were a series of small mysteries that director Jim Jarmusch sent me scurrying to solve. Clicking onto the IMDb, I found a lengthy international list of DON JUAN films—that started with the first silent feature in 1918. There seemed to be a curious gap between a 1926 version and a 1950 version—that was in Spanish. But the film on Murray’s TV had been a sound picture. There were no DON JUAN movies made between the years 1930-1950. I remembered that THE JAZZ SINGER had been released in 1927—and it was the first “talking” picture.


2.
Well, as it turned out, Don Johnston must have been watching TCM [Turner Classic Movies]. They run a shortened version of director Alan Crosland’s DON JUAN (1926). And yes—it starred John Barrymore as Don Juan de Marana. It co-starred Warner Oland as Caesar Borgia—who later gained fame as CHARLIE CHAN. Hedda Hopper played Marchesia Renaldo, and a very nubile Myrna Loy played a Lady in Waiting. One the one-sheet poster for this film Don Juan was quoted,” Women give you three things—life, disillusionment, and death”. This very unique classic film was “special”. It was the first movie to have a pre-recorded Vitaphone soundtrack. The actors then lip-synched the dialogue—like in a massive looping session. The orchestra was off to the side of the set—and the score was being recorded while the scenes were shot. The movie was kicked off with a gala premiere—and it was very successful. Leave it to Jim Jarmusch to tantalize us with this film—rather than one of the later ones—like THE ADVENTURES OF DON JUAN (1948) with Errol Flynn in Technicolor—in order to set the symbolic tone of things. We were to think about Don Juan de Marana, the aging Lothario—who discovered late in life that it was worth living. The legend, the legacy was still worth exploring in 1995 with DON JUAN DeMARCO, with Johnny Depp tutoring the aging Marlon Brando.

Actually as far back as those early films of Thomas Edison, in the late 1890’s—a soundtrack was tried out on audiences. But the voices were always out-of-synch with the action and the actors—so audiences did not take to it. Even D.W.Griffith played some with “sound”—but he decided that not enough people in the world spoke English—so why purposefully disconnect from a vast potential audience? An absurd argument at best—considering the dialogue placards were all written in English in all American silent films.

BROKEN FLOWERS was dedicated to Jean Eustache—A French director of the turbulent film, THE MOTHER AND THE WHORE (1973). Jarmusch, who studied filmmaking in Paris, has a large fan base in that country—couldn’t help himself. He dipped our snouts in some esoteric references—and I loved him for it; what arrogance! What panache. FLOWERS won the Grand Prize at Cannes this year. Jarmusch claimed to have finished the script in 2 ½ weeks. He wrote the role of Don Johnston exclusively for Bill Murray—of whom he is a big fan. He previously planned using another film to work with Murray on—but then changed his mind.

3.
Kim Morgan of REEL.COM wrote,” Jim Jarmusch works his minimalist aesthetic with a strange mix of big-screen accessibility and pseudo-European impenetrability. Perhaps even more than Sophia Coppola—he has really directed a love letter to Bill Murray.”

James Barardinelli of REEL VIEWS wrote,” Jarmusch is not a mainstream director—and he has never pretended to be. Some in the Indie world regard him as a pioneer and a demi-god. The French especially love him. This film may in fact be his most accessible movie to date. It has enough heart and humor to reach those who don’t always appreciate [or attend] art films. BROKEN FLOWERS is not perfect—but in the wasteland of August releases—this entry shines like a beacon lighting the way to the theater.”

Jarmusch said in an interview,” I know—it’s all so “Independent”. I am so sick of that word. I reach for my revolver when I hear the words “quirky” or “edgy”. Those words have now become labels that are slapped on products to sell them. Anyone who makes a film they want to make—and it is not defined by marketing analysis or a common commercial enterprise—it is considered independent.
My movies are made by hand. They are not polished. They’re sort of built in the garage. It’s more like being an artisan in some way. I prefer to be sub cultural rather than mass-cultural. I am really not interested in hitting the vein of the mainstream.”

Still, when I watched GHOST DOG: The Way of the Samurai (1999), I thought—hey—Jarmusch is dipping his indie toes in mainstream cinema. He used good actors—wrote a smart script—and made the film semi-coherent. Of course, he followed that up with COFFEE & CIGARETTES in 2003—and I thought OK—here’s the old Jarmusch—shooting a movie like it was a piece of jazz—full of bright riffs and enigmatic overlapping dialogue—juxtaposed to shots of empty streets and a feeling of solitude. Actually it was the “old” Jarmusch—sort of rewrapped and expanded. I had not realized that the 2003 release represented a compilation of short films that he started more than 15 years earlier. His first episode was COFFEE & CIGARETTES (1986). It was 6 minutes long, and it starred Roberto Benigni—who he was working with that year on DOWN BY LAW (1986). COFFEE & CIGARETTES II: The Memphis Version was shot in 1989—was 8 minutes long—and it featured Steve Buscemi. COFFEE & CIGARETTES III:
4.
Somewhere in California Version was shot in 1993—was 12 minutes long—and it starred Tom Waits and Iggy Pop. COFFEE & CIGARETTES IV: The Movie was then released in 2003, and Jarmusch had added scenes like STRANGE TO MEET YOU with Steven Wright and Alfred Molina—a zany episode called DELIRIUM starring Bill Murray, RZA, and Genius GZA—and as a special treat Cate Blanchett did a scene.

So I think with BORKEN FLOWERS, Jim Jarmusch has hit his stride again—and he has released a film that radiates mainstream appeal. It is, of course, full of Jarmuschian touches—and a lot of the audience will leave scratching their heads—but I feel that it is zeroing in on Big Box Office—which is an undiscovered country for this director. COFFEE & CIGARETTES, like many Indie films, was poorly distributed; poorly marketed—and not too many people saw it in a theater. I certainly missed it in a theater, and had to watch it first on DVD.

Jim Jarmusch was born in Akron, Ohio in 1953—springing from the loins of the Heartland—much like James Dean had—just a couple of years before Dean died. He went to a lot of movies as a kid. His mother was a film reviewer for the Akron Beacon Journal. He received a B.A. in English from Columbia University. Without any prior film experience—he was accepted into the Tisch School of the Arts in NYC. He wrote and directed his first attempt at a feature film, PERMANENT VACATION (1980), and he submitted it as his film thesis project. He shot it in 16mm. The school would not accept it—feeling that it was not “worth their time”. So he left school without the benefit of graduating—and he took the film overseas. It was received there with great acclaim. So he stayed in Europe and studied at the Cinematheque Francaise in Paris. He began to develop his style and to find his own way in the world of cinema. He fit right in with the immediate group of artists and filmmakers who where in Europe at the time. He worked as an assistant director on LIGHTNING OVER WATER (1980)—a film directed by Nicholas Ray [one degree of separation and another link to James Dean. Ray had directed Dean in REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (1955)] and Wim Wenders.

Jarmusch said,” I didn’t get a degree (from Tisch) because in my last year—for my thesis film I made a feature called PERMANENT VACATION. [He made the film with unknown actors, but the cast included John Lurie—the jazz saxophonist. They collaborated on the film score as well.]—and they
5.
had given me a scholarship—the Louis B. Mayer Fellowship. But they made a mistake, and instead of sending the money to the school for tuition—they sent it directly to me. So I spent it on the budget of the film. Tisch did not like the film—nor did they like the fact that I had spent the tuition money. So I didn’t get my degree. But later—they started using my name in ads for the school. I mentioned the inequity of this to them—so they sent me a “degree”. “

In 1982, Jarmusch released a 30 minute short called THE NEW WORLD. After returning to NYC, he made his first feature film, STRANGER THAN PARADISE for a mere $15,000.00. It won the Camera D’Or at Cannes in 1984. John Lurie took the lead, playing Willie the lounge lizard—surrounded by more unknown actors. The ubiquitous DOWN BY LAW was released in 1986—followed by films like MYSTERY TRAIN (1989), NIGHT ON EARTH (1991) with a great Roberto Benigini episode—one of my favorite surreal Westerns, DEAD MAN (1995) with Johnny Depp and Robert Mitchum—and the aforementioned GHOST DOG (1999) with Forest Whitaker.

Jarmusch said,” I’m happiest when I’m shooting the movie. Filming is like sex. Writing the script is like seduction—then shooting it is like sex because you are doing it with other people. Editing is like being pregnant. Then you give birth and they take your baby away. After this process is done—I watch the movie one more time with a paying audience that doesn’t know I’m there. Then I will never see it again. I’m sick of it.”

I like what Jarmusch said about poetry. “Language can be abstracted—and can be used as a very beautiful code in poetry—the nuances and the multiple meanings of things. It has music to it. It has so many things in it. It is also reduced from prose and therefore can be mathematical, or very, very abstract. So I think poets live on the margins of social acceptance—and are like outlaw visionaries in a way. I like poetry.”

Yes, Jim—I couldn’t agree more. Even in films, when the dialogue or narration becomes a poetic monologue—something shifts. Our ears tingle with a new and beautiful tune—and our imaginations soar. I remember seeing a documentary short in the ‘60s about the poet Dylan Thomas. It was narrated by Richard Burton. Poetry as read by a good actor, superimposed over stunning B&W visuals left an indelible imprint in my mind. BROKEN
6.
FLOWERS had a lot of undertones and symbolism that really resonated with those of us who have tried to reconnect with the past—hoping to touch and taste that old sweetness again. It is a road movie, and we did get a sense of being on a trip, as Don’s quest took us down country lanes. In 1988, as a lonesome bachelor on one of cupid’s errands—I wrote a spot of poetry.

DARK TRAVELER

Racing toward you
Along empty freeways
Before the cock’s crow,
With my windows rolled down,
Letting the chill of the netherdawn
Strike my freshly shaven cheeks,
Keeping me alert,
So that the morning’s mordant mists
Could not press down my eyelids,
Still heavy with sleep
And silken images of you;
Goldenrod panicles hovering wispy
Over my sleek black hood
As I plowed through the pale white ground fog
That floated across the valley,
Blowing off ponds, creeks, and ditches
During the hour of the wolf.

Lacewing creatures flicker frantically
Through the achromatic brightness
Of my hot seal beams,
Scampering to avoid my headlong plunge;
But many of them are too slow,
And the operatic splatter of their tiny lives
Crushed yellow-green against my windshield,
Punctuates the bullfrog’s cantata
And the mournful howling of wild dogs
In those magical moments before sunrise.

Soon the concrete ribbon is lost
In my mirrors,
7.
And a country lane twists beneath me.
I slide past dark barns
And blue tarp-covered stacks of firewood,
Listening to the song of the swollen streams
And the heavy stirring of farm animals.

Reddish-gold becomes gray
As the first glimmer of the day
Is caught
And held captive
By a cold knot of clouds
Hanging heavy on the horizon.

I spin my way deliriously up
Through the deep gravel
On that steep hill
Below your house
At road’s end,
And my muscular engine rumbles contentedly
As my car crawls around the circle
Of your drive.


Glenn Buttkus 1988

James Barardinelli wrote,” Using equal parts understated drama and comedy, Jarmusch takes us on a trip through the present to remind us that the past is gone—and roads not taken can never be explored.”

In an article in E-FILM CRITIC, I found,” BROKEN FLOWERS is a composed journey into regret. Guided with typical lovable detachment by Jim Jarmusch—this film is a tale of hilarity and drama that doesn’t break a sweat—but remains an absorbing, satisfying, and emotional expedition.”

Jarmusch, in addition to his other gifts, seems to have a great sense of humor. He likes to surround himself with musicians. He often casts them in his films. As a lark, one day he created a semi-secret society, and he called it “The Sons of Lee Marvin”—abbreviated as TSOLM. The press, several times, has picked up on it.

8.
Tom Waits said,” Jim and I are both members of an organization called “The Sons of Lee Marvin”. It is a mystical organization—and they have a New York chapter—and we met at one of the annual meetings. They are somewhere between the Elk’s Club and the Academy Awards.”

Jarmusch said,” Just the idea of Marvin’s characters being outsiders and very violent—appeals to me. Some seem to have a very strong code—even if it’s a psychotic one—that he follows rigidly.”

One may physically resemble Lee Marvin, or not. A thin unique and angular face—with plenty of laconic attitude is helpful. One of the first “new” members was Tom Waits. Jarmusch felt that some of the original “honorary” members would have included James Coburn, Warren Oates, and Jason Robards. At one point he even recruited Robert Mitchum [post-DEAD MAN]. John Lurie was a founding member, like Tom Waits, Richard Bose, and Roberto Benigni. According to reliable sources, other members include Neil Young, Iggy Pop, and Thurston Moore. Sometimes—it is rumored—many of them get together, get drunk, and watch old Lee Marvin movies.

Jarmusch once was quoted as saying,” I’m stubborn. I have to fight. The studios want to be your partner in the creative process. That’s why I find most of my financing overseas. I don’t let the Money give me notes on my script. I don’t allow the Money on the set—or in the editing room. These days, every little independent studio wants to act like Hollywood. You know—some kid is making a movie for 500k—and the studio wants the final cut. Seems like the squares are taking over everything.”

One thing that Jarmusch manages well is his actors. He often casts non-actors or unknown talent—and still he gets very good performances out of them. He said,” I never talk to actors in a group—only one at a time. I only talk to them about being their characters. Never, ever, about the “meaning” of the scene. I don’t want actors who are over laden with research—so much so that they grow stale.”

Todd McCarthy of VARIETY wrote,” Working in his typical idiosyncratic and episodic vein, Jim Jarmusch has nonetheless pitched the film slightly toward mainstream tastes than are not really usual for him. He used excellent thesps in the service of accessible material. Now Jarmusch goes his own way
9.
with the subject—avoiding the many opportunities it provides to milk emotion and sentiment out of a loaded premise. Rather he extracted humor that was found in the levels of ambivalence within Murray’s aging Don Juan character—and his former paramours as they get reacquainted with him after so much time.”

The musical score was done by Mulatu Astatke. At first glance, I didn’t know who that was. I even thought maybe Jarmusch had made up the name. When he is looked up on the IMDb—this film is his only credit. So I snooped further, and I soon discovered that Astatke is a very famous Ethiopian pop and jazz star musician. Today he is still a presence in the Ethiopian music scene. He is a club owner, a music school founder, a radio DJ, a composer, an arranger, and a instrumentalist. In the film, that great jazz tune that was recorded on the CD by Winston was YERKEMO STEW by Mulatu Astatke. Jarmusch, again—has shared some of his vast cultural savvy and appreciation—and we are certainly the better for it.

Todd McCarthy wrote further,” Jim Jarmusch and lenser Fred Elmes have forged a clean, elegant look—shooting mostly on the East Coast in suburbia—and out on country lanes. The pacing is precise—and the journey is propelled by appealing jazz tracks.”

The cinematography was done by Frederick Elmes. He is a veteran lenser who has worked on 40 films since 1970. He has been the go-to-guy for David Lynch, Ang Lee, Jim Jarmusch, and Neil Jordan—and he crewed for John Cassavetes. He was one of the select cameramen interviewed in the landmark cinematography documentary, VISIONS OF LIGHT (1992).
With Cassavetes he worked on WOMAN UNDER THE INFLEUNCE (1974), and OPENING NIGHT (1977). He shot David Lynch’s ERASERHEAD (1977), BLUE VELVET (1986), and WILD AT HEART (1990). With Jarmusch he lensed NIGHT ON EARTH (1991), and the new scenes for COFFEE & CIGARETTES (2003). In addition he helmed Ang Lee’s THE ICE STORM (1997) with Kevin Kline and Joan Allen—one of my favorite existential westerns, RIDE WITH THE DEVIL (1999) with the very young Toby Maguire—and THE HULK (2003). Add to that very distinquished list DUNE (1984), RED DAWN (1984), and THE CRYING GAME in 1992.


10.
BROKEN FLOWERS opened up with a scene where Sherry (Julie Delpy) is confronting Don (Bill Murray). She is carrying two suitcases—and yet this barely fazes Don—who is passively watching DON JUAN (1926) on his flat screened big TV. Sherry proceeded to break up with him, calling him “an aging Don Juan” who can’t make his mind up as to what is really important to him. Don is called Don Juan several times in the film—and each time Murray bristles with resentment at the “label”. But Jarmusch is working both sides of the street. The character is named Don John(ston)—so the symbolism and the profound parallels establish themselves early on. Jarmusch had some edgy fun with the name as other characters in the film became confused when Murray introduced himself—I guess thinking that the character may have actually been Don Johnson—the actor. “No” Don would respond sarcastically,” That would be Johnston with a “T”. “

Don seems to vegetate, sitting in a lump like a clump of broccoli, without even the need of a direction or a sharp knife. He retired early from a very successful business venture, and should have been happy, wealthy, and care free. Yet he appeared lethargic—sitting quietly in his expensive home—rooted to that expensive brown leather couch like a weed—quite content to let life pass him by in a warm blur. He cast himself in the inanimate role of a dead critter glimpsed quickly on the side of the road at 70 mph. He seemed to be content with his anonymity—and did not seek any level of recognition from the world at large.

Sherry: I’m like your mistress—except you’re not even married.

The day’s mail had arrived as Sherry made her exit screen left. It included a bright pink envelope addressed to him in handwritten red ink. There was no return address. He opened it, glanced at it, and put it placidly back into the envelope. The letter was from an old flame twenty years prior. She informed Don that he had a 19 year old son—the result of their last coupling—who was presently on a road trip searching for his absentee “real” father. The letter was unsigned.

Don folded the letter into the bundle of his other mail, and ambled listlessly over to the neighbor’s house. The neighbor, Winston (Jeffrey Wright), was an ebullient Ethiopian, who had a beautiful wife, Rita (Brea Frasier), five kids—and he had to hold down three jobs to support them. Still, in the midst of all that, he found time to read and write Detective fiction—and surf the
11.
net soaking up sleuthing methodology. Don showed him the letter matter-of-factly. Winston became excited about even the possibility of Don having prodigy. Donnie seemed unaffected—non-plussed, and disconnected from the event—he could have cared less.

Winston, in contrast, became very excited, and he demanded that Don give him a list of past paramours from 20 years ago. Don reluctantly complied. Taking charge, Winston tracked down all five women on the net—coming up with their current addresses, new married names, and vocations. He set up the entire Quest—booked flights to the nearest cities, rented cars to complete each journey—and instructed him to take a pink bouquet of flowers to each woman—and to keep his eye out for a typewriter, anything pink, and any mention of a son. One of the five women was deceased—but the stalwart Winston even map quested the cemetery’s location.

Like a sleepwalker, Don began his grand adventure—to travel far and wide and visit with all four extant former flames—Laura, Dora, Carmen, and Penny. The color pink and the possible existence of a male prodigy were the only clues that the anonymous letter had left them with. So trudging off with all the zip of a zombie-- Don followed his instructions and began his quest to find his son—or at least a trace of him. He wanted to discover if the young man did in fact exist. He would attempt to reach back into the past and reconnect to one 365 day period that lay two decades dust-deep in the mist—during which he “may” have impregnated one of these women. Several times in the plot it was suggested that Don was the habitual bachelor, a swinger who had left a past littered with lovelies.

Roger Ebert wrote,” How did Don fascinate these women in the first place? [Perhaps, it was just his wealth—and that was enough to lure a bevy of beauties. Perhaps the consistent shortness of his numerous relationships was in a direct ratio to his less than sparkling personality. In SOMETHING’S GOT TO GIVE (2003), Jack Nicholson easily convinced us that he was a successful, playful, and satisfied aging perpetual bachelor. Perhaps Murray’s Don was a dud in the sack—and that was one of the reasons he railed against the aging Don Juan label.] Perhaps they were simply curious. Perhaps they embodied nature—and he embodied a vacuum.”

The inimitable Bill Murray does not play—he simply is—Don Johnston—the wealthy lazy lay about lotharios conundrum. In this film—he is the dull
12.
unpolished jewel in center of the crown—the centerpiece—the fulcrum for the film. If one is not a fan of Murray’s “non-acting”—his interactive pools of silence and his very subtle gestures—they should stay away from this movie. Murray has been in his Buster Keaton mode for several years now. I don’t know exactly when he abandoned his former brash smart-ass jokester persona—that fellow in WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAM (1980), CADDYSHACK (1980), STRIPES (1981), GHOSTBUSTERS (1984), and GROUND HOG DAY (1993). Now he did have a significant foray into silence with WHAT ABOUT BOB? (1991)—but he regained his verve as Wally in THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO LITTLE (1997). His bargain with bathos began with RUSHMORE (1998), and CRADLE WILL ROCK (1999). Perhaps the turning point for him—where he felt the need to tone down his ticks—was working on the modern dress HAMLET (2000), playing Polonius, with Nathan Hawke as the prince of NYC. Jeffrey Wright was in the film too.

A lot has been written about Murray’s performance in BROKEN FLOWERS—and his Buster Keaton phase. Roger Ebert wrote,” No one is better than Bill Murray at doing nothing at all—and being fascinating while not doing it. Buster Keaton had the same gift for contemplating astonishing developments with absolute calm. Some actors give the kind of performances where we want to get out of the room—stand on the lawn—and watch them through a window. Murray has the uncanny ability to invite us into his performance—into his very stillness and sadness. I don’t know how he does it. A Bill Murray imitation could be a pitiful sight—passive immobility—small gestures of the eyes—enigmatic comments—yes, those would be easy—but how does he suggest the low tones of crashing chaotic uncertainity?
Jim Jarmusch makes films about outsiders—but they are not loners—they are soloists. Bill Murray’s Don Johnston is the ultimate Jarmusch soloist—in that he lacks even an instrument. His act is to simply walk onto the stage and not play.”

Todd McCarthy wrote further,” Bill Murray gives a lesson in minimalist acting in the film—a droll account of an aging bachelor’s hesitant hunt for a son he may have fathered 20 years before. A seemingly empty vessel, Don appears to exist in a virtual void. He is not shown reading anything. He watches TV, sleeps, and listens to classical music. Murray’s taped down work is designed to hide inner feelings—if there are any—from sight—but
14.
also to fully present this man as he exists in relationship to the world. If he truly wants to find out what he ostensibly is looking for—he will have to come out of himself—something he finally seems to realize toward the end.”

James Barardinelli wrote,” This film is entirely Murray’s movie. No one else has more than a few moments—or a few scenes. For Murray—the role doesn’t require a stretch of his talents. Jarmusch knows Murray’s strengths—and has tailored the part to them. So we have a new character who is much like Bob in LOST IN TRANSLATION (2003). He is acerbic, and doesn’t show much emotion—but there are moments when we catch a glimpse of inner vulnerability.”

David Edelstein of SLATE wrote,” Deadpan can be a spiritual state—a kind of serenity—as in the acting of Buster Keaton. Both in Jarmusch’s work in the visionary neo-Western, DEAD MAN (1995), and in Murray’s gorgeous performance in LOVE IN TRANSLATION (2003)—a still protagonist is surrounded by frenetic activity. Deadpan suggests a profound alienation from a world that makes no sense. In this new collaboration, BROKEN FLOWERS, Jarmusch and Murray have transcended their limitations. They have made a Deadpan movie that quivers with feeling.
This is a crowning performance in what I call Bill Murray’s “Loneliness Trilogy”—which consists of BROKEN FLOWERS (2005), THE LIFE AQUATIC: WITH STEVE ZISSOU (2004), and LIFE IN TRANSLATION (2003). In his melancholy—he is funny. In his funniness—he’s at sea. The ironic hipster clown has become God’s loneliest man.
Jarmusch holds on Murray’s face—and in truth—it’s not the face of a great actor. In some ways, Murray is still an amateur. As an actor—he is not fully broken in. His features don’t always conform with his emotions. But that clearly resonates with Jarmusch—who doesn’t go for emoters. Nothing can be too plain.”

Mick LaSalle of the SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE wrote,” The film stars Bill Murray—the American cinema’s darkest farceur since W.C.Fields—who has a face that by now means something. Murray can do things other actors can’t—a flicker of the eye—a tiny movement of the mouth—a vague hint of a smile—and big emotions can be conveyed. His command of his face on camera is something to marvel at.”


15.
Kim Morgan added,” BROKEN FLOWERS is an effectively muted—though sporadically annoying movie about a hollow character, we presume, flowers into a caring person. The film overcomes its shortcomings through Murray’s ability to make a nearly nihilistic character human. In Jarmusch’s purposely bleak barren landscape—that can’t be an easy task.”

The rest of the cast was excellent. Jeffrey Wright played the neighbor, Winston. He conveyed curiosity, compassion, and focus. He loved his beautiful wife, Rita, and their five children. He worked three jobs without whining. He loved detective work and detective fiction—and he was addicted to the internet. It was he who probably solved the mystery of this film—and the line of dialogue where he shared that knowledge was just used as a throw away. We had to be sharp to catch it. Wright is a terrific actor, but not prone to the limelight. He has said,” I do have characters who are more well known than I am—which suits me fine.”

He has appeared in 27 films since 1990—averaging more than two per year—and he still found time to appear in live theatre productions. I began to take notice of him, and he was great in BASQUIAT (1996)—and he won a Golden Globe for playing Jean Michele Basquiat. He played an understated Dr. Martin Luther King in HBO’s BOYCOTT (2001). I thought he was marvelous playing three parts in Mike Nichols HBO version of ANGELS IN AMERICA (2003). He had been in the Broadway production of ANGELS—and he won a Tony for his efforts. He was very good as Al Melvin in the remake of THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (2004) working with Denzel Washington.

The sparkling Julie Delpy played Sherry—the girlfriend in the opening scene that breaks up with him—and she was able to make a solid impression in her less than five minutes of screen time. In that brief scene—we found ourselves wondering how old lump Don was able to snag luscious Sherry. Later we discovered that she actually cared for him.

Delpy has appeared in 45 films since 1978. She worked solely in Europe—mostly in France, until 1994. She was good in EUROPA, EUROPA (1990). I began to notice her in KILLING ZOE (1994)—shot in Paris and co-starring Eric Stoltz. She worked several times for Indie director Richard Linklater—in BEFORE SUNRISE (1995), WAKING LIFE (2001), and

16.
BEFORE SUNSET (2004). She scared the hell out of me as a were-fatale in AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN PARIS (1997).

The four former flames visited by Don were led off by Sharon Stone as Laura. He arrived at her suburban home to be greeted by her sexy young daughter, Lolita—energetically played by Alexis Dziena. She was wearing a short “pink” terry-cloth robe—as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Don was seated. She received a phone call and left the room. Then Don noticed a pink bejeweled cell phone sitting on an end table. It rang suddenly and Lolita appeared still talking on her portable house phone. She was completely nude—and the full frontal shot was shocking and unexpected. This gave the film its “R” rating. She exited again, and Don, the wary wise bachelor bailed out before someone could start screaming statutory rape or pedophilia. He knew full well that Lolita was just a tease, and he understood the penalties and reprimands that would have descended upon him if he had been discovered by anyone in the mere proximity of her nudeness.

Outside in the driveway, flushed, trying to escape and clutching his bouquet of flowers—Don ran into Laura who was driving up in a muscle car. It turned out that Laura had been married to a NASCAR driver who had crashed recently,” and just went up in a wall of flames.” Don is asked to stay to dinner, and he accepted the offer.

Finding a moment alone with Lolita, he said,” That was quite an outfit you weren’t wearing earlier.”

Oddly, neither Laura nor her daughter seemed to understand the literary significance of the name—Lolita; or maybe they did, but made very little of it. Don had an opportunity to sleep over. Laura snuggled up to him as if he had never left—like those 20 years had just melted away. There was no mention of another child—a son. Don attempted to sneak out in the morning, but Laura came out to say good-bye—wearing a short pink robe. Lolita appeared wearing only a sexy pair of matching bra and panties. Laura sent her back into the house, and just shrugged—smiling at Don with one of those,” What are you going to do?” looks. As Don drove off wearing his stylish wrap around sunglasses—the faintest hint of a smile twisted at his lips.


17.
Sharon Stone has appeared in 55 films since 1980. Most of us began to take notice of her after she portrayed Lori—the kick-ass pretend wife of Arnold Schwarzenegger in TOTAL RECALL (1990). She scorched the screen playing the lethal Catherine in BASIC INSTINCT (1992). In 1995 she played Ginger in Scorsese’s CASINO—and she was nominated for an Oscar for the role. [A role she had to compete with Madonna for, in a movie where the word “fuck” was uttered 422 times.] I liked her as the inmate, Cindy in LAST DANCE (1996). For her role in BROKEN FLOWERS, she spun off roles in COLD CREEK MANOR (2003)—where she did her Tippi Hedron impersonation, and CATWOMAN (2004). It was nice to see her in this film with some quality screen time. Presently she is putting the finishing touches on BASIC INSTINCT 2 to be released in 2006.

While visiting Laura, Don drove a white Taurus. On his next adventure he had been reserved another white Taurus. On his last two trips, he had been reserved matching blue Taurus’s. Two white ones, and then two blue ones. I wonder what might have been the symbolic spin on that. Mid-trip, already disillusioned and exhausted, Don called Winston.

Don: Of all the cars you could have picked for me—why didn’t I get any nice ones? Why didn’t I get a Porsche? Christ, I’m a stalker in a Taurus.

His second visit was with Dora, played by Frances Conroy. We discovered that 20 years previously—she had been kind of a free love hippie chick, with flowers in her hair—which didn’t work for me. If the film takes place in the present, which it seems to—then twenty years prior would have been 1984. No one really dressed like, or acted like a hippie in the ‘80s. Maybe the photograph shown of her was just to imply naturalness, wholesomeness, and openness. Regardless—it rang false for me.

Of course, what is essential to the semblance of a plot—is that Dora in now up tight—and seemingly as fragile as a porcelain vase. She is carefully manicured, and appears to be quite a “professional” woman. She wore a string of attractive pearls. Don asked her if he gave them to her in the past. She answered with a twitch and a dirty look. She and her husband, Ron (Christopher McDonald) are in real estate—and they seem to be doing quite well with it. They insist that Don stayed for dinner. The meal was minimalist—almost cubist—very small portions, with a perfectly cut rectangular wedge of chicken as the sad centerpiece of the meal. Don
18.
displayed little appetite. Their home—like their lives—seemed sparse and empty—making one feel that if they shouted, the echo would reverberate for hours.

McDonald as Ron, played a glib, pushy, and smug salesman—who seemed to love comparing himself to the passive Ron. At one point—out of desperation and boredom, Don asked if they had any children. That was the “wrong” question to ask. Dora was unable to conceive—and it was “very painful” for them to discuss it. The scene faded out in silence, with Don’s ever present bouquet of pink flowers arranged in a vase behind the stoic trio—under a large painting of “pink” flowers in a vase.

When I noticed Frances Conroy’s name in the credits—I did not recognize it—but I certainly did recognize her face. She has been a very busy actress, and has had 37 film appearances since 1978. Her friends call her Franny. She has worked four seasons on HBO’s series SIX FEET UNDER—winning a Best Actress Golden Globe and a SAG award for her efforts. She appeared as Mrs. Hepburn in THE AVIATOR (2004) with Cate Blanchett as Kate. Conroy is a graduate of Juliard Drama Division, and a member of the Acting Company. She has been in dozens of Broadway and Off-Broadway productions. Last year she really camped it up playing Ophelia in CATWOMAN (2004) with Halle Berry—and for that role she was nominated for a “Razzie”—as Worst Actress in a Supporting Role—but didn’t get it.

Don’s odyssey continued. His third former flame was Carmen (Jessica Lange)—and it was very interesting. Carmen was calling herself a doctor, and she had a business set up in her rural home—working as a “pet interpreter”. She had a fetching receptionist, (Chloe Sevigny) who worked in a very short skirt and high boots. Don couldn’t help but check her out while he sat waiting for Carmen to have time to see him. Jessica Lange looked terrific—and although she was not terribly excited to see Don, she remained cordial.

Carmen’s whacky uptight character would have been a cakewalk for an actress like Goldie Hawn, or Bernadette Peters—but if either of them had played the part, it would have had less substance. Lange gave a rich textured performance with a well developed back story. She made Carmen very real. She conversed about her unique ability to communicate with animals calmly.
19.
She did not read their minds—rather she just “heard what they said.” She made this vocation—this animus/psychic ability seem plausible; no mean feat. She seemed centered, and at peace—yet still uptight and inhabiting realms untouched and unknown to the rest of us.

Her assistant seemed very overprotective of her—and was quite brisk with Don. There were several hints and suggestions that perhaps she and Carmen had a personal relationship as well as a professional one. Jurmusch conveyed this tinge of lesbianism very subtly. As Don prepared to leave, Carmen walked him to his car.

Don: Perhaps we could get together some time.
Carmen: No, I don’t date.
Don: Well—maybe we could have lunch, or dinner.
Carmen: No—I don’t eat.

She gave him some business cards—and they had pink backgrounds. Before Don pulled away, the assistant stormed out and tossed his bouquet back into the car. Glancing at the broken flowers, Don drove off—and we could feel his pain.

Jessica Lange has appeared in 36 films since her much ballyhooed performance in KING KING (1976). The reviews were so disastrous for that role—that the former model did not make another movie for three years. She has won two Oscars—one for her supporting role in TOOTSIE (1982), and as Best Actress in BLUE SKY (1994). I loved her take on the Lana Turner role in the steaming remake of THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE (1981). That striking scene where Jack Nicholson made love to her on the kitchen table—midst clouds of flour dust and partially rolled out dough—sticks with me. She was brilliant and heart-breaking as Frances Farmer in FRANCES (1982). She glowed and purred as Patsy Cline in SWEET DREAMS (1985). She was the perfect paramour and earth mother in the remake of ROB ROY (1995).

She seems to be a very secure person—who doesn’t need a marriage license to verify love. She had a daughter with Mikhail Baryshnikov in 1981. She’s had a lasting relationship (1982-present) with the laconic playwright/actor Sam Shepard. They have had two children together—and are still not married. They just seem to have real autonomous love mixed richly with a
20.
pleasant interdependence—without any apparent need to create a separate relationship with the state.

Don Johnston’s fourth visit became his most traumatic, truncated, and baffling. He dropped into to see Penny, played by Tilda Swinton. Her ramshackle ranch was deep into a rural area. It was surrounded by greasy outbuildings, broken down machinery—and several motorcycles in various stages of repair and pristine ness. He jostled over miles of deep ruts in order to get there. Two bikers came out of a garage to greet him. They told him that Penny was up in the house. Walking up to the house, Don noticed a pink motorcycle—and a discarded pink typewriter. Winston had instructed him to search for a typewriter. Don had found only incredulity when he questioned others about a “typewriter”, in this day of personal computers and word processors.

Penny came to the door already angry—wearing a worn housecoat and pinkish-red cowboy boots—and a god-awful black fright wig. Tilda Swinton, who is 5’11” tall, was barely recognizable.

Penny: So what the fuck do you want, Donnie?

Swinton looked a little like Cate Blanchett in several of her slut roles—but we only had such a short glimpse of Tilda—that I swear, Jarmusch could have used Paul Reubens in drag—and very few folks would have even noticed the difference. Don stammered around—and then just jumped right in and asked her if she had a son. She told him to “f” himself, slammed the door, and went back into the house. The scene lasted all of 2 minutes. Perhaps Jim Jarmusch could have put a little more literary meat on Penny’s bones. The two bikers rushed over to the porch and commenced to beat the hell out of Donnie—knocking him unconscious.

He greeted the sunrise lying prostrate over the front seat of his rented blue Taurus—parked out in the muddy middle of some farmer’s 100 acre field. What had he gained? Nothing, he told himself. But maybe it was too soon to know. He also visited flame number five on his list—who was deceased. He stood at her gravesite—clutching his omnipresent bouquet of pink flowers—and suddenly he felt a great sadness descend down upon him. He slumped down, leaning against a tree. He pulled his head back, and silent tears welled up in his red eyes. Emotion had finally stirred from the complacent
21.
catacombs of his innards. Change gripped him by the septum—and the pain of it began to pull his consciousness off himself.

After he returned home—more mail arrived. In the handful of letters—there was new pink envelope. This time the letter was signed by Sherry—who had broken up with him in the beginning of the film. It was written on pink paper—typed in red ink, and placed in a pink envelope—just like the original one.

Winston: You don’t think Sherry wrote the first letter just to fuck with you, do you?

Don did not respond—but a voice in my head said damn rights—it had to be Sherry. Jarmusch had teased us for over an hour—putting us out there on the road with Don—searching for something pink—and a typewriter with red ink—and maybe confirmation of the existence of a son from one of the women on his short list. Jarmusch littered the way with “pink” herrings, symbols, hints, and teases.
LAURA
1. The pink robes worn by Lolita and Laura.
2. Lolita’s bejeweled pink cell phone.
DORA
1. The large painting in the dining room of pink flowers—hanging above the vase of fresh pink flowers that Don had delivered.
CARMEN
1. The pink business cards.
PENNY
1. The pink motorcycle.
2. The pink discarded typewriter.

Winston was a lover of detective fiction—and as far as he was concerned “the game was afoot.” But I think that the truth of Don’s quest—even with all the “pinkness” detected—was that absolutely nothing was definitive—nothing had been proven—and there were no real answers regarding the pink letter and the possible son. Those five women were the only candidates for that year two decades in the past—and apparently none of them wrote the letter or whelped a boy child. Sherry had written the letter—out of spite, anger and boredom—just to screw Don’s mind into frenzy. But actually, Don would have disregarded the letter without Winston’s intervention.
22.
Sherry’s second letter—all pink and passionate, professed her “love” for Don—and requested some level of reconstruction in their relationship. So for me, the mystery—such as it were—was solved.

Jarmusch loves to set up motifs and symbols—like Murray’s track warm-up suits. They established Don’s need for comfort, and his habitualness. He was shown in several scenes in one of three of these suits. They had different sets of parallel stripes on them—red, green, and orange. I wonder what nation’s flag is represented by those three colors.

Then there were the “possible prodigy” teases. At the beginning of Don’s journey, at the airport—he listened to two teen-age girls discussing how “hot” a young man who was seated behind them was. Don looked at him, and saw a handsome young man with longish hair, wearing very similar Italian race driver wrap-around sunglasses to his own. Jarmusch dangled the bait—spiced up the tease. We thought—what if this was his son—and they were passing shoulder to shoulder just at the very moment Don was on the eve of his quest--how ironic—how cool.

Then at the conclusion of his great quest, at the airport, Don noticed another young man—carrying a back pack—on the road. A young man who was about the correct age—skulking in the shadows—wearing a zip-up track suit top with two parallel stripes on the sleeves. The youngster returned Don’s gaze strongly—and didn’t look away. Was he the one?

As epilogue, Don met with Winston at Carlito’s, the Mexican restaurant near one of Winston’s job sites—to show him Sherry’s pink letter, in its pink envelope. Winston took possession of the letter, in order to compare it to the other pink letter—the typewriter font, the paper, and the ink. As Winston slipped away, suddenly Don saw the same young man he had noticed at the airport the night before—right outside the restaurant.

Don rushed out to talk with the young man. The scene that followed was very cleverly written, with lots of dialogue carefully exchanged between them—yet no real disclosure or confirmation came to the surface. Finally in the throes of frustration and impatience, Don blurted out,” I know you think that I’m your father.”


23.
This freaked out the young man who hastily fled the scene—with Don sprinting after him. Standing in the middle of the street—short of breath—watching the young man scamper away—a car passed by Murray slowly. Another young man was hanging out an open window, wearing another zip-up track suit with twin parallel stripes on the shoulders. He stared right into Don’s eyes, holding his gaze, as the car slowly slipped by. Murray’s face showed that he was experiencing a wordless epiphany as the scene faded out, and the credits began to roll.

For me, in that moment of freeze on Murray’s eyes—there was a sense of closure. Sherry probably did write both pink letters. None of the former paramours had been impregnated by Don—unless it was the deceased one, and if that were the case—who wrote the first pink letter. That road trip—that forced reaching back 20 years prior—somehow had penetrated Don’s lethargy, arrogance, and selfishness. There seemed to be a glimmer in his eye that suggested maybe he would make some attempt to own his past—and perhaps he needed to consider being responsible for his actions—whatever they were. Perhaps there was a son out there somewhere—or a daughter—and perhaps some day he might encounter them.

Roger Ebert wrote,” At the end there is an enigmatic scene that explains little or nothing. Still—it opens up the possibility that if Don ever did discover that he had a son—he would try to do the right thing. That would mean he was doing “something”—and that would be a start.”

James Barardinelli wrote,” Those who like tidy endings and demand a sense of closure—will leave the film frustrated. It tells a story—but there’s no resolution—nor is one needed. In the end, solving the film’s mysteries becomes an irrelevancy—when considering where the journey has taken us.”

I have always enjoyed Jim Jarmusch films. If I were still an actor, I’d love to be invited to join “The Sons of Lee Marvin.” Many a Jarmusch film is terminally episodic, rife with rough edges—as if they really were,” built in my garage.” Often after a viewing, one needs to fill in the gaps of logic—attach their own symbols—extract their own meaning from the nihilistic prose, plot, and dialogue. I will always remember a great piece of dialogue—that is pure Jarmusch—from DEAD MAN (1995)


24.
Michael Wincott as bounty hunter, Conway Twill [tip of the hat to Conway Twitty] was talking to actor Eugene Byrd, playing newbie bounty hunter, Johnny “the Kid” Pickett—about Lance Henricksen’s laconic sadistic gunfighter, Cole Wilson.[Tip of the hat to Jack Palance as Jack Wilson in SHANE .]

Twill: I never trusted Wilson. He is the meanest sonofabitch in the world. You gotta watch him.
Pickett: What do you mean?
Twill: He killed his parents you know?
Pickett: Why?
Twill: They pissed him off, I guess.
Pickett: Jesus.
Twill: After he killed them—
Pickett: Yeah.
Twill: Then he fucked them.
Pickett: Who?
Twill: His parents.
Pickett: He what?
Twill: He fucked his parents.
Pickett: Both of them?
Twill: Yup—mother, father—parents—both of them. Fucked ‘em.
Pickett: Christ.
Twill: Then he ate them.

I have no earthly idea what the symbolic significance of that exchange was—but I just know it tickled me and I will remember it ad infinitum.

BROKEN FLOWERS was a wonderful film—and it was tailored to Bill Murray like a pair of expensive hand-made driving gloves. The entire cast was first rate—although Tilda Swinton’s scene was so extremely brief it could have used a little padding. Perhaps it should have been her that beat the hell out of Murray. I would rate this movie at 4 stars.

Glenn Buttkus (2005)