The Limits of Control Review
Posted by Chad Webb on 05.05.2009
Jim Jarmusch returns with a film that will divide moviegoers.
Isaach deBankole: Lone Man
Alex Descas: Creole
Jean-Francois Stevenin: French
Oscar Jaenada: Waiter
Luis Tosar: Violin
Paz de la Huerta: Nude
Tilda Swinton: Blonde
Youki Kudoh: Molecules
John Hurt: Guitar
Gael Garcia Bernal: Mexican
Hiam Abbass: Driver
Bill Murray: American
Written/Directed By: Jim Jarmusch
Release Date: May 1, 2009
Running Time: 116 minutes
Rated R for graphic nudity and some language.
On the mini-commentaries for the latest season of South Park, a number of episodes were described by Trey Parker and Matt Stone as “This is one where you’re either on the train, or you aren’t.” That statement is very appropriate for the canon of filmmaker Jim Jarmusch, especially his latest venture, The Limits of Control. It is a mystifying parable that challenges viewers. Some might say it challenges our patience, while others might enjoy the contemplative and vague nature of the film. I land in the middle, but lean more towards the latter category because it possesses a beguiling quality that I could turn away from.
Upon perusing various articles, I noticed similar groups of terms being thrown at The Limits of Control. It is not popular with critics, which is understandable because it is not an easy motion picture to like. Jarmusch makes it difficult with this assortment of surreal sequences that is left almost entirely to interpretation. The problem lies in the arguments. Reviews label this as pretentious, self-indulgent, and self-aware. Well, yeah it is. But aren’t most of Jarmusch’s efforts pretentious on some level? Sure, The Limits of Control emphasizes those common Jarmusch elements stronger, but upon paying admission for one his films, you should expect this to a certain degree. Criticizing Limits for these reasons is stating the obvious.
The story follows the lone man (Isaach DeBankole), a mysterious stranger, who is given an assignment by two men at a Madrid airport. He must complete a specific job involving an American businessman (Bill Murray). This assignment takes him across Spain. He gradually acquires new directions and steps for this journey by meeting various contacts for elusive exchanges. Most of these conversations occur in public, mainly in cafes, but one memorable female does approach him in his hotel room. Throughout his travels, the audience must decipher various clues and codes as the task comes to a close.
The biggest risk for Jarmusch, aside from the ambiguity of the plot, was in the casting of relatively unknown actor Isaach DeBankole as the lone man. DeBankole’s face, his meticulous routine, and his unwavering attitude must be both indefinable and engrossing. He must endorse the enigma, but magnetize the viewer, and he was effective in this capacity. Who is this man whose every action and mannerism is so deliberate? Why is he constantly performing those breathing exercises? DeBankole has been in three of Jarmusch’s films thus far (Ghost Dog, Coffee and Cigarettes), and in Limits he finally is allowed his opportunity to shine. He was ideal for this part, and stresses the subtlety angle the filmmaker was aiming for magnificently.
The rest of the cast comprise characters in which they are all equally as bizarre as the next. Certain phrases these contacts exchange with the lone man become repetitive, and they all swap matchboxes. These recurring sentences and dealings, that seem empty to many, do indeed mean something. Tilda Swinton is Blonde, a film star with bright hair and a clear umbrella. John Hurt is known as Guitar, a well-mannered man who philosophizes before he departs. Gael Garcia Bernal is Mexican, a cowboy that breaks one cemented rule of the lone man by getting out his cellular phone. And Bill Murray, a frequent collaborator of Jarmusch, shows up in the final moments as the American. Each of these performances can only be fulfilling if you are agreeable with the trip from the onset. This cast, all of whom have natural talent, underline the comical and threatening atmosphere.
The lone man never smiles, and rarely evokes any morsel of emotion throughout his voyage. Watching his travels causes us to experience his silence and distance from the chaos of everyday life. The silence is another key factor. In the vein of Cast Away and Jeremiah Johnson, the story relies on the lack of dialogue. Many people simply cannot stand this. They need to hear talking and conversation because the absence of it, means they must pay strict attention to what is transpiring. This strategy from Jarmusch enticed me to examine every understated move, and read between the lines of every discussion.
The Limits of Control reminded me a great deal of Borderline, a 1930 French avant-garde silent film starring Paul Robeson, where reminiscent of DeBankole, merely the image of Robeson had to carry us through the cloudy premise. That film had very few intertitles, so almost everything that occurred had to be deduced by the viewer, providing they were watching closely. That was not listed as an influence, but intense similarities are present. Jarmusch has stated that essays by William Burroughs, and French crime thrillers of the 70’s and 80’s acted as the inspiration. The French aspects are clearer, and the noir components are beautifully captured by cinematographer Christopher Doyle.
I find it hypocritical that so many critics who praised Gus Van Sant’s artsy film, Paranoid Park, attack The Limits of Control for many of the same reasons. In both offerings, the directors become a bit lost in their obsessions, and in both the thinness of the plots are meant to highlight other facets of the production. Much of it is left to the imagination, and in fact, the lone man is told “use your imagination” at the beginning of the story. A lot is unexplained, perhaps hidden, or maybe metaphorical, but that too, is quite common from Jarmusch, as is miscommunication. In this instance, the gamble of miscommunication is with the viewer. In short, this utilizes all of his trademarks, but amplifies them. What many have also failed to consider, is how important understanding the title is to working out the script.
The lone man’s tai chi exercise speaks volumes of why many scenes are cyclical and seemingly bland. He is in total control of this mission. That is what the breathing exercise aids. Jarmusch is analyzing the choices he makes. The lone man is on a journey, and Jim Jarmusch has conveyed variations on journeys before in past gems Broken Flowers and Dead Man among others. The primary issue with The Limits of Control is the length. In light of the tactic Jarmusch employs, the running time feels much longer than it really is, and he should have altered this. He sacrifices the pretention for the significance of the ambiguity. Nevertheless, The Limits of Control can be a deeply rewarding and pensive trance for those who are willing to embrace its style.
The 411: The Limits of Control is one of those movies that will be liked by mainly Jarmusch fans. It has a limited target audience, and it is perfectly understandable why many have dismissed it, but I do feel that creating the right arguments is important here. Let me be clear, Writer/Director Jim Jarmusch can come across as a very pretentious filmmaker, and he is in many ways, but he is also a skilled craftsman, who has a firm grasp on his art, and what he wants out of it. Isaach DeBankole, and the superb supporting cast lend terrifically delicate performances in a story that makes suggestions, but leaves it up to the viewer to fill in the blanks. The answers are there, and you’re either on the train, or you aren’t.
