Jarmusch is one of my favorite directors and Coffee and Cigarettes, which I saw last night on a recently released DVD, does not disappoint. Jarmusch has a keen eye for the moments that other filmmakers would consign to the cutting room floor.
Life - revealed "between the lines" of dialogue, is joyously revealed in C&G's 11 short set pieces. The acting - and one has a firm sense that this is acting from the heart, not play-acting, is dead-on delicious. Music (and music people) is a very important, subtle element in each of Jarmusch's films and C&G uses this element masterfully. One can quibble that some skits are better than others, but the unevenness makes sense once you see how it builds to a quiet crescendo of longing and emotion. This movie has heart, soul, emotion, humor, and it goes down like a double-shot of the best, most invigorating espresso in town.
Those who don't "get" what he's doing, and there seems to be a fair share of them on the Web, might look inward toward their own inner coarseness before so boldly flinging epithets at Jarmusch accusing him of undue dwelling in enigmaticism. These are the same people who decry film's creeping meatballism while lapping up the dross that supports the blind and deaf machine of Hollywood.
Life - revealed "between the lines" of dialogue, is joyously revealed in C&G's 11 short set pieces. The acting - and one has a firm sense that this is acting from the heart, not play-acting, is dead-on delicious. Music (and music people) is a very important, subtle element in each of Jarmusch's films and C&G uses this element masterfully. One can quibble that some skits are better than others, but the unevenness makes sense once you see how it builds to a quiet crescendo of longing and emotion. This movie has heart, soul, emotion, humor, and it goes down like a double-shot of the best, most invigorating espresso in town.
Those who don't "get" what he's doing, and there seems to be a fair share of them on the Web, might look inward toward their own inner coarseness before so boldly flinging epithets at Jarmusch accusing him of undue dwelling in enigmaticism. These are the same people who decry film's creeping meatballism while lapping up the dross that supports the blind and deaf machine of Hollywood.