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Broken Flowers (2005) The
same things that make growing older cruel and
unhappy are sometimes the same things that make
it interesting and worthwhile. For instance, at
27, if I look back twenty years I find the 1st
grade with its social obliviousness, emotional
awkwardness and general ambivalence - nothing
worth exploring - but if I am in my 60's and I
travel back as Bill Murray's Don Johnston does
in Jim Jarmusch's charming Broken Flowers, there
is real substance, both wonderful and terrible
to be found. How absolutely fascinating and
depressing it must be to have a past. You need
to have lived a long life to earn one - a real
past - including characters and places that were
once long ago so important and vital to your
existence (to defining who you are today) and
then just drop out of the storyline for a few
decades only to be revisited late in the game.
While Johnston revisits four former lovers that
he has not seen or heard from in twenty years in
the name of "catching up", his unspoken agendas
is to discover if any are the mother of a son he
may or may not have had.
With
Jarmusch (Night on Earth) the focus is never on
the "plot" but rather the human condition and
the relationships we develop and dissolve as we
stumble through life trying to get a few dozen
things right along the way.
Here,
Johnston (Murray, continuing to excel as
apathetic, over-the hill, Zen masters) confronts
the four women - adorable Sharon Stone, trapped
Francis Conroy, broken Jessica Lange, bitter
Tilda Swinton - and Jarmusch allows the meetings
to just happen, unfolding in all their bizarre,
melancholy glory.
These
mini-epics emerge naturally but with a clear nod
to the surreal. At each encounter, Jarmusch
writes in something ( a basketball net, the
color pink, an impossible name) that, combined
with a classic Bill Murray knowing raise of the
eyebrow, conveys a sense that we are observers
in the land of meta.
What is
most impressive about Broken Flowers is that it
manages to (in a most understated way) state its
message about Johnston and how life-long
bachelors can sometimes, sort-of regret their
choices (but not as much, perhaps, as we ball
and chainers imagine) while at the same time
finding humor everywhere. Jarmusch doesn't need
Jim Carrey to bend over or Ben Stiller to wear
fake facial hair to get a laugh - he merely
turns the mirror on us. Whether it is our
obsession with the internet and all the
information we now can access, the way our jobs
become who we are, or our preposterous
self-images, Jarmusch finds the uncomfortable
absurdity in all of it simply by putting it on
screen for the audience to consider. Perhaps we
are like the delicate petals of a flower,
originally beautiful and hopeful, withering over
time, fading, and breaking down.
The goal then is to live long enough to have a past, but the lesson of Broken Flowers is to live the present with the knowledge that one day looking back on it may be all you have.
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