It's amazing how much Jarmusch does with so little. He works from a script cut up into individual segments, every one of which modestly constructed, though deeply emotive, dynamic and involving.
Take the scene where Willie (John Lurie) offers his pal Eddie (Richard Edson) a beer and then disengages completely for what feels like an eternity in awkward silence. As we get to know Willie, we understand that he plays these games with people in order to keep them beneath him.
Eddy is a good boy but a tad simple. Willie's and his relationship contains a mutual respect, though it perpetually boarders on points of contention. Willie's always scheming to keep the upper hand.
Eddie is charismatic though and endears himself to those around him. He's the perfect guy to bring along to visit an elderly relative whom you haven't seen in some time. He will warm up to that crazy, old broad and smooth over the whole thing.
And then there's Eva (casted perfectly as Ester Balint), Willie's cousin, a slyly cool emigrant from Hungary, who interrupts Willie's life, by way of his Aunt Lottie (Cecilia Stark), herself a delightful curmudgeon. She is to spend 10 days in the hospital, and plops Eva into Willie's domain like unwanted mail.
He spends this time by tricking her into answering the phone just so he has an excuse to be sore at her when she struggles to assimilate to the language. He also dishes out American phrases like "choking the alligator" for her to use instead of "vacuuming the rug." She's too smart for him though and can tell he's pulling her leg. Eventually, he warms up to her, though never adopts the role of the enlightening, older cousin. He aims to keep distance between her and the contagious boredom inherent to his world.
The ten days dissolve into fragmented memories, and she must leave for a time somewhere between indefinite and forever. Willie gets the feeling of retroactive longing and stinging regret.
A year goes by and he and Eddie decide to drive down to Cincinnati to see how she's doing, but maybe more so for a change of scenery. They find this new environment to be just as shapeless and withholding as the one they came from, and so they make the choice to road trip down to Florida with thought-bubbles of it's exotic idealism. But maybe this terrifically mundane existence has nothing valuable to offer at all.
The film could end with a sequence that poignantly encapsulates its themes and splashed shades of The 400 blows, though what follows is necessary. A random twist of fate allows Eva to happen upon a hip black local who mistakes her for someone else, handing her an envelope of riches and storming away. Isn't it funny how life always nudges us with prying irony, in order to remind us of its color? How does it always pick the exact moment when we've given up on it completely?
Take the scene where Willie (John Lurie) offers his pal Eddie (Richard Edson) a beer and then disengages completely for what feels like an eternity in awkward silence. As we get to know Willie, we understand that he plays these games with people in order to keep them beneath him.
Eddy is a good boy but a tad simple. Willie's and his relationship contains a mutual respect, though it perpetually boarders on points of contention. Willie's always scheming to keep the upper hand.
Eddie is charismatic though and endears himself to those around him. He's the perfect guy to bring along to visit an elderly relative whom you haven't seen in some time. He will warm up to that crazy, old broad and smooth over the whole thing.
And then there's Eva (casted perfectly as Ester Balint), Willie's cousin, a slyly cool emigrant from Hungary, who interrupts Willie's life, by way of his Aunt Lottie (Cecilia Stark), herself a delightful curmudgeon. She is to spend 10 days in the hospital, and plops Eva into Willie's domain like unwanted mail.
He spends this time by tricking her into answering the phone just so he has an excuse to be sore at her when she struggles to assimilate to the language. He also dishes out American phrases like "choking the alligator" for her to use instead of "vacuuming the rug." She's too smart for him though and can tell he's pulling her leg. Eventually, he warms up to her, though never adopts the role of the enlightening, older cousin. He aims to keep distance between her and the contagious boredom inherent to his world.
The ten days dissolve into fragmented memories, and she must leave for a time somewhere between indefinite and forever. Willie gets the feeling of retroactive longing and stinging regret.
A year goes by and he and Eddie decide to drive down to Cincinnati to see how she's doing, but maybe more so for a change of scenery. They find this new environment to be just as shapeless and withholding as the one they came from, and so they make the choice to road trip down to Florida with thought-bubbles of it's exotic idealism. But maybe this terrifically mundane existence has nothing valuable to offer at all.
The film could end with a sequence that poignantly encapsulates its themes and splashed shades of The 400 blows, though what follows is necessary. A random twist of fate allows Eva to happen upon a hip black local who mistakes her for someone else, handing her an envelope of riches and storming away. Isn't it funny how life always nudges us with prying irony, in order to remind us of its color? How does it always pick the exact moment when we've given up on it completely?