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Review

The cumulative character that Bill Murray has been building since 1998’s Rushmore is—let there be no doubt—an important one…a sort of everyman for our generation akin to Chaplin’s Tramp. The films graced by his grouchy eye-roll and his stare of stagnant disbelief (Rushmore, Lost in Translation, and now Jim Jarmusch’s Broken Flowers) have all been wonderful, but they suffer a curious homogeny. The tone of each film—however varied they may be—is remarkably consistent, and it is clear that Murray may have something to do with it. On a microscopic level, the color palette of abundant gray and pink that fills every frame of Broken Flowers is exactly the same as the films previously mentioned. On a grander scale, they share a mammoth theme: Men in the autumn of their lives must fight, for better or worse, the instinct to hibernate.

Broken Flowers follows the journey of Don Johnston as he revisits four old-flames after receiving an anonymous letter suggesting that he has a son. Each vignette, particularly the first (which features Sharon Stone in what could be her best performance) is surprising in its quiet absurdity. Jarmusch has always been a master of subtle quirkiness; consequently, he and Murray are a perfect match. But for all the simple pleasures of the film, the final product cannot overcome the nagging sensation of being a minor work. Perhaps this is because Jarmusch—arguably one of the most original American directors—has fashioned a work that seems suspiciously familiar. Perhaps the subject matter, when compared to his masterworks Dead Man and Down by Law, is slight. That said, a minor film by a major filmmaker is still, in these days of lackluster cinema, an event. Fans of Murray’s deadpan and his director’s masterful ability to time a fade-to-black with mathematical precision will surely want to add Broken Flowers to their collections.

 -- Mark Thiedeman