5/5 Part Melville Le Samourai, Part Antonioni Passenger, Part Frears Hit
  by Doug Anderson (Miami Beach, Florida United States)
"Everything is subjective"--is a line repeated throughout this very subjective film and each time it is repeated it resonates in new ways. By the end of the film it would seem that the unnamed "lone man" has accomplished his unnamed mission and one suspects that the mission means whatever the lone viewer wishes it to mean.

The lone man (virtually a mute part) travels around Spain by train and spends his time in hotel rooms and cafes while he waits for his contacts to appear so that he can proceed with the next stage of his unidentified mission. This is a man who is completely dedicated to his work to such an extent that he has no identity beyond three simple extravagances: he does Tai chi every morning, he always orders two espressos in separate cups while at cafes, and he loves paintings (perhaps because they too are silent). Virtually the entire film is spent following the lone man through his routines. This is filmmaking and existence broken down to its bare essentials: man, setting, singleminded objective. He keeps the same stony face through scene after scene. Late in the film he briefly smiles while watching a dancer rehearsing the same sequence over and over again and one imagines it is a smile of recognition.

If forced to label this film I would call it Zen Noir.

If you liked Melville's Le Samourai, Antonoini's Passenger, and Frears' The Hit this is your kind of filmmaking: every frame is a concentrated composition that commands your complete attention even though it is never clear exactly what you are being asked to concentrate on or why--for some the enigmatic nature of this character and film is annoying, for others the enigma is the thrill. Small clues (like the fact that this peaceful assassin uses a guitar string to do his handy work) might suggest that the assassin is on the side of the free-spirited artist bohemians of the world, but other clues (like the fact that he allies himself with no one)indicate that his objective is strictly personal. This is filmmaking that is as uncompromisingly dedicated to its singleminded objective as its lead character is to his nameless mission.

And a perfect ending.

3/5 Unsatisfying, Yet Very Poetic Film
  by Joshua Miller (Coeur d'Alene,ID)
I'm not very familiar with the films of Jim Jarmusch, having seen only two of his films previously. While my readings have showed me that some of his films have brought him critical indifference, his latest film The Limits of Control brought him critical scorn with Roger Ebert awarding the film half of one-star. It's obvious that this film was not intended for a wide audience, but Jarmusch has fashioned a film here that even his devoted, art-house fans will shy away from. It's a 2-hour film that strips away all storytelling conventions to make a movie with no coherent, linear plot and absolutely no character development. Despite these shortcomings, something about The Limits of Control remains fascinating and that's why I don't consider this film a complete failure.

Isaach De Bankolé plays a character credited only as Lone Man. His first appearance in the film involves him meeting two men, one who speaks Spanish while the other translates. He's given instructions, but they're too vague for us to make sense of and the two men depart after handing him a matchbox. Inside the matchbox is a piece of paper with some numbers on it, which the Lone Man quickly reads and then eats. The Lone Man travels to Spain, where he'll stop somewhere and order "two espressos in separate cups," before being approached by a stranger who will ask him (in Spanish) if he speaks Spanish. The stranger and the Lone Man will exchange matchboxes and the same thing I've described all happens again. Of course, Jarmusch will throw in intriguing plot details that go nowhere as well. The Lone Man discovers a nude woman (Paz de la Huerta) in his hotel wielding his gun...They don't have sex.

The various strangers in the film are played by Tilda Swinton (almost unrecognizable as a blonde film enthusiast), John Hurt, and Gael Garcia Bernal (a very talented young actor who, like Swinton, isn't instantly recognizable). Bill Murray also makes a brief appearance in the film, but it's one of the highlights of the film.

The acting in this film is good, even though all that's required of the actor's is that they walk onscreen and say a few lines with the exception of Bankolé who has little dialogue in the film and gives a good majority of his performance with his eyes. Jarmusch made a very intelligent decision casting Bankolé whose quiet intensity and subtle indifference made this film much easier to tolerate.

I've read reviews that referred to this film as a "crime thriller" and I can assure you it's most definitely not a crime thriller. There is nothing "thrilling" about this film; it's a slow-moving, methodical cinematic poem. Jarmusch gives his film a surreal quality by utilizing the talents of cinematographer Christopher Doyle who takes an uninteresting story and pulls beautiful images from it. Doyle is a true photographer and he makes his cinematography the film's greatest achievement.

Speaking as someone who has not seen many Jarmusch films, it's clear he's a talented director. He knows how to juxtapose music with a scene for maximum effect, which was evidenced many times throughout this movie. His style (in this film) of pointing the camera at something he wants us to look at, without explaining it and simply allowing us to choose whether or not to look at it is inspired, while not always very interesting. Jarmusch's style, particularly with this film, evoked the films of Michelangelo Antonioni for me. Both filmmakers have made films that disregard plot in favor of capturing a sort of visual poetry, as well as creating characters with emotional resonance despite little character depth. Furthermore, both directors' have made films that are intentionally inaccessible to a wide audience and can be defined only as "art-films."

While passages are visually arresting, it was the good attributes of the movie that made me wonder how great this film could've been with a lively, character-driven script. I think even the biggest detractors of this film would admit that Jarmusch has all the ingredients of a great film here with the exception of a great script. His film will leave many viewers angry and scratching their heads, trying to make sense of what they just watched and why they actually watched the entire thing. It's a film that presents us with many mysteries, but makes no attempt to solve them or even explain what the mysteries are in the first place. The film doesn't lack in style, but any substance it may have is certainly not on the surface and those looking for it will need repeat viewings to absorb it. It has made me want to see more of Jim Jarmusch's films, but the film itself left me cold. I can't deny its admirable qualities and artistic merit, but it is an unsatisfying film though not as bad as the critics would have you believe.

GRADE: C+

4/5 Maladies of Spain
  by D. Hartley (Seattle, WA USA)
Any devotee of director Jim Jarmusch will tell you that when you watch one of his films, there are certain things you can expect. Or maybe it's more about the things that you don't expect. Like car chases. Special effects. Flash-cut editing. Snappy dialog. A pulse-pounding music soundtrack. Narrative structure. Pacing. Not that there is anything wrong with utilizing any or all of the above in order to entertain an audience, but if those are the kinds of things you primarily look for when you go to the movies, it would behoove you to steer clear of anything on the marquee labeled "A film by Jim Jarmusch". And you will find none of the above and even less in his latest offering, "The Limits of Control".

Jarmusch has decided to take another stab at the "existential hit man" genre (which he first explored in "Ghost Dog: Way of the Samurai"); and here he has concocted something best described as "The Day of the Jackal" meets "Black Orpheus". Isaach De Bankole is a killer-for-hire (referred to in the credits simply as Lone Man), who at first glance appears to mostly kill time. After receiving his cryptic assignment at an airport, he sets off via train, plane and automobile through the Spanish countryside, with a stop in Madrid (reinforcing my hunch that the film is, among other things, homage to "Mr. Arkadin"). Along the way, the taciturn Lone Man meets up in appointed locations with an assortment of oddballs, with whom he trades matchboxes (don't ask). Each of these exchanges is really a setup for a cameo-length monologue about Art, Love, Life, the Universe and Everything by guest stars like John Hurt, Tilda Swinton and Gael Garcia Bernal (whose characters sport archetypal names like Guitar, Blonde and, um, Mexican). As each contact pontificates on a pet topic, De Bankole sits impassively, sipping a double espresso, which he always demands to be served in two cups (the film's running joke).

In Jarmusch's universe, the story doesn't happen to the people, the people happen upon the story; and depending on how receptive you are to that concept on that particular day, you're either going to hail it as a work of genius or dismiss it as an interminable, pointless snooze fest. As it so happened, I was in a pretty receptive mood that day, and I found a lot of things to like about The Limits of Control. In purely cinematic terms, I think it's one of his best films to date. Cinematographer Christopher Doyle makes the most out of the inherently photogenic Spanish locales and deftly instills highly atmospheric flourishes throughout, giving the film an "acid noir" feel, complemented by an outstanding, eclectic soundtrack. Paz de la Huerta (woof!) and Bill Murray round off an interesting (to say the least) cast. This would make a perfect double bill with Stephen Frears' 1984 film, "The Hit", another existential hit man thriller set in Spain (AND featuring John Hurt, as well).

3/5 "Usted no habla español, verdad?"
  by Del Keyes (In the middle of the Sunshine)
"The Limits of Control" is another not-so-wholesome creation of Indie-film master Jim Jarmusch, a filmmaker well known for his boring films. A good kind of boring, mind you. I'm referring to the stillness of life, the observation of insignificant details and idiosyncrasies of individual lives, ideally displayed in appreciating the things around us that are inattentive. Ingenious, and a whole lot of "I" words. Watching his earlier films was a challenge at first, but once I got into the curve, I appreciated the whole "little things" aspect he slowly crafts.

What kind of story he slowly crafted in "Limits"? It's about a man in a suit named, since no character in this movie has a name so I made 'em up, "Suit Man." Issach de Bankole plays in his first Jarmusch-English-speaking role as Suit Man, an otherwise silent character on a mission. He receives a matchbook, he waits....Then he meets a character, receives another matchbook, he waits.... Later, he meets another character, receives yet another matchbook, he waits.... Goes on a countryside, meets yet another character and receives another matchbook once again, he waits.... "Limits" can be essentially called "Ticket Booths: The Movie", getting a ticket from a ticket booth to stand in line to another ticket booth. There is a point to this film, but it didn't have to elaborate for something obvious.

To me, this is Jim's most inaccessible film to date. It's very arduous, which is not a problem in itself since that's a common pacing in his own films, but it is when the film's so desolate. There are many sequences with no dialogue, almost none of which are fresh and gazing to make these scenes interesting. "Limits" certainly test my patience on how uneventful and redundant certain scenes are.

His last film, "Broken Flowers", developed a bit of mystery in itself for anyone who saw the movie and know the ending (or lack therefore), but in this film, it's downright enigmatic. What are those pieces of paper mean before Suit Man ate them? Who are the syndicate that captured a certain character? What does he see in the art portraits, premonitions or a part of himself? Stuff happens that I don't understand and yet the main character does, and this movie wants me to go along with the journey; it simply did not let me in on the experience.

What I like about Jar Moosh's best films is how the characters interact with the banality of the scenery, quirks and all. Here, all the side characters just speak in proverbs. Redundancy is also an issue with the cast, very few of them have a distinct personality. Only in what they wear (like Tilda Swinton's blonde attire) make them stand apart, but looks don't mean much in this film.

I admit, though, the "Barton Fink"-esque enigma did work in the movie's favor at times. In the beginning, there was a scene between Suit Man, Spanish Messenger and his translator in which the subtitles display what the Spanish Messenger said and the translator saying exactly what the subtitles read. Was it amusing or unnecessary? I think it's both just for absurdity's sake, plus the end of the conversation was funny. I did understand the "two coffee in separate cups" motif, I thought it was a nice touch. I laughed at how Suit Man got inside a secured building; it's never the "how", it's the spontaneity of the result which was funny. The moment between him and Bill Murray's character was a pleasant payoff. Also, there's nothing wrong with having a character always in full-body nudity, even if there's no reason other than the director needed to include one, like in every other film of his.

I did like "The Limits of Control" to some degree. The music was rightfully transcendental, and the Jarmusch touch of stillness and oddities are there, and it has to be to prevent it from being boring, the bad kind. His films are niche for sure, but this film is so artsy that it limits its appeal from enthusiastic viewers. This is not the film to start appreciating the filmmaker.

1/5 The Limits of Control Movie Review from The Massie Twins
  by thejoelmeister (www.GoneWithTheTwins.com)
What begins as an exercise in existentialism and surrealism never graduates from that experiment and instead evolves into a two hour waiting game for a profound explanation of the events we've just witnessed. Sadly, it never comes. Reality may be arbitrary according to director Jim Jarmusch, but cohesive storytelling and a reason for observing his art is not. Like a jigsaw puzzle without a border, too many pieces of the mystery are missing to affect its audience with intrigue over confusion and this already painfully slow Lynchian drama becomes an excruciating slideshow of self-reflective nonsense. If the best films are like dreams you're not really sure you've had, then The Limits of Control is like a nightmare that you remember all too clearly.

A Man (Isaach De Bankole) is hired for a job that requires both creativity and a keen perception of realities. Trading matchboxes, cryptic messages, and existential perspectives with strangers assigned to find him, including a platinum blonde film enthusiast (Tilda Swinton), a Japanese science muse (Youki Kudoh) and a music-loving girl who parades around in the buff (Paz de la Huerta), the Man works his way to the ultimate goal - one whose outcome he has always known, though its journey is one of constant perplexity.

Since there's no story to speak of (or at least not one based in a non-paradoxical half-dream, half-subconscious world), the easiest thing to admire is the style - sharp suits, variegated costumes and complimentary nakedness by a character credited only as "Nude." Tilda Swinton's briefly seen character practically spells it out when pondering movies: "Sometimes I like it in films when people just sit there not saying anything." She also mentions her love of pictures that focus on "the little details of life." While giving the audience insight into some of the ideas unfolding onscreen, the general, gross lack of defining every other moment of significance drowns out whatever brief strands of understanding viewers might have temporarily grasped.

It's brooding and as slowly paced as the calming techniques practiced by the nameless main character, taking time to focus on scenery, food, traffic and architecture. All of the details are an elaborate setup for the multitude of questions being stockpiled, except that no answers ever arrive. With so many minutes spent studying various elements continually referenced amongst the colorful array of supporting characters, certainly some sort of meaning exists. If Jarmusch's intent was to demonstrate the very limited control the audience has over unfolding events and the reasoning that surrounds them, he succeeded. But that accomplishment also marks an utter failure in regards to producing a movie that can entertain someone outside of the director's mindset and appreciation for his own cinematic witchcraft.

- The Massie Twins