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  • I was thinking that this was the abstract baby Lost in Translation and The American had, and just like that Bill Murray eventually makes an appearance. The way he looked at the skull on his desk really made me smile.

    The reason I watched this movie was because of Boris & Sunn O)))'s contribution to the soundtrack, and that was the only reason. Well, I was in for it! Personally I don't think this drone / doom metal soundtrack fits this movie, or almost any movie, but surely I am biased. And perhaps I've just listened too much to the songs beforehand so that I find they are too cut down, repetitive and out of place here. Boris's music worked in Kokuhaku, though.

    Also, did I get what The Limits of Control was about? Not overall, and I didn't like the unrealistic dialogues. It made the dominating silence in the movie seem more meaningless and less thought-provoking. Still, having random (famous) people ramble on about long-winded, ambiguous and quite irrelevant topics didn't lack charm (I'm not being completely sarcastic, especially in John Hurt's case). But hey, it is a very symbolic and long-dragged movie that shrouds its various points with mystery. It is a full-blown "show, don't tell" piece of film. Make what you will of it; I was entertained throughout but I did not arrive at any satisfactory conclusion.

    However, the wavering of the camera in the last second of the movie had me wondering. Did I limit this movie?
  • This movie had a great buildup to a massive letdown. The whole movie although painfully slow at times did a great job leading to it's conclusion, but the conclusion just didn't deliver. I'm not real sure about the moral degradation that this film portrays as an enlightening revolution, but the acting is good enough to pass. I enjoyed Dead Man a lot more and Jarmusch may have taken the slow pace and limited dialogue a tad too far in this film. The character interaction is interesting, but always one sided and unfulfilled, maybe that was the point. Overall, and interesting but flawed movie. Under careful scrutiny this is a carefully laid out plot that just doesn't live up to the expectation.
  • Jim Jarmusch's 2008 film THE LIMITS OF CONTROL concerns a nameless hit-man (Isaach De Bankole) as he prepares to carry out an assassination in Spain. It is not overtly stated that he is a professional, but his uncompromising posture, his unchanging expression and the omnipresent suitcase make it clear from the very first minutes of the film. Isaach De Bankole is perfect in this role, as he has a face that seems carved out of granite. The hit-man's few intimations of humanity are thus all the more shocking.

    As the film proceeds, the hit-man meets a series of individuals who send him onwards in his journey to pick up necessary equipment and finally confront his victim. These employees of his mysterious employer are left nameless, though often referred to by items they carry or other qualities: "Guitar" (John Hurt), "Blond" (Tilda Swinton), "Violin" (Luis Tosar), "Mexican" (Gael García Bernal), and "Molecules" (Youki Kudoh). In engaging the assassin in conversation to subtly convey their messages, they end up delivering eccentric monologues. Many critics lambasted these lines as so much metaphysical babble. In fact, everything said relates very directly to the plot, but this is the sort of film that demands a second viewing to really tie everything together, and those who fail to be intrigued enough on the first viewing to go on to a second may find this film a failure.

    Though Jarmusch alludes to America under the Bush administration at points, this is ultimately a psychological drama: the hit-man's task and contacts represent only parts of his own psyche. While some have tried to view this as a simple Freudian struggle between the id, ego, and superego, I feel that Jarmusch is aiming for something more subtle, something that he has great difficult putting into words and, even with his best efforts, this film can only hint at. THE LIMITS OF CONTROL feels like a cinematic analogue to the late albums of Scott Walker, where the songs' characters, cultural references and "plot" only serve to express some burning flame in the artist's own psyche.

    Jim Jarmusch has always stated that his aesthetic is to absorb everything he can from prior films (and books, music, etc.) and let those inspirations reflect in his own films. THE LIMITS OF CONTROL abounds with references to the film canon: Jean-Pierre Melville (namely "Le Samouraï"), Orson Welles ("The Lady from Shanghai"), Alfred Hitchcock, Aki Kaurismäki ("Le Vie de Bohème"), Alejandro Jodorowsky (that auteur's entire trippy aesthetic), and probably more that I just didn't recognize.

    The film's lack of conventional interaction between characters and the compilation of references ultimately makes THE LIMITS OF CONTROL feel relatively cold and lifeless compared to Jarmusch's many other films. Still, the visuals of the film make it a worthwhile experience in spite of its flaws. With Christopher Doyle, funny enough, working the camera, we get a number of beautifully composed shots that will prove memorable.
  • I'm not going to waste anyone's time with subjective yammering, whether it be positive ("a cinematic tour de force!") or negative ("pretentious artsy fluff!") because, let's face it, those comments don't mean squat to anyone but the person saying it.

    Instead, just rifle through this list of movies and if you liked any of them, you'll probably like this movie.

    "Tetro" (director Francis Ford Coppola, 2009), "Broken Flowers" (director Jim Jarmusch, 2005), "Before It Had a Name" (director Giada Colagrande, 2005), "A Scene at the Sea" (director Takeshi Kitano, 1991), "Der Himmel über Berlin" a.k.a. "Wings of Desire" (director Wim Wenders, 1987), "Paris, Texas" (director Wim Wenders, 1984).

    If you haven't heard of, or seen, any of those then just bear in mind that "Limits of Control", like the movies mentioned above, is very slow, almost uneventful, without a lot of revealing dialogue to carry the story. These stories are told in images, and it can be a real challenge keeping up, not because there are a lot of crazy twists and turns, but because there's almost nothing. I could sum up the plot of this movie in 8 words: "a day in the life of a hit-man". But if you're up for a challenge, give it a shot.
  • 'The Limits of Control' is easy to misunderstand, and even easier to dislike. I can certainly understand the bad reviews. What I can't agree to is anyone calling it 'pretentious'; it doesn't pretend to be anything that it's not. It's not a clever allegory or a meaningful social critique, and it doesn't have a hidden message - nor does it pretend to be any of those things. It's a big mistake to try to find a hidden message, or a coherent plot, as it doesn't have either. What it is is a series of fragments and dreams, characters, places and encounters, more like Coffee & Cigarettes than Ghost Dog. But it's lots of fun, for cinema lovers and for art lovers, and it's incredibly beautiful (a given with a Jim Jarmusch film), and for a movie in which nothing ever really happens, it keeps the viewer interested the whole time; that in itself is an accomplishment.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    "Life has no value if four people are being killed every minute and in the final analysis, abuse wins the day." That is a rough translation from Spanish of a phrase very relevant to "The Limits of Control" which IMDb won't let me reproduce in the original because of 'spelling errors'. The great Mexican director,Pedro Infante filmed "La Vida No Vale Nada" in 1955. Might be worth checking out that film after watching "Limits of Control".

    "Those who think they are important wind up in a cemetery – a handful of dust". Numerous characters repeat this sentence in Jarmusch's "Limits of Control". In fact, many sentences are repeated in "Limits...". "You don't speak Spanish." The answer is, "No." if you are on a secret mission and sitting at a café table with two cups of espresso. This is the intro you get in the assassin's game. Like Jarmusch's "Ghost Dog" our assassin is in to martial arts exercises. Like "Ghost Dog", he doesn't like mechanical, robotic like abusers.

    Maybe abusers are CIA agents in Spain. More likely, Jarmusch's secretive base operatives symbolize worldwide power mongering abusers of life. Maybe, just maybe, there are people out there in the world, some maybe even who have taken psycho-active drugs like peyote, who want to demonstrate to these power mongering dominators that they aren't so powerful at that. 'Life is arbitrary" as the anonymous protagonist of the film played by Isaach de Bankolé says before he strangles the CIA Station Chief, played by Bill Murray, with an old guitar string.

    Maybe, the limits of control are human beings! Oh, not human beings who use the various electronic trappings of identity of the modern world. Those human beings can be tracked and controlled. "No cell phones", says Jarmusch's protagonist. And what happens to those in the assassin's conspiratorial loop who use them? They are found dead or kidnapped by authorities who travel by black helicopter to secret bases in the Spanish bush. Yes, murder as a political weapon, human beings killed, even if they are beautiful and naked.

    "How did you get in here?" Murray asks Isaach de Bankolé. "I used my imagination." And after all, as the French Situationists used to say, "Imagination is revolution." Imagination is also unpredictable, even arbitrary, so unlike machines or uniformed humans attempting to morph into androids in service to their rulers.

    This movie is a secret operation. Think of it as an imagination-trip. Take it and be wary. Sometimes, it's not that you're paranoid, it's that they really are out to get you. Have a care. Don't let your guard down, even for one blissful second with a gorgeous woman. You're working now with Isaach de Bankolé. Let it happen. Let it wash over you. But remember the signs: two cups of espresso at the same time at the café table;matchboxes (the ones with the boxer on the cover) swallow the coded paper which you'll find inside said matchbox after you've memorized the instructions for the next stop on your way towards ending abuse.
  • Limits of Control seems to me to be designed for the attitude of European Art-Film lovers. Not American multiplex mall rats.

    If you like Fellini and Picasso you'll find something in this movie.

    If you prefer James Cameron and combat computer games you'll hate this movie.

    If you're an American Republican you'll hate this movie. If you're a Psychedelic Socialist you'll love this movie.

    What I like about Jim Jarmusch's film is that his surrealism is just the right dose of strangeness to keep me interested when it seems there is little or no action. Unlike David Lynch, who to me, seems to want to make his audience ill and disturbed. Lynch is LSD laced with Strychnine. Jarmusch is magic mushrooms and periodic hits of DMT.

    I suspect people who gave Limits of Control a bad review didn't see the whole movie.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    I've seen a worse movie than Limits of Control. The Singing Forest was worse. But very, very few people will ever encounter that schlock.

    Many more will force themselves masochistically to endure nearly two hours of Limits of Control. After all, it has Tilda Swinton, Bill Murray, and is directed by a famous director.

    Yet nothing happens in LoC. Unless you consider eight presentations of the same boring riff "something." Well, here's the riff: Conspicuously over-dressed man spends day wearing a suit, practicing Qigong, staring at a single painting in a museum, and sitting in front of two espressos, while a black helicopter flies in the distance.

    Then a stranger approaches, attempts to engage him in an one-sided philosophical conversation to which he says nothing, and they swap matchboxes. His matchbox will contain a small piece of paper with two or three lines written in a cipher, which he eats. He will spend the rest of his day in silence, resisting entertainment, conversation, and sex.

    If that sounds exciting, let me assure you that it's not, at least not after the third repetition, and certainly not by the time the final credits free us from this torture.

    There is no payoff. There is no plot. There is no purpose. There is no plausibility. The cinematography is beautiful, but forced and self-conscious. Limits of Control is to film what Cage's 4'3" was to music.

    Half of the critics are busy brainwashing themselves to not believe what they know is true: the Emperor has no clothes, folks. And no movie, either.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    Sit back, open your mind, watch the magical pictures genius cinematographer Chris Doyle paints and let Jarmusch take you to a new world. This movie is an instant classic, uncompromisingly inviting the viewer to fill in the blanks while being enchanted and entertained. When the lights came up at the end of the screening, I wanted it to go on for hours more. Of course it can be hard work staying with such a quiet, obscure plot, but anyone who walks into a Jarmusch expecting Crank 2 is bound to be disappointed.

    Comparisons with Dead Man are inescapable, but possibly have been overemphasized... The Limits are a very different animal: Visually, the potent use of color alone, sets it far apart (Theories on the use of dark orange, anyone?) and -despite appearances- I think Limits is a far darker vision. The repetition of the "La vida no vale nada"-poem is a reminder of a deep angst and deliberate struggle with meaninglessness at the heart of the story.

    Isaach De Bankole's stunning features serve as an anchor throughout, although I found his carefully one-note, almost robotic performance a bit too much in some scenes. This would be my only real criticism. -The fact that the Lone man takes himself so seriously had me longing for a moment of humanity, self-deprecation or exhaustion every now and then, just to keep the audience with him and stop his extreme of cool from sliding off into seeming arch. He presents a superego without an id or an ego- Romance or passion are foreign to him, physical needs don't go beyond caffeine and tai-chi. He doesn't even sleep. Seemingly representing the cinema-goer entering the film, the protagonist enters the foreign world of Spain. Observing, receiving information, never responding, never engaging- except to destroy a cell phone. (Nice hint, Mr Jarmusch!) He is presented with philosophical ideas from every person he meets, but never replies. Just like an audience can only engage with any film it sees internally. The final act -and only real action- of the film could be read as the conscious choice to not submit to the controlling, disillusioned machine of "Hollywood cinema", but to limit it's control and remain true to the potentially illusionary values presented by his matchbox-giving guides. To deliberately choose a subjective path less traveled by.

    Every conversation -or rather monologue- is left hanging in the air and begs to be continued in the viewers mind. Tilda Swinton, looking futuristically sexy yet classical in her role as a sort of incarnation of cinema, tears open the meta-reality especially far when she lightly observes how much she likes people sitting silently in films. Followed by a spell of the characters sitting silently on screen. Notably, she is the only one who gives Lone Man more than just a note. Her matchbox contains diamonds as well, as if Jarmusch wants to say: "Science, music, sex etc all give me something, but film is where I am given the most precious thing."

    As his surroundings change from modernist Madrid, to Gothic Seville, to the bare bones of the Andalusian desert it is as if the Lone Man is traveling backwards in time, absorbing, with every encounter, one of the trappings of an artistic/ bohemian life that stands in the against the idea of societal control: Concepts of music, films, sex, hallucinogens are each absorbed with the ingestion of the papers in the matchboxes. His final encounter with the Bill Murray character erases the personification of control itself, in the form of a corporate/political caricature of the ultimate freudian father figure, leaving the Lone Man at a point of rebirth as he finally takes off his silk suit and fades into the embracing mass of humanity... His final matchbox note is blank. -No more control. The poetic sensitivity, originality and sheer ambitiousness of this movie make me want to get down on my knees and thank Mr Jarmusch and Focus Features for making it. We need more films like this!
  • Limits of control is an interesting movie; not at all what i expected. It is not boring or repetitive, but there is no 'action', it is not a thriller and there is no love interest - sort of. It is just a movie that provides a blank canvas for the viewer to make of it what they will. I am not sure if i was entertained, but i was stimulated and i found it thought provoking on a number of different levels. That said, this will not be everyones cup of tea. But if you are sanguine and go with the flow then i think there is a richness to be had from the 'journey' that others have alluded to. Overall it is a nicely put together piece that is both bizarre and curious without promising or delivering anything. It just is...and as such i enjoyed it for what it is.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    Jim, this is probably the most boring film I have seen in ages, and I am a fan of Eric Rohmer so I do not mind slow movies. Each scene is a copy of the one preceding it and the signs you throw at us are meaningless, double cups of coffee and eating little pieces of paper included. After the third paper eating session I started to get angry. I take it you suffered from: a) an overdose of cocido madrileno while you were shooting in Madrid, or b) a Hemingway-style infatuation with everything Spanish which took you to the streets of Madrid and Sevilla. In this last case, a documentary would have likely been a better option. I bought this DVD because I loved Down by Law. Please go back to your roots.
  • It has been said that God is a circle whose center is everywhere and whose perimeter is nowhere. In the beautiful and enigmatic The Limits of Control, director Jim Jarmusch puts it this way, "The universe has no center and no edges" and, "everything is subjective", or "reality is arbitrary". Based on a script of only twenty five pages, The Limits of Control is about an immaculately dressed but emotionally frozen hit man (Isaach de Bankolé) who goes from place to place awaiting further instructions. He has no overview of the entire game plan but waits for his next move whenever he meets the next contact.

    Set in Madrid and Seville as well as some isolated villages in the South of Spain, the cinematography by Christopher Doyle, who has worked extensively with Wong Kar-wai, is filled with elegantly-composed images of dark streets, barren landscapes, city skylines, and world class paintings. Getting his instructions at the airport before leaving for Madrid from Creole, played by the French actor Alex Descas, de Bankolé is told simply to go to a café and look for the violin. Further instructions come from various people he meets along the way in the form of a greeting "you don't speak Spanish, right?" and the exchange of matchboxes, one of which contains a curious code which the hit man simply eats. De Bankolé hardly ever speaks other than to say "yes" or "no." We learn little about him other than he prefers two cups of espresso served in separate cups and that he practices Tai Chi. We also discover that he likes women because we can see that he is tempted by the naked beauty Paz de la Huerta who suddenly appears in his hotel room. Although he openly admires her backside, he tells her that he never engages in sex while he is working (though I've never seen anyone who is working do such little work). As de Bankolé goes from location to location, each scene becomes a variation of the one that came before. Included are some provocative sequences such as repeated visits to an art gallery in Madrid, and a scene inside a bar in which de Bankolé watches a rehearsal of an exquisite flamenco dance in which the singer delivers dialogue from the first scene of the film warning us like some spiritual guru about the limits of ego.

    "Those who think they are important", he sings, "wind up in a cemetery – a handful of dust". Along the way, we are introduced to some of recognizable stars. Tilda Swinton in a platinum wig, white cowboy hat, and boots talks about film noir, saying how she admires characters that never speak. Luis Tosar talks about musical instruments. Youki Kudoh speaks about molecular reconfiguration and the things that are possible in science. John Hurt tells us about the origins of the word "bohemian". Gael Garcia Bernal talks about how consciousness can be altered by psychoactive drugs like Peyote. Finally, Bill Murray as the ugly American corporatist says that our minds have become polluted by all of the subjects that have been previously discussed.

    Supported by a soundtrack of electronic music by the trio Boris, The Limits of Control is a film of mystery and silence and unexpected twists that is about the power of imagination and poetry to operate without arbitrarily imposed limits. Sensing that we are in a period of change, Jarmusch says, "I almost feel like we're really on the cusp of an apocalypse of thought because all of these old models that they tell us are reality are all crumbling." What the "apocalypse of thought" will look like is uncertain but the film has a hypnotic, dreamlike quality that challenges the distinction between what is real and what is a product of the mind. In the film's final sequence, de Bankolé surveys a compound guarded by masked security officers with guns. The next minute, we see him inside the compound confronting the object of his search. When asked how he got in, he simply replies, "I used my imagination." If you want to know how that occurs, I would echo the film's message and say – use your imagination. That's all that there is anyway.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    The overarching concept for me during this viewing was that of optical illusions. There are several moments in the film where my eyes literally lost focus for a moment or blended into the surroundings of the Lone Man, which distorted the actual image of him in my mind. An example is when he walks into an elevator, the rich blues and reds causing him to disappear and leave behind an aura as the doors close. The material of his suit itself is enough to make it a real effort to digest the intermittent clashing and submerging into the streets, signs, buildings and lighting. The odd shapes of the scenery and staircases, specifically, force you into the life of paintings similar to the ones the Lone Man visits at the museum in Spain. The film's musical interludes as the backdrop of the Lone Man's walking/traveling also take the viewer out of the immediate space of the film, almost putting the conscious mind to sleep for a moment, letting the subconscious meditate on the odd stimulations the brain is receiving. Certain films I've seen since my first viewing of this one came to my mind during which I had similar reactions. The presence of repetition and longer than expected scenes of music married to movement in Bela Tarr's The Turin Horse, and, more of a visual statement, Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life, both offer a portal and give permission to peer through an infinitely widened camera lens that captures not just individual subjects of a film's story, but the absorption of a single consciousness past the "arbitrary reality" into the intersecting mental resting place that everyone visits, at least once in their lives. It is in these places where the eyes wander off the screen and the mind escapes for a little while, un-chaperoned and unseeing, until the next scene break calls you back and you wonder what you were just given by this film as an old man walks the space of ten yards from his home to the horse barn. I wonder if this experience isn't equivalent to chanting mantras or meditating on a koan. However one describes it, it is beautiful.

    At some point in life, hopefully sooner rather than later, a person comes to a crossroads and either decides he is going to continue walking down the well trodden path that "everyone else" is walking or suddenly veer to the left into dark, uncharted territory. This first path is easier, the lines and rules which are generally excepted as not just guideposts of truth but eventually truth, in and of itself, are frequent and heavily supported. The Lone Man has chosen the latter, the road less traveled. This choice offers revelations that are both scary and exhilarating, the experiences and guideposts are taken into the self, consumed, as the Lone Man literally does in the film, and he continues on to the next one. Each discovery is guided by a hunger that comes into existence without explanation. But it is very strong, and, once the Lone Man has awoken to its presence, unavoidable and irrevocable. The food that this presence devours is found in art, in physical pleasure, in music, etc. but they are not indulged much here, as the Lone Man has moved past this point with the knowledge that these things do not themselves hold any answers, even though he may not even be searching for one.

    My understanding of Alfred Camus' concept of the "absurd" is the awakening of the mind to the conflict between this kind of hunger and the inevitability of dying without it having ever been satisfied. But, as in Camus' essay "The Myth of Sisyphus," this film embodies a certain truth that is stumbled upon at some point in the journey and that is the essential necessity of movement, whether it be pushing the same rock up the same hill again and again for all eternity or walking from one place to another to another eating crumbs for the rest of one's life. The only satisfaction, the only answer, is simply to continue. Or if you're Ayn Rand, productivity as movement--"man is an end in himself."

    Now I zoom way out and look at the overall context and story as it relates to the ending. A young man develops his mind and passion and becomes a conscious person. It is inevitable, then, to look around at society and start comparing yourself to it. Is this woman who talks about Hitchcock and old movies (Tilda Swinton) just a superficial self-obsessed student borrowing from others and those before in order to adorn herself and convince people that she is original and a free-thinker? Perhaps the only one she is fooling is herself? Perhaps he is thinking about the fact that he can absorb himself into a piece of art but also retain himself and keep an objective distance from it while people like the "bohemians" seem to find their solace in becoming the art they admire, losing the responsibility of themselves? Inevitably, his vision becomes sharp enough to become aware and curious about the broader system in which he is having these meditations. Who is in control? Why doesn't anyone care? I care. I'm going to do something about it...

    I could go on and on from here I guess but I'll let you take it from here. Peter Joseph's Zeitgeist, Wall Street, Charles Ferguson's Inside Job, blah, blah, blah...what time does X Factor come on tonight?

    http://funkyforestfirstcontact.wordpress.com/
  • Warning: Spoilers
    I like indie films - usually. Sometimes I wonder if the artist is really saying anything or being pretentious and rubbing our face in it. I can certainly see where students of film, artists, may find this interesting or meaningful.

    I do not fall in that category. **Spolier** "Life is dirt" is one of the few lines in the whole movie and it is spoken at the very beginning.

    This leads me to believe that the film is made at our expense. To sit and watch people walking for minutes, staring at paintings, drinking coffee on and on and on. In movies, seconds are minutes. I also understand some people prefer cerebral movies as opposed to Hollywood pop corn blockbusters. This artists movie may appeal to you in the way that a Campbell Soup can painting is considered art.

    When this movie ended, I really only had one question. If I had paid money to see this in a theater, would I have walked out? Fortunately, I watched the DVD and had access to the FF button. Sorry to offend all of the artsy folks out there, but Limits of Control just rubs your face in it.
  • This is a tough picture to review, although I can really only come to one conclusion: you have to watch it for yourself. Jim Jarmusch based it on the idea of making an "action movie without action", and I think that's pretty accurate. The film follows a mysterious man around Spain, where he meets with even more mysterious contacts and exchanges secret messages. Clearly he is on a mission, a dangerous and illegal one. But what is his job? Who does he work for? These questions will keep you on the edge of your seat. All the ingredients of a frantic crime thriller are there, yet the film keeps a slow pace. What exactly is going on here?

    Never has it been so thrilling, beautiful, and entertaining to watch a man walk around. The audience never knows what to expect, everything could be significant. In contrast, the mysterious man never hesitates, everything he does is carefully planned and executed, according to plan. Clearly, someone is pulling the strings. Someone, somewhere, is "in control". The camera, however, focuses on this man, one cogwheel in a large machinery. You're always aware that you only see part of the picture, that everything would make sense if you could just zoom out and know a little more.

    "The Limits of Control" plays with a lot of established film clichés, and it teases you with your expectations. You are familiar with the form Hollywood movies have converged to over the past decades, how they are put together and what they have in common. Mainstream productions carefully avoid surprising their audience because after all, some of them could be disappointed or irritated. You think you know what you're up against, because you've seen it before. But "The Limits of Control" will fool you. It does not care about conventions, it tells the story it wants to.

    However, this means that the film actually expects you to have been spoiled by the countless movies you've seen. It helps to know a few things about film genres and eras, but it is downright essential to have seen a number of common spy movies, action flicks, mystery thrillers. If you're not familiar with the narrative conventions used in movies, you will most likely not get the point. This made me wonder whether it is acceptable to recommend a movie if it cannot be thoroughly enjoyed without having that kind of film experience beforehand. But in the end, movies are always about one thing: whether you will have a good time watching it. And I think it must have been years since I last left a theater so delighted.

    The thing is that this wouldn't be the movie you show your friend who is only just starting to develop an interest in films. For those who have been devouring movies for some time, who know a thing or two about their strengths and weaknesses, and the way they tell stories, this film is an incredible piece of art. In any case, it does however require an open mind because it might initially be hard to "keep up" with the slowness of the movie. But if you can cope with anything more sophisticated than a Michael Bay movie, you should do fine. Just don't expect to have the story and all the explanations shoved down your throat. Half of the movie takes place in your head, because you are trying to make sense of what is happening.

    In more technical aspects, De Bankolé gives a breathtaking performance. At first it might not seem like he's doing much, but then you realize how perfectly every move, every look, every word, spoken or unspoken, fits the scene. The film's mystery is built on his presence, and it must have been a terrible pressure to carry so much responsibility for the atmosphere of the movie. The result is a lead character that is several times cooler than any babbling wiseacre (à la Pulp Fiction) could ever be. I was also amazed by the appearances of Tilda Swinton and John Hurt. Not only their characters, but also their lines which are symbolic for the level this movie works on.

    You know how movie reviewers sometimes have to look for that perfect moment for a screen capture? A frame that is beautiful to look at and, without any motion or dialog, is able to give readers an idea of the movie's style? It must be a hell of a task for this film, because you could take such a frame from almost any of the scenes. It is in this consistently high quality, in any area, that the experience of Jarmusch as a filmmaker really shows. Every moment, every scene is carefully set up, perfectly composed and just beautiful to look at, like a picture in itself. Every word spoken is deeply meaningful, almost every sentence is a one-line word of wisdom or food for thought. Sounds are carefully used, as are the minimal musical snippets. Often, there is just a very poignant silence.

    I suppose that if you are trying to decide whether you are going to watch this movie, having heard what people say about it, you wonder whether you will be disappointed in the end, whether it will just be a succession of pointless scenes. This was also my concern, but I promise that you won't feel cheated in the end. I don't care for posh movies that try to be as "artsy" as possible just for the heck of it; "The Limits of Control" is genuinely entertaining, and it is as much a part of traditional cinema as it is a reflection upon it. It is a minimal thriller, a mystery feature in the true sense of the word. You will think, you will theorize, and you will simply enjoy taking in the sights and sounds. The dream-like feel, the questions, the thoughts will accompany you for a long time after you have left the theater.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    Jim Jarmusch's latest film is either going to strike you as brilliant or mind numbing and tedious. In a weird way its a return to the art house films from Europe in the 60's and 70's.

    The film begins with a man meeting two others who send him off on a mission of some sort. Along the way he sits drinks two espressos in cafés and meets people who sends him on to the next part of his trip. Its hypnotic and philosophical and more often then not, nothing happens.

    If it doesn't click with you you will want to turn it off or walk out of the theater or something depending upon how you're viewing it. If it does click with you it will be a great zen mediation on life, dreams, perception and finding patterns. I liked the film. I completely understand why the reviewers I read when the film had its brief theatrical run were split. This doesn't behave like films do now and it messed with some of their heads. I understand why the studio didn't give this as big a run as other of Jim Jarmusch's films because even by his standards its a bit atypical. For me its weird hybrid of Dead Man Waking Life and some of Werner Herzog's films, or at least sequences where he marries incredible music and image. What does the film mean? I don't have a clue. Its a strange film with an odd comic sense (everyone is always asking our hero "you don't speak Spanish, right?" in Spanish and then proceeding to talk to him at length. Its beautiful film that really belongs in a picture frame.

    I'm at a loss to explain it or my feelings towards it.

    If you're willing to go with the silence and the lack of explanation I recommend it at least as a rental.

    Its a trip.
  • the movie gives u something to think about all those philosophical and artistic quotes and theories they worth much but the thing that connect these meanings together is the movie itself it almost has a beautiful part of every art in it: architecture,literature,dance,painting,music,... in almost the same theme as the theme of the world witch movie shows this was just about the ideas but limits of control has a meaningful story behind it too but the point is it leaves u guessing and that s the beauty of it did u ever thought why old Indian movies don't rate good and they all seem stupid and childish its because even if u put aside the extremely exaggerated mixture of feelings they used it still has a major problem and that s the story line itself their ends are so much known and the story is so simple and plain witch even a 5 year old kid could predict and it gives you nothing to think about but the regret of the money that you threw out of your pocket that s why this movie deserves 7 in rating not 6.1...
  • Warning: Spoilers
    I rate this in the middle because it requires a rating. I really think most American viewers will find it very boring, as it comes across as an art film with very little dialogue which usually are one sided conversations. The photography is not noteworthy IMHO, but very consistent.

    One reviewer comments that the movie is about espionage. Perhaps in a very minimal way. The main character is a man who says very little. Often the only thing he says is the word "no." Always in response to "you don't speak Spanish, do you?" always the first question by a contact in a new city. The irony is that he is in Spain and they ask him in Spanish. Then they usually finish a monologue in English, which is an assumption that he understands. I think the opening phrase is merely a code phrase, not an odd coincidence.

    There is often a black helicopter within each city, identified at one point as the American.

    At the end of the movie, the American happens to be Bill Murray of all people whom the Man Who Speaks But Little kills him with a guitar string from an 90+ year old guitar. Bill Murray cries something about being brainwashed by Bohemian in art and music and reality seeming to be whatever the group the American represents is. The killer replies "reality is arbitrary."

    The Man Who Speaks But Little returns to his starting point and changes from his characteristic suits to casual warm-up clothes, does he signify the common man?

    Is this a message that the common man will overthrow the supposed control of world culture and media...showing both the limits of control that one group has upon art and thought? Does it simultaneously show the power or limits of control by the common man, or to limit the control over his perceptions and thoughts, the definition of art?

    I am not a student of film per se, but one of life. I found this movie quirky but interesting enough to sit through the repetitiveness, waiting for the moments that are different and sometimes seem random but are obviously not. There are definite existential themes throughout the movie, especially with the phrase "la vida vale nada" repeated several times, which apparently in Spanish means "life means nothing."

    If you enjoy analysis and interpretation of literature, theatre etc you may find a few hours of discussion about the meanings of this movie. This review is my own subjective interpretation. One user reviewer describes this as a Zen masterpiece. I'm not an expert in Zen but if it means contradiction, I would have to agree for I think the writer or director is saying this movie is about this and this and this but it is also about nothing. In Zen, it is said control is an illusion, which speaks to the title about the limits of control, the limits of illusion. The world is Maya, also translatable as illusion. Since the world is illusion, you need not worry over anything which happens within, only act as if it matters, meaning doing the right thing but do not let the outcome trouble your harmony.
  • At least Bill Murray had a way out. I didn't. First time in my life that a movie made me wish for a nice, fat cyanide capsule to end my suffering. It wasn't even "funny" bad, like Lesbian Vampire Killers, or Adventureland.

    Without giving anything away, as a viewer, you find yourself sitting there with question marks over your head wondering how on earth anyone secured funding for something like this AND how someone could actually get PAID to write it.

    No beginning...no end. And mindless drivel in between.

    It was just bad bad bad. Sorry.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    The plot of this film develops like good minimalist music. A pleasant tune repeated over and over with minor variations. For a film such as "The Limits of Control", the number of repetitions may seem excessive, but they are essential in building a subtle interpretation that crystallizes at the end. At every repetition a different actor or actress interacts with the hero. Notice their continent or country of origin: African, Haitian, French, Spaniard, English, Japanese, Mexican, Palestinian, even an American. I may have gotten some of the nationalities wrong, but the crucial point is that they represent a diverse sampling of the world population. What do they have in common? They are all working together for a common purpose. Their enemy is revealed at the end. Arrogant, imperialistic, trying to control everyone and everything on this earth. Its symbolic representations in the film may not be picked up early on, but by the end one can easily replay its omnipresence right from scene one.

    It should be easy to understand the political message before the curtains come down, but just to be sure, the final call to arms that accompanies the credits makes obvious the film's anarchist leaning. In this there is a delightful irony. For a story whose overarching philosophy is the destruction of excessive control in the world, the minimalist plot development is controlled to a precise degree. The steely hero is a model of self-control, precise habits, and consistent suits. Each stage in the travels of the hero is almost a replay of the previous state: the same two espressos, the same Boxeur matchbox but for alternating red and green, the same hiding place for secret messages, the similar three lined letters-and-numbers coded message, the same method of disposing of the message, the same introductory question and similar subsequent culture-laced monologue we eventually come to expect from each co-conspirator cameo.

    Superimposed on this repetitive structure are the cultural references. Some are clearly meant to be humorous and subject to additional interpretation. The best for me what a wig wearer who uses a skull to hold the wig when not in use. A camera close up reveals this to be the cadaverous head of Andy Warhol.

    Art plays a part. Our hero is a museum goer. It is natural to suspect that each visit to the museum to see one particular work of art whose subject matches a prop that will be used to contact the next co-conspirator serves a purpose. Are these part of the secret instructions? I think the answer is given by the last visit to the museum. The piece is a white sheet covering an underlying canvas. We don't know what is painted on that canvas. We only see the white sheet. Precisely! There is nothing that needs to be seen. That's the point for that stage in the film. Well done!

    There are bits of cinema commentary that I saw as poking fun at Hollywood. The multiplex crowd expects James Bond to get in bed with the first beauty that crosses his path; our hero does not do sex while working. The same crowd wants guns to be used; our hero dumps the only gun in the film in the trash bin. The crowd cares to see the hero fight to get his quarry; our hero never fights, corners his quarry with imagination and we never see how he does it. The crowd is thrilled by lots of silly threatening dialogue and much action before good vanquishes evil; our hero is terse and wastes little time. The typical Hollywood villains have to be at least equal and often more cunning than the good guys so that the battle is suspenseful; our villain is a bumbling fool who gets trapped by his own paranoia-driven security apparatus. And so on. It's the anti-Hollywood film par excellence. No wonder it does not do well with that crowd.

    Commentary on cinema culture is also there. When a cell phone rings inside the bag of a co-conspirator, our hero takes the phone, throws it on the floor and stomps on it. Ah, quiet! I wish I could do the same to all the electronic gadgets with their bright screens that more and more people are using during movie screenings.

    In short, there is more than meets the eyes here. The film is made enjoyable by the need keep track of three components. One, the easiest, following the plot, which is simple and advances slowly. Two, picking up the political message, which is mostly done late. Three, deciphering the asides and symbolic clues that are peppered throughout.

    If that were not enough, add to the overall enjoyment superb cinematography and delectable music. And don't be upset by the occasional pessimist view on the human condition. When the guitar player concludes his monologue with "La vida no vale nada," you'll come to understand it later. (And by way there is no accompanying legend.)

    A final word for those cinephiles in the Third World. Remember how you felt at the end of the closing scene of the film "Queimada", when Brando gets it? "The Limits of Control" will make you relive it.
  • In my opinion Jim Jarmusch is developing to the star of abstract film. Although if he does it not in such a unsettled way for example Lynch does. But he also left behind a perplexed audience. Also in this new work in which the viewer get the possibility to make own interpretations and analyses. The speechless Isaach De Bankole get an inscrutable order from an intransparent Spanish speaking principal. And even if our protagonist don't speak Spanish it seems that he absolute understand the meanings of the Spanish mottoes he's confronted with by having contact with his meetings the whole movie. Jarmusch shows in this movie his appreciation for aesthetic and his role as a style icon, too. The stage design with his forms and colours and also Jarmusch's sense for outstanding film locations makes you breathless. Especially is that he construct his atmosphere basically with fixed cameras and actually extreme reduced camera work. But this is at least also nothing new about Jarmusch as the mono-/dialogues few and far between but because of that very rich in content. This film is typical Jarmusch and because of that a must for fans of his work.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    This movie tried much too hard. There was zero effort to make it anything more than a few pretty moving pictures of landscapes and cityscapes. The rest is for wannabe artist/filmmakers.

    There was no depth to the movie, though it seemed to try and impress upon you that there was. Though the main character has physical and facial presence, it was not nearly enough to keep me from sitting on the edge of my seat waiting to get up.

    If you insist on watching, stick with the first scene, then skip ahead to about 20 minutes from the end; you may be slightly happier that you didn't waste two VERY LONG hours.

    Also, feel free to watch the movie on mute. You won't miss a thing, I promise. Even better, watch it at 1.5x speed, you won't even notice.
  • If you're looking for a great story, you'd better go read a book. If you think you can make up your own story, maybe you can watch this film. Before I saw it, I looked for reviews on the net. People spoke about too little dialogue, slowness and even misuse of great actors. So I was a bit prepared and knew what I could or could not expect. This wasn't bad, but after watching it and reading some reviews again, it became very clear to me that this film is very personal. Even some Jarmusch fans seemed to have trouble with the film. But to me, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I like films who really use the imagery instead of just trying to tell a story. To me that's the whole purpose of a movie; visual composition, beautiful color, appropriate music and great characters. And it's not so important if you don't get the characters or understand what they say, as long as you feel it's a part of their character. It's like a picture of someone you don't know, and you make up your own story about them. The dialogues are short, yes, but that only adds to the fact that you can add more of your own imagination to the characters. And still, the dialogues were interesting enough to me, but like I said it's really personal. It's probably very important how you feel, where you stand in life, and what you think the priorities are. But to me everything came together. I've been waiting very long for something special like this. I would give it a ten, but you never know what's coming around the corner.
  • Warning: Spoilers
    Broken Flowers is one of the best movies of the last years. It was slow, had a gentle story, played with the imagination of the audience, was concentrating on beautiful pictures and at every moment showed a tough piece of reality.

    And now this: Jim Jarmush makes himself look like a 20 year old student who is staggering through a few fragments of new ideas, creating unnecessary (bohemian) figures, that approach the main character out of nowhere, babble about art, science, movies, music and all follow the same uninspired scheme. I had to wait 40 minutes to get the "riddle" resolved - of course, it is imagination that finally kills the evil realist, who comes along like a mixture of a modern financial mafia guy. Or is it the inner imagination struggling against the coldness of the own pragmatic, realistic personality? Isn't that a plot we have seen numerous times before - in much better films?

    The whole thing tries to be subtle and is so blunt and boring, that it is unbelievable that it was made by the same person who did Dead Man, Ghost Dog, Broken Flowers.

    I am disappointed. And bored. And currently I do not know, which is the worse feeling of the two.
  • I really enjoy some of Jim Jarmusch's work (Night on Earth, Mystery Train and Dead Man), and I thought that I would like this film based on the story (or lack thereof) and the soundtrack, however, I was quite disappointed. The film is very slow, and while this can work and be beneficial to the plot, I think that it dragged on far too long in this instance. There was a lot going on visually, which made up for the slowness to a degree, but it seemed as if there was too much time to take it all in. I felt myself noticing the same things over and over in various shots/scenes, because there wasn't anything else to do besides look, which made me feel like I was staring at the film more so than actually watching it.

    As for the soundtrack, I am a fan of some of the artists on it (Boris, Sunn, Earth, etc.), which is part of the reason I wanted to see this film initially. Because these bands can have a very slow, droney sound, I was very interested to see how the mood of the music would work with the tone of the film. I expected the two to compliment each other, but instead, the soundtrack just made everything drag on. Because the film progressed as such a slow pace, I assumed that it was leading up to a grand climax, but the film's culmination barely stood out.

    I will say that I admired the film from a technical aspect, and I enjoyed seeing some familiar faces from Jarmusch's earlier work, but I don't think I'll ever watch it again.
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