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#675 - Dead Man
Jim Jarmusch, 1995
After a timid accountant is mortally wounded during a shoot-out, he meets a Native American who intends to take him on a spiritual journey.
The main reason why the Western has proved such an easy genre to deconstruct over the past few decades is because the triumphant mythology surrounding brave pioneers and righteous lawmen didn't exactly reflect the harsher realities of life on the lawless frontier. Though old-school classics may have hinted at the darker side of the Wild West, they were still effectively constricted by an underlying dedication to championing the legendary side of things. John Ford's The Searchers is a prime example in how it tried to show how John Wayne's seemingly noble quest to rescue his niece from the Native Americans that murdered his other relatives was fraught with moral ambiguity and racist cruelty (to say nothing of the off-screen implications of rape and murder), yet it still couldn't help but play into the inherently exciting prospect of seeing cowboy icon Wayne swagger his way across the screen and conquer any threat with ease. Still, that was one of many films that ended up being steps towards more nuanced cinematic portrayals of the Wild West over the following decades. This brings us to Dead Man, a film by the notoriously idiosyncratic Jim Jarmusch. Jarmusch has worked in a variety of genres over the years as he's made movies about vampires, assassins, prisoners, and spies, yet his unique cinematic sensibilities can be felt across every single film he's ever made. Dead Man sees him take on the Western, and in doing so he makes what might just be his masterpiece.
An interminable prologue that takes place aboard an infernal-looking train introduces us to Bill Blake (Johnny Depp), a meek young man who is moving from Cleveland to the ominously named town of Machine in order to start a new job working as an accountant in a steel factory. Once he arrives in the filthy and miserable Machine, he soon discovers that the job that he was promised has been given to someone else instead. After being run out of the factory by its shotgun-wielding boss (Robert Mitchum), he hooks up with a flower girl (Mili Avital). However, her ex (Gabriel Byrne) stumbles in and opens fire on the two of them. Blake manages to kill Byrne, but not before getting a bullet lodged in his chest. After making his escape, he ends up being resuscitated by a Native American named Nobody (Gary Farmer). Nobody becomes convinced that Blake is actually English poet and painter William Blake and works to take him on a spiritual journey so as to return him to the spirit world (which, given the title and the bullet in the chest, doesn't really feel like much of a spoiler). Meanwhile, it is revealed that Mitchum is actually Byrne's father, which prompts him to hire three extremely vicious bounty hunters (Lance Henriksen, Michael Wincott, and Eugene Byrd) to track down Blake and kill him.
While many revisionist Westerns are unflinching in their portrayal of the frontier as an extremely grim and horrible place, few of them actually get under my skin as much as Dead Man does. There's no pastoral charm to the frontier town where the folks are miserable and one of the first things Blake sees upon his arrival is a man forcing a woman to service him at gunpoint. Even his dalliance with the kindhearted Avitil is short-lived thanks to the arrival of Byrne, and even then he's not so much a moustache-twirling villain as an incredibly depressed and lonely (but still homicidal) person who seems to welcome the incompetent Blake taking several shots to actually hit him. Even Blake's trip into the wild with Nobody, who is more or less the only friend he's got despite their initial friction, is tempered with unease as he soon realises that there's a price on his head. He may not personally be aware of the bounty hunters hired to kill him, but the film is definitely sure to check in on their activities from time to time anyway. In doing so, it reveals that, while the loquacious Wincott and the stubborn Byrd are reasonably sane as far as hired killers go, Henriksen in particular is practically the incarnation of pure evil and stands out as the greatest monster in a film packed with horrible people. Even leaving aside the men tracking him, Blake also has to contend with the possibility that every single person he runs into during his trip through the wild is potentially dangerous regardless of whether or not they know about the bounty. Also, the violence tends to be ugly and senseless in a way that defies simple glorification (though it does make something of an exception for Blake and Nobody since they are the closest this film gets to having heroic characters).
Considering Jarmusch's tendency to depend on characterisation in lieu of plot, it's a good thing that he's stacked the cast with some great actors. Depp gives one of his best performances here, selling Blake's progression from hapless city-slicker to confident outlaw extremely well through soft vocals and polite desperation. Farmer carries the film well as he plays a character who admittedly doesn't have much of an arc outside of his quest to help Blake reach the spirit world, but he proves such a charismatic foil to the uncharacteristically understated Depp. Nobody gets more backstory than Blake himself as he describes things such as his traumatic upbringing that involves being shunned by his people and paraded around as a noble savage by the white man. Their odd-couple chemistry is magnificent even though the bulk of the dialogue comes from the extremely talkative Nobody. While most of the film concerns their travails alone, the rest of the cast is still pretty solid even though several actors only get a scene or two. In his final acting role, Western veteran Mitchum is still capable of channeling considerable menace as a ruthless industrialist who will aim a shotgun at anyone who dares to challenge his authority and who is so thoroughly business-minded that his contract on Blake even prioritises the recovery of the horse that Blake stole. Weather-beaten character actor Henriksen proves a chilling presence as the extremely determined and sadistic bounty hunter, while the gravel-voiced Wincott proves a darkly amusing foil as he also seems incapable of shutting up (which I suppose makes them very evil counterparts to Blake and Nobody). Recognisable actors will show up in the smallest of roles - John Hurt plays Mitchum's sycophantic subordinate, Crispin Glover plays a prophetic train engineer, and Alfred Molina plays a gleefully racist missionary. There's even an trio of deranged fur trappers played by Billy Bob Thornton, Jared Harris, and Iggy Pop, whose one scene together aptly demonstrates the film's very off-kilter sense of humour.
As far as technique goes, Dead Man is still a sublime piece of work. Jarmusch once again teams with Robby Müller (who is responsible for shooting quite a few of my favourite films) to create a deliberately monochromatic portrait of the West that makes excellent use of stark balance, whether it's showing the chugging of a steam engine or the stillness of pale forests and gloomy skies. Even the film's approach to violence is depicted in a variety of styles that range from the darkly comical (such as the scene with the fur trappers) to the surprisingly righteous (any time Blake shoots somebody) to the genuinely disturbing (the infamous "religious icon" scene, which still makes me cringe a little in its brutality). The episodic nature of the film is reflected in the use of scene transitions that involve fading to black, which only adds to the film's dreamlike pace. Of course, I don't think anything defines Dead Man quite as much as the guitar score by legendary musician Neil Young. Though it's arguably not to everyone's tastes, it doesn't really matter. The largely-improvised guitar work shifts between acoustic melancholy and electric noise at the drop of a hat and appropriately accentuates the grim mix of humour and existentialism that makes the film work.
Dead Man does have moments where it threatens to grow a little too slow and maudlin for its own good, but it never stays that way for long as it traces Blake's bizarre odyssey through a Wild West that is very far removed from your average John Wayne film or even your average Clint Eastwood film. It says a lot about Jarmusch's oblique style of both writing and directing that a film as brutal and ponderous as Dead Man can actually be considered one of his more accessible pieces of work. Though it may work to depict the frontier as a living hell in more ways than one, there are still many moments of poignancy scattered throughout. The film is buoyed by a stellar cast, with Depp and Farmer proving a great pair of leads around which a revolving door of impressive performers can orbit. Other great collaborators appear behind the scenes as Müller provides some sublime cinematography that is capable of capturing desolation and beauty in equal measure, while Young's cacophonous score really does make for one of the greatest soundtracks I've ever heard. I definitely consider it one of my favourite Westerns and with good reason - it not only offers something different, but it offers it with brilliance.
Jim Jarmusch, 1995
After a timid accountant is mortally wounded during a shoot-out, he meets a Native American who intends to take him on a spiritual journey.
The main reason why the Western has proved such an easy genre to deconstruct over the past few decades is because the triumphant mythology surrounding brave pioneers and righteous lawmen didn't exactly reflect the harsher realities of life on the lawless frontier. Though old-school classics may have hinted at the darker side of the Wild West, they were still effectively constricted by an underlying dedication to championing the legendary side of things. John Ford's The Searchers is a prime example in how it tried to show how John Wayne's seemingly noble quest to rescue his niece from the Native Americans that murdered his other relatives was fraught with moral ambiguity and racist cruelty (to say nothing of the off-screen implications of rape and murder), yet it still couldn't help but play into the inherently exciting prospect of seeing cowboy icon Wayne swagger his way across the screen and conquer any threat with ease. Still, that was one of many films that ended up being steps towards more nuanced cinematic portrayals of the Wild West over the following decades. This brings us to Dead Man, a film by the notoriously idiosyncratic Jim Jarmusch. Jarmusch has worked in a variety of genres over the years as he's made movies about vampires, assassins, prisoners, and spies, yet his unique cinematic sensibilities can be felt across every single film he's ever made. Dead Man sees him take on the Western, and in doing so he makes what might just be his masterpiece.
An interminable prologue that takes place aboard an infernal-looking train introduces us to Bill Blake (Johnny Depp), a meek young man who is moving from Cleveland to the ominously named town of Machine in order to start a new job working as an accountant in a steel factory. Once he arrives in the filthy and miserable Machine, he soon discovers that the job that he was promised has been given to someone else instead. After being run out of the factory by its shotgun-wielding boss (Robert Mitchum), he hooks up with a flower girl (Mili Avital). However, her ex (Gabriel Byrne) stumbles in and opens fire on the two of them. Blake manages to kill Byrne, but not before getting a bullet lodged in his chest. After making his escape, he ends up being resuscitated by a Native American named Nobody (Gary Farmer). Nobody becomes convinced that Blake is actually English poet and painter William Blake and works to take him on a spiritual journey so as to return him to the spirit world (which, given the title and the bullet in the chest, doesn't really feel like much of a spoiler). Meanwhile, it is revealed that Mitchum is actually Byrne's father, which prompts him to hire three extremely vicious bounty hunters (Lance Henriksen, Michael Wincott, and Eugene Byrd) to track down Blake and kill him.
While many revisionist Westerns are unflinching in their portrayal of the frontier as an extremely grim and horrible place, few of them actually get under my skin as much as Dead Man does. There's no pastoral charm to the frontier town where the folks are miserable and one of the first things Blake sees upon his arrival is a man forcing a woman to service him at gunpoint. Even his dalliance with the kindhearted Avitil is short-lived thanks to the arrival of Byrne, and even then he's not so much a moustache-twirling villain as an incredibly depressed and lonely (but still homicidal) person who seems to welcome the incompetent Blake taking several shots to actually hit him. Even Blake's trip into the wild with Nobody, who is more or less the only friend he's got despite their initial friction, is tempered with unease as he soon realises that there's a price on his head. He may not personally be aware of the bounty hunters hired to kill him, but the film is definitely sure to check in on their activities from time to time anyway. In doing so, it reveals that, while the loquacious Wincott and the stubborn Byrd are reasonably sane as far as hired killers go, Henriksen in particular is practically the incarnation of pure evil and stands out as the greatest monster in a film packed with horrible people. Even leaving aside the men tracking him, Blake also has to contend with the possibility that every single person he runs into during his trip through the wild is potentially dangerous regardless of whether or not they know about the bounty. Also, the violence tends to be ugly and senseless in a way that defies simple glorification (though it does make something of an exception for Blake and Nobody since they are the closest this film gets to having heroic characters).
Considering Jarmusch's tendency to depend on characterisation in lieu of plot, it's a good thing that he's stacked the cast with some great actors. Depp gives one of his best performances here, selling Blake's progression from hapless city-slicker to confident outlaw extremely well through soft vocals and polite desperation. Farmer carries the film well as he plays a character who admittedly doesn't have much of an arc outside of his quest to help Blake reach the spirit world, but he proves such a charismatic foil to the uncharacteristically understated Depp. Nobody gets more backstory than Blake himself as he describes things such as his traumatic upbringing that involves being shunned by his people and paraded around as a noble savage by the white man. Their odd-couple chemistry is magnificent even though the bulk of the dialogue comes from the extremely talkative Nobody. While most of the film concerns their travails alone, the rest of the cast is still pretty solid even though several actors only get a scene or two. In his final acting role, Western veteran Mitchum is still capable of channeling considerable menace as a ruthless industrialist who will aim a shotgun at anyone who dares to challenge his authority and who is so thoroughly business-minded that his contract on Blake even prioritises the recovery of the horse that Blake stole. Weather-beaten character actor Henriksen proves a chilling presence as the extremely determined and sadistic bounty hunter, while the gravel-voiced Wincott proves a darkly amusing foil as he also seems incapable of shutting up (which I suppose makes them very evil counterparts to Blake and Nobody). Recognisable actors will show up in the smallest of roles - John Hurt plays Mitchum's sycophantic subordinate, Crispin Glover plays a prophetic train engineer, and Alfred Molina plays a gleefully racist missionary. There's even an trio of deranged fur trappers played by Billy Bob Thornton, Jared Harris, and Iggy Pop, whose one scene together aptly demonstrates the film's very off-kilter sense of humour.
As far as technique goes, Dead Man is still a sublime piece of work. Jarmusch once again teams with Robby Müller (who is responsible for shooting quite a few of my favourite films) to create a deliberately monochromatic portrait of the West that makes excellent use of stark balance, whether it's showing the chugging of a steam engine or the stillness of pale forests and gloomy skies. Even the film's approach to violence is depicted in a variety of styles that range from the darkly comical (such as the scene with the fur trappers) to the surprisingly righteous (any time Blake shoots somebody) to the genuinely disturbing (the infamous "religious icon" scene, which still makes me cringe a little in its brutality). The episodic nature of the film is reflected in the use of scene transitions that involve fading to black, which only adds to the film's dreamlike pace. Of course, I don't think anything defines Dead Man quite as much as the guitar score by legendary musician Neil Young. Though it's arguably not to everyone's tastes, it doesn't really matter. The largely-improvised guitar work shifts between acoustic melancholy and electric noise at the drop of a hat and appropriately accentuates the grim mix of humour and existentialism that makes the film work.
Dead Man does have moments where it threatens to grow a little too slow and maudlin for its own good, but it never stays that way for long as it traces Blake's bizarre odyssey through a Wild West that is very far removed from your average John Wayne film or even your average Clint Eastwood film. It says a lot about Jarmusch's oblique style of both writing and directing that a film as brutal and ponderous as Dead Man can actually be considered one of his more accessible pieces of work. Though it may work to depict the frontier as a living hell in more ways than one, there are still many moments of poignancy scattered throughout. The film is buoyed by a stellar cast, with Depp and Farmer proving a great pair of leads around which a revolving door of impressive performers can orbit. Other great collaborators appear behind the scenes as Müller provides some sublime cinematography that is capable of capturing desolation and beauty in equal measure, while Young's cacophonous score really does make for one of the greatest soundtracks I've ever heard. I definitely consider it one of my favourite Westerns and with good reason - it not only offers something different, but it offers it with brilliance.