The Limits of Control (Jim Jarmusch, 2009)

 After several failed attempts to watch The Limits of Control, the latest from Jim Jarmusch, I was finally able to sit down at 1:30am a few nights ago and get through the film in its entirety. I now find myself troubled, as it begs for a repeat viewing - due primarily to its shear peculiarity. The plot is not hard to follow, as there really is not a whole lot to it. A great majority of the run-time is devoted to watching an unnamed protagonist (played marvelously by Isaach De Bankole) walking, riding in some form of transportation, or simply sitting and waiting - typically at a cafe and with two espressos in separate cups. This lone man is incredibly patient, always sharp, and rarely speaks at all. These would appear to be qualities that - when combined - strike the impression of a man who in absolute control.

Throughout his established day-to-day routine, this mysterious man encounters several unique but equally stupefying characters that seem to require special attention - a task that is not too arduous considering just how slowly the film toddles along. While it is not quite clear until near the end exactly what this lone man is on a mission to do, it is fairly easily inferred that he is an assassin en route to a target. What is not so readily understandable is why this man must go through such a ridiculously complex series of exchanges with so many peculiar individuals before finally reaching his ultimate destination.

I suppose that within these encounters lies the profound idea that Jarmusch constantly reaffirms throughout the entire film: everything is subjective; reality is arbitrary. The viewer can interpret these meetings and their significance in whatever way he/she chooses. In all truthfulness, the convoluted journey this man embarks upon in order to complete one (arguably) simple, brutal task is so extraordinary that it is plausible that the various figures he encounters are not real at all. Much of the narrative information is left entirely to the perspective of the individual viewer, including whether or not it occurs in reality and its significance.

The finale of the film puts this ideology to masterful use as the lone man stands before a heavily-guarded compound. Breaking with viewer expectations, Jarmusch does not show how the man manages to infiltrate the building. Instead, a simple cut is all that it takes for him to be sitting on a couch inside, waiting with inhuman patience. Shortly thereafter, a man - his target - enters the room and, after noticing the lone man's presence, asks: "How the fuck did you get in here?" The reply is quick, cool, and precise: "I used my imagination." Given the nature of the film itself, the viewer is inclined to accept this as the literal truth.

Whatever the case may be, it does not particularly matter. The only motivation behind the assassin's slaying of his target stems from what he is told in the beginning of the film before tackling his mission: "He who thinks he is bigger than the rest must go to the cemetery." There is no clear reason for murdering this man, nor is there any indication that it will make any difference in the world. Just like everything else in the film, these aspects are entirely subjective. You - the viewer - must decide.

It should be said that The Limits of Control is not a film that will appeal to everyone. It is slow, cryptic, and asks for a great deal of participation on the part of the viewer in order to be appreciated. At the same time, there is no grand message waiting to be extracted from the entire ordeal. Any and all meaning that the film has rests entirely with the viewer. Certainly this is a tricky concoction for a director to toy with, but I believe Jarmusch does it rather well. Regardless of what feelings one has by the time the credits roll, I do not believe it can denied that - as a spectator - being the one calling all the shots is both original and interesting. Like the lone man, the viewer maintains a control that knows no limits.