The Limits of Control – Review

The old saying of “watching paint dry” when referred to a movie seems inappropriate. Paint, when applied to a surface, is just there to coat, drying quietly. A film moves, whether it’s involving or boring, it still moves from one scene to the next. So applying that old saying just doesn’t work. Jim Jarmusch is an art film darling, but his new film The Limits of Control is a painful exercise in rolling wall paper, my new term when referring to such films like this. I doubt if anyone can fully understand the film’s plot.

I’d like to think I’m not simple, that I can understand complex films, and I think or hope you readers can say the same thing. This film is meander towards the point of absolute boredom, a task that might drive most to sleep or out of the theater. Sad, because I will admit there is something going on, that piques my interest every once in a great while in the films 118 minutes. Running on plenty of ‘what the f—’ moments, the film follows a nameless man send on some tasks gathering clues for, I guess, some sort of assassination mission. His encounters with random nameless clue givers ,offer a chance at plot development or characterizations, but we get none. The overall arc isn’t bothered. All of this is a shame as it could have been an existential Bourne Identity type of spy film, but it’s so soulless and emotionless. That maybe is the point, but one should have to fight the Sandman in order to figure it all out..

I really like Isaac De Bankole in almost everything I see him in. I think he’s long overdue for a breakout role and performance. I can feel it. Sadly, he’s talented enough to carry this film, but the film isn’t worthy of his skills, so nothing is salvageable here. The Limits of Control is such a odd film. I have seen great shots in this film, perhaps elements will stick with me and I will contemplate it. Or maybe, and I suspect I’m not alone, that there is just nothing here, an aimless ride for no reason. As pretty as it sort of is, seeing Jarmusch roll out this wallpaper, after awhile, it just gets old, as there is nothing to it all. It tries, but I think all of its art for art’s sake stuff, which is never deep to begin with, making this into one big, sloppy mess of confusing pretentiousness. I’m sure those New York art house fans will say something of its purpose, but just face it: The Limits of Control is just filmstrip white noise.

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