Review: Broken Flowers
What is the difference between art and highfallutin’ crap? I’m not sure how to define it, but like a metal detector on a dime, I have a built-in bullshit-o-meter that goes off when an auteur tries to pass off one for the other.
My taste was admittedly weaned on the mainstream. I was raised on Top 40 radio and The Partridge Family. But as a fan of film and entertainment in general, I have worked to expand my experiences beyond the typical. When Harry Met Sally may be among my favourite films but so are Muriel’s Wedding, Amelie and Delicatessan. I’d much rather watch an offbeat British flick like Shaun Of The Dead than anything with Harrison Ford or Pierce Brosnan. You won’t catch me lining up for the next 300 million dollar Tom Cruise blockbuster.
Director and writer Jim Jarmusch happens to turn 53 today. Wray and I suffered through his latest release last night, Broken Flowers, the one that has supposedly generated so much Oscar buzz around Bill Murray. If seeming frightfully bored while learning one might have a teenage son one has never heard about before is worthy of an Oscar, then Murray is a shoo-in.
Jarmusch’s little tale about an aging Don Juan who goes off in search of the son he may or may not have, appealed to me. It sounded small and intimate and quirky. What it really is, is ponderous, flat and pointless. It’s as if Jarmusch went out of his way to highlight the moments in a story that can normally be assumed, like a plane flying through the sky, or Murray sitting still in his livingroom, presumably thinking, for an eternity. It’s not artfully done, it’s not beautifully shot, it’s not even well-written. But because Bill Murray continues to break out of the mold created by SNL and Caddyshack, the pretentious farts in the industry continue to applaud him, as if he’s a simple child who’s finally mastered Chopsticks on the piano. Bravo Billy! Way to go Billy, I’m so proud of you!!! You can sit still on camera forever without moving an eyelash! What great acting!
Broken Flowers. Broken movie. Rent The Last Casino instead. It’s Canadian. It’s not riding an unearned wave of buzz or getting the Hollywood elite to chatter. And its brilliance may surprise you.
