Jarmusch and Murray create a deadpan full of genius

By George P. Hassett

    Bill Murray and Jim Jarmusch made their first marks on the big screen around the same time in the early 80s with two very different films. Murray made cineplex audiences laugh with his broad, dumbed-down performance in "Stripes" and Jarmusch made arthouse audiences smile with his slow-paced originally quirky comedy "Stranger than Paradise."

       Throughout the rest of his career, Murray had his share of hits ("Little Shop of Horrors," "Kingpin," "Quick Change") and misses ("Scrooged" "Mad Dog and Glory"), but it was not until new school hipster auteurs such as Sofia Coppola and Wes Anderson reached Hollywood that Murray’s deadpan approach to comedy found its niche. In "Lost in Translation" and "Rushmore," Murray fit in with the understated comedy nicely. In "Broken Flowers," he fits in perfectly.
        The film is Jarmusch’s fifteenth and fits in perfectly with Pauline Kael’s description of his previous work — "low key minimalist comedy about American anomie." He gives a nod to his past work with a plot revolving around cross-country travel, frequent aerial shots of food and drink, and long, meaningful, sometimes comedic silences.
        "Broken Flowers" opens just as "Stripes" did 24 years ago, with a frustrated woman (Julie Delpy as Sherry) leaving the immature Murray (he plays Don Johnston). This time Murray is  more pathetic with no wisecracks to offer from an aging Lothario unable, or uninterested, in keeping a woman.
On her way out, Sherry points out a pink letter on the floor. After a nap and a few drinks, Don opens the unsigned letter to learn he has a 19 year old son somewhere in America. Upon hearing the news, Don’s Ethiopian/aspiring detective neighbor Winston (Jeffrey Wright in a flawless, energetic performance) implores  Don to find his son.
          He says, "You must solve this mystery of what woman it was that you impregnated with your sperm twenty years ago."
          After Winston does some forensic work and Don makes a list of the possible suspects, our protagonist embarks on a roadtrip of his past to find his kin.
At this point, a hysterical film takes on a moral center and acquires its dramatic meaning. The tool — the deadpan.
         Many accounts credit Buster Keaton with inventing the deadpan. As a gesture it is amazingly unique: a work in negative space, a non-reaction to a reaction-begging event. It is a look for the seen it all age of the twenty-first century and, as the pose for a generation of wannabe hipsters, it can be little more than a gimmick for instant cool. But even in these wised-up years, on the face of a master, the deadpan can still bloom with life — revealing longing, love, sympathy, desire, or terror. A world class deadpan takes more than acting ability and is best borne by a face that looks like it has a story all its own. And if there’s one living virtuoso of this strange and dangerous form, it is without a doubt Bill Murray. And if there’s one director who can turn a wide-angle shot into a kind of directorial deadpan even Buster Keaton could be proud of, it is Jim Jarmusch.
        For the remainder of "Broken Flowers," Jarmusch and Murray’s deadpan approach gives both dramatic and comedic meaning to Don’s interactions with a hyper-flirty bikini-clad teen (Alexis Dziena), a pet psychiatrist (Jessica Lange) and a deceased ex-lover’s headstone.
         As Don moves through his past lives and loves, wisdom is imparted only implicitly. There are no special moments and  the mystery he is trying to solve only raises more questions.
         Filmed by Jarmusch without condescending to cliche, Murray’s one-sided conversation at the graveyard shows the growth in Don and is a reminder that some break-ups really are forever.