Bill Murray has officially entered his blue period. Starting with Wes Andersons brilliant Rushmore and peaking with Sophia Coppolas Lost in Transition, the former Saturday Night Live actor has traded his caustic sarcasm and goofy irreverence for somber minimalism. Passive silence, blank stares and subtle expressions of amused weariness have become Murrays new stock-in-trade. Remarkably, he remains as entertaining as ever, communicating more with the shift of an eyebrow than most actors can with their whole bodies.
Jim Jarmuschs melancholy road movie Broken Flowers is a deadpan love letter to Murray, creating a wistful and mildly comic portrait of a man whose reluctance to grow has left him lonely.
Murray plays Don Johnston (insert obvious joke here), a retired, wealthy computer entrepreneur whos become a highbrow couch potato. A one-time lothario, he now winces at comparisons to Don Juan, yet compulsively watches films about the Spanish seducer. When his girlfriend (Julie Delpy) walks out on him with the declaration, Im like your mistress, except youre not even married, Don, ever a victim of inertia, does nothing to stop her. When he receives an anonymous pink letter from a past lover warning him not to be surprised if a 19-year-old shows up claiming to be his son, he barely reacts. Instead, he shares it with his neighbor, Winston (the charming Jeffrey Wright), an amateur sleuth, who enthusiastically embraces the letter like a good whodunit. Winston urges Don to compile a list of likely suspects (i.e. old flames) then assembles a cross-country itinerary to find the culprit. Reluctantly, Don sets out to reconnect with his old girlfriends and solve the mystery.
What follows is a journey through his past. In four succinct vignettes, Don travels the country and reconnects with old paramours, each less happy to see him than the one before.
His exes are, as you might expect, all very different. Laura (Sharon Stone) is a NASCAR widow and organizes closets for a living. Struggling to rein in her flirtatious teenage daughter, Lolita (whos as brazenly sexual as her name implies), she welcomes Don with an easy warmth. Frances Conroy (Six Feet Under) plays Dora, an ex-hippie turned suburban real estate agent. Along with her cheerfully shallow husband (the always terrific Christopher McDonald) she lives in a sterile subdivision, peddling colorless prefab mansions. Third on Dons list is animal communicator Carmen (Jessica Lange). Once an ambitious lawyer, now a pretentious pet therapist, she curtly rebuffs Dons invitation to dinner (I dont ... eat) while her hostile assistant and lover (Chloë Sevigny) looks on. Finally theres white trash Penny (Tilda Swinton), who reacts to Dons appearance with anger and violence.
Though their characters are little more than thumbnail sketches, all four actresses are in top form. Their brief interludes with Don are effectively weighted with history and unspoken emotions.
Oddly, Don never outright asks any of the women if she sent the letter, instead looking for clues. Even in the center of his own mystery he takes the path of least resistance and avoids confrontation. Though his quest offers no definitive answers, recognition of his past mistakes begins to take hold and small epiphanies begin to blossom.
If it all sounds overly nihilistic or maudlin, keep in mind this is a Jim Jarmusch film. Methodically paced but never dull, the director understands how to milk silence for both dramatic and comic weight. His quirky sense of melancholy and low-key satire keep the film amusing, engaging and surprisingly affecting.
Murray provides a superb center to Dons aloofness, offering up a poignant deadpan performance. He delivers his lines with droll understatement and earns easy laughs with his impassiveness. When Don visits the grave of a long-dead lover, Murray overcomes a potentially mawkish scene with truly genuine emotion.
Though the films plot may disappoint some with its vague answers and open-ended conclusion, Broken Flowers is, at its core, a film filled with wry observations and a fragile wisdom. When asked to offer up words of advice to the younger generation, Don offers up a banal yet easily overlooked truth: The past is gone, the futures not here yet. All there is is now. Hackneyed as it may sound, in Murrays hands it seems like revelation.
Showing at the Maple Art Theatre (4135 W. Maple Rd., Bloomfield Hills; 248-263-2111).
Jeff Meyers writes about film for MetroTimes. Send comments to [email protected].
We welcome readers to submit letters regarding articles and content in Detroit Metro Times. Letters should be a minimum of 150 words, refer to content that has appeared on Detroit Metro Times, and must include the writer's full name, address, and phone number for verification purposes. No attachments will be considered. Writers of letters selected for publication will be notified via email. Letters may be edited and shortened for space.
Email us at [email protected].
Support Local Journalism.
Join the Detroit Metro Times Press Club
Local journalism is information. Information is power. And we believe everyone deserves access to accurate independent coverage of their community and state. Our readers helped us continue this coverage in 2020, and we are so grateful for the support.
Help us keep this coverage going in 2021. Whether it's a one-time acknowledgement of this article or an ongoing membership pledge, your support goes to local-based reporting from our small but mighty team.
Join the Metro Times Press Club for as little as $5 a month.
Subscribe now to get the latest news delivered right to your inbox.