The Limits of Control (2009)

Fucking Jim Jarmusch. He has a way in this film of making David Lynch seem a straight-forward storyteller, while at the same time channelling the early work of Richard Linklater or maybe its Quentin Tarrentino. It's hard to tell as they both have that same kind of feel, where the characters give little speeches and never really converse. Each line is shaped as art not as story.
I just can't believe I watched the whole thing, or that so many other people have - if the sheet of paper with dates stamped on it is an accurate representation of how many times this film has been watched in the last couple of years instead of just a record of how many times it's been checked out, at least 49 other people in the county have seen this film. I wonder how many of them "got" this movie? Did I get it? I'm not sure. I know what he was saying with it, but I'm failing to see the art as art, so I guess I don't get it, or at least don't get all of it. That's okay. I don't need to impress Jarmusch, at least not until he impresses me.

The Limits of Control on IMDB