Most people visit the cinema, so the perceived wisdom goes, to escape from reality, for a dose of escapism; hence the popularity of superhero movies and the ongoing expansion of the Star Wars and Harry Potter franchises. Yet, with the calming, spacious, and exquisite Paterson, Jim Jarmusch’s second feature film of the year, we have a work of pure escapism and fantasy, a paean to humbleness and normality, and it’s a normality that is fast disappearing if it ever existed at all.
Paterson stars Adam Driver as a bus driver called Paterson, who lives in the town of Paterson, New Jersey. We follow him through a week in his life as he goes through his routine day by day. Paterson is also an unpublished poet, writing verse in his spare time, whilst his artistically and musically-inclined partner Laura (Golshifteh Farahani) encourages him to make copies. The two live in a comfortable little house and are happy and content; they don’t appear to have financial trouble (although Paterson raises a quizzical and worried eyebrow when Laura informs she’s bought a guitar for a couple of hundred dollars) or indeed any kind of inner emotional turmoil or frustration. It is the kind of ideal life that many of us pine for; for all of humanity’s greed and avarice, the vast majority of us do not desire anything more than a nice home, security, and the presence of someone we love. Does it have to be so complicated? Jarmusch says no.
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The entire film is, in effect, a non-event. The most exciting thing that happens is that at one point Paterson’s bus breaks down. Repetition, rhymes (both visual and lyrical), and detail are what matters here. It’s there in the way Jarmusch shoots the opening scene of each day, with both Paterson and Laura in bed together. Every time a slight variation; sometimes they hug, sometimes they kiss, sometimes they’re spooning. It’s a sweetly drawn relationship, buoyant with genuine love (although occasionally it feels as if Laura is a bit underwritten, drifting into Manic Pixie Dream Girl territory at times). It’s there in the poems too, with the words drifting across the screen as Paterson writes them down, objects of simple wonderment at the world around him, messages of love and tenderness. It’s there in the constant presence of twins throughout the town of Paterson, a visual rhyme of its own punctuating the film.
Paterson is perhaps what one can call ‘drone cinema’, a slowly-paced film of moods and moments rather than narrative drive. It bears more in connection with minimalist and ambient music than it does with standard narrative-driven cinema and its perhaps the furthest Jim Jarmusch has gone down this path of sheer minimalism in his films thus far; only Stranger than Paradise (1984) and Coffee & Cigarettes (2003) come close. Even if you’re prepared for the relaxed nature of the film, Paterson does occasionally get too slow-paced, but nevertheless, this is a beautiful, idyllic poem of a film, by one of the great poetic directors.
words FEDOR TOT