I saw Only Lovers Left Alive a week ago, but I am still trying to find the words to describe what I thought about it. On the way home, I looked to my friend and said, “Watching Jim Jarmusch’s films is like being rolled up in the coziest of blankets with someone you love whispering stories in your ear.” I don’t care whether there is a showy action scene, or an intricate plot. It’s about the experience and the characters; it’s an emotional photograph of slice of time.
I honestly don’t want to dissect the movie, or the acting, or the music, all of which are beautiful. I listened to a recent interview with Bobcat Goldthwait where he told of running into a teenage fan that told him that a movie he directed was his absolute favorite; he looked at the kid and told him, “well, I made it for you.” And he laughed as he spoke of the uncomfortable hug they then shared. There is a sense of this feeling with the really good independent artists. They know, and we know, that what they make is not for the masses, but they create for that moment they share with those few who see and appreciate the mastery that they possess.