The Brown Bunny

My first exposure to Vincent Gallo was a viewing of Buffalo '66 in my American Independent Cinema class senior year of college. I’m not sure exactly why it had taken me so long to see that film since I heard quite a bit about it. Yet there are only so many films a person can view and thus, Buffalo '66 stayed off my radar for a number of years. When I finally did see it, I was mesmerized. Many might disagree with me here but I think Vincent Gallo has a phenomenal charm about him. In some senses he could be considered a narcissistic filmmaker and the characters he plays are not always sympathetic or accessible. However, he’s very unique in physical appearance and the way he captures the world he inhabits both as a filmmaker and as a character is beautiful in its innocence, candor and simplicity.

At the same time my class was studying Gallo and his first film, Gallo’s sophomore film, The Brown Bunny, was garnering a great deal of exposure and criticism due to the now infamous sex scene between Gallo and Chloë Sevigny's characters at the end of the film. When it was first screened at Cannes, The Brown Bunny did not go over well with audiences. According to Gallo, he was pushed to show the unfinished (or rather uncut) version of The Brown Bunny against his better judgment. It is not surprising then that the film was not received well. Besides the sexual explicitness, viewers were bored to tears due to painfully lengthy sequences of almost no dramatic significance. These sequences would eventually be edited for the American release, although some might argue that even the edited version of this film is just one large painfully lengthy sequence of almost no dramatic significance.

I was not deterred by the criticism, however, and as luck would have it, my American Independent Cinema professor wasn’t either. I recall a conversation I had with him in which he told me, “I just want to see this movie because everyone else seems to hate it.” While that wasn’t necessarily my reasoning for wanting to screen the film myself, I did wonder what certain people’s aversion toward The Brown Bunny was all about. Did the sex scene ruin the entire viewing experience? Was the film so boring audiences simply could not find anything else redeeming about it?

As my taste in cinema has become more refined, I often find it necessary to go against the grain when I encounter a film the majority of people dislike. It becomes my own personal goal to find an element of that film that everyone else missed because I want to be one of the few who saw something unique.

So instead of taking a pass on The Brown Bunny because of what I had heard about it, I rented the film as soon as I could. When I first watched the edited version of The Brown Bunny at a very tolerable 93 minutes, it did feel like the film played a lot longer than that because the dialogue is extremely sparse and honestly, nothing really happens through much of the film. I can understand why audiences at Cannes were so angry and hostile being that the version they saw was just under two hours. While most of The Brown Bunny could really be cut if we were measuring the dramatic value of each scene, Gallo was able to recognize where he went overboard with the more monotonous sequences in the first version of the film. The opening scene of the motorbike racing, which was edited down a great deal, still feels lengthy but just lengthy enough to get the point without wanting to skip to the next scene or turn the film off entirely. Maybe some people would have given up on Gallo after that scene, but the strange repetitious beauty of it reeled me into the story. I also feel as though the scene takes on new meaning once the whole film unravels itself. But those are musings for a whole other analysis.

Watching The Brown Bunny was like being in a sort of dream state for an hour and a half. I felt myself floating along with the character of Bud Clay as he traveled across the country in his beat up old van. For anyone who’s ever taken a road trip, there’s a kind of hypnotic mysticism that occurs when you just sit back and absorb everything around you. The road seems to stretch out infinitely and while you are going somewhere, you could just as easily be going nowhere. You escape reality and are left with nothing but the open road and your own thoughts. For the viewer, the shots of Bud driving along lost highways and desolate terrain are peaceful, almost comforting. Yet for Bud, the open road is nothing but false hope. Bud is clearly plagued by a relationship he once shared with a woman named Daisy. Because we know they lived together in California and Bud is traveling to California, one can assume he is going back to find her. Something in their relationship must have gone awry because when Bud is alone with his own thoughts, he becomes distraught. He drives and drives in an attempt to fool himself that this journey will bring him back to a life he once had. However, the road mocks Bud. It is an illusion constructed in Bud's mind to help him avoid the pain and regret. He attempts to make emotional and physical connections with women along the way, yet these connections never last and he can only keep up the illusion for so long. The close-up images of Bud, lonely and haunted, are reminders that no matter how far he may drive, the past is never too far behind.

What I love about Vincent Gallo’s performance is how raw and unfiltered it is. While he may enjoy filming himself in states of melancholy and resentment, and for some people this is off-putting because it suggests a kind of pretension on his part, I am able to separate the director from the actor. I personally love to watch Vincent Gallo in states of melancholy and resentment because I consider them to be beautifully filmed and beautifully performed. Gallo has pure talent and he recognizes it. This is not such a bad thing. He is confident in his abilities as an artist, and that confidence comes out on the screen in the form of beguiling cinema.

Now, if you have heard of The Brown Bunny at all, you have most likely heard about it in conjunction with “the scene” in the hotel room. I’m not going to divulge any information about that scene in this review, however, because it is such a small aspect of the film in my opinion. I will say that it does stand out, not so much for its explicit sexuality, but more so because the scene is quite visceral while the film up until this point feels much more delicate and composed. The interaction between Bud and Daisy is messy and frustrating and while there is good reason for this, it is a difficult scene to watch when comparing it to the rest of the film which, for me, plays out like a bitter yet consoling Chopin nocturne. I think the scene has its place within the greater context of the film but it certainly should not be used as criteria for judging The Brown Bunny in its entirety. I will say that whether Gallo intended it or not, his decision to create this scene and consequently get everyone in the film community intrigued and disgusted was a brilliant marketing ploy. If this scene is the reason people see the film, then I am that much happier it was included in the final cut.

The viewing experience I had with The Brown Bunny was not unlike the one I had with Lost in Translation, another film that seemed to go over the heads of many people. Although much of the film is simply watching a character float through time and space, it is liberating to not see that character bound by narrative convention. Dialogue is rarely exchanged making what the characters do say to one another all the more acute and effective. It is minimal cinema, and it certainly takes some getting used to if you are only accustomed to the kind of filmmaking that puts audience expectations before artistic merit. What you can find in a film like The Brown Bunny or Lost in Translation is the filmmaker’s spirit, untainted and sincere. While there are a variety of films that could only be successfully executed with the contribution of thousands of crewmembers, there are films that succeed because they remain under the control and design of one individual. No external forces manipulated that filmmaker’s intentions for the film and therefore the end product becomes a true echo of the artist. To me, getting to witness that echo is a rare privilege.

I don’t begrudge anyone who disliked The Brown Bunny or finds Vincent Gallo to be a pompous, self-involved film snob. However, part of me does wish that people could recognize the power of art in its purest form. The Brown Bunny is not a series of Hollywood clichés strung together for the sole purpose of entertainment or profit. Gallo’s film is honest with its audience without fear of insulting it and consequently stands apart as one of the few cinematic breaths of fresh air.

Down By Law

Most classical Hollywood films take the approach that unless a scene contributes to the basic narrative of the film, whether through its dialogue or action, the scene is not worthy of cinematic attention. In other words, there is no room for anything that might be considered mundane or irrelevant to the audience. Therefore, if one were to sit down and watch a Jim Jarmusch film, it would immediately become evident that the world Jarmusch wants his audience to see steers from the path Hollywood has been paving for the past century.

Initially interested in writing, Jarmusch studied literature in New York and Paris. Jarmusch was exposed to world cinema while in Paris and when he returned to New York applied and was accepted to the graduate film program at NYU despite only submitting a writing sample. The school awarded Jarmusch the Louis B. Mayer fellowship but mistakenly sent Jarmusch the money instead of sending the school his tuition. Capitalizing on the school’s error, Jarmusch took the money and used it to finance his thesis film, Permanent Vacation. Jarmusch went on to make a half-hour short called Stranger Than Paradise, which would become his breakthrough feature film. The film won the Camèra d’Or at the 1984 Cannes Film Festival and the unexpected success of the film established Jarmusch as a principal player in the world of American independent cinema. Jarmusch followed up Stranger Than Paradise with another film that would explore the humdrum lives of individuals seemingly indifferent to the worlds they inhabit. More than his choice of subject matter, the film’s specific style created an auteur in Jarmusch and many of the stylistic choices of the film would become staple elements in Jarmusch’s subsequent films.

In Down By Law, Jim Jarmusch utilizes the long take and depth staging as well as very deliberate character placement within the frame, and it is in these careful cinematic choices that Jarmusch effectively illustrates the alienation and emotional discrepancies of his characters.

Jarmusch incorporates very little camera movement in Down By Law with the exception of several tracking shots interspersed throughout the film. The film opens with a variety of tracking shots of the bayou and streets of New Orleans. Robby Muller is responsible for the black and white cinematography, and the gritty murkiness Muller is able to capture in the film’s opening shots reflect the subdued and desolate tone of the rest of the film. In the prologue the audience is introduced to Zack, a sluggish DJ and Jack, a small-time pimp. The characters seemingly have nothing to do with one another, but what they do have in common is their personal attitudes and their relationships with women and this is established through the staging and framing of the first few scenes.

In Jack’s first scene he wakes up next to Bobbie, a black woman who we assume he has slept with only to walk outside and check on Julie, a white woman who has obviously spent the night there as well. She is seated in a rocking chair away from Jack and does not look at him as he speaks to her. He goes back inside and lies back down in the bed next to Bobbie. He faces her and wraps his arm around her while she, like Julie, faces the camera with her back toward Jack. She has a look of dismay on her face that strongly suggests detachment on her part.

After several more tracking shots the audience is introduced to Zack. He creeps into his apartment and looks off-screen. The next shot is framed at a low height so as to capture Laurette asleep on a mattress that is lying on the floor. The frame truncates Zack until he sits down onto the bed. The next shot frames Laurette from the side of the bed (the camera has moved 90 degrees) so she is now facing the camera and Zack is behind her. She looks toward the camera as Zack looks at her and just like the shot of Bobbie and Jack, there is a disconnection between Laurette and Zack. Through something as simple as camera placement and character placement, Jarmusch has immediately illustrated the social complexity of the film.

Following the opening titles of Down By Law, there are several more sequences involving Zack and Jack’s personal lives. The first sequences deal with their inability to communicate with the women in their lives. The first scene following the titles reveals Laurette in the process of throwing Zack’s things out the window of their apartment. The scene has four shots and each is framed in a way as to further illustrate the emotional distance between Laurette and Zack. The first shot frames Laurette in the foreground throwing Zack’s things while Zack sits apathetically in the background. Zack simply sits on the edge of the mattress and remains speechless as Laurette proceeds to destroy everything he owns. His presence in the scene is barely felt due to his inaction but it is further downplayed because Laurette is dwarfing him in the frame. The next shot frames Zack in the foreground as Laurette walks in and out of the frame until finally standing still, out of focus, in the background. She calms down and tries talking to Zack in a composed and understanding way, but he continuously turns his head and shifts his weight away from her. Eventually Laurette walks away from him and the scene cuts again. The camera has shifted about 180 degrees so that Laurette is facing the camera in the foreground and Zack is in the background with his back to her. Zack continues to be difficult with her until she snaps again and resumes the destruction and disposal of his things. It’s only when Laurette is about to throw one of Zack’s pairs of shoes out the window that Zack finally speaks up and tells her to stop. Both amusing and disheartening, the moment solidifies Zack’s complete selfishness and lack of concern for his relationship with Laurette.

This theme of alienation is further illustrated in the following scene between Jack and Bobbie. The scene is also cut into four shots and the camera repositions itself in the room similarly to the way it does in Zack and Laurette’s scene. The first shot frames Jack in the foreground at his desk counting money. Bobbie is in the background lying on the bed. She proceeds to talk about all of his flaws and Jack barely utters a syllable. He defends himself only by saying that he needs to have fun. Again there is the image of a character in the foreground with his back toward the person who is talking to him.

Jarmusch never inserts close-ups or even medium shots to heighten dramatic effect, and often the character that is commanding the scene is in the background and out of focus. What is important is the characters’ lack of command over one another and this is emphasized by the position of the characters within the frame. This tendency of characters to look away from one another and distance themselves from each other within the frame becomes a pattern that Jarmusch will utilize through repetition and variation throughout the remainder of the film.

There are several extreme long shots in Down By Law that, although brief, draw attention to themselves because of the way in which they are framed. Characters are often dwarfed by their surroundings and are positioned within the frame in a way that, if they hadn’t already been established as central characters in the film, would probably go unnoticed. An example of this kind of shot is when Zack approaches the liquor store. The shot is interesting not because of its shot scale but rather because Zack does not really appear to be the focus of the shot despite being the only human figure in the shot. The physical architecture of the buildings is what seems to dominate the frame as Zack is located in the far right background, and even in the following shot which cuts to a closer shot of Zack, the framing seems to favor the liquor store/bar. The top of the frame is positioned right above the doorway and window and because Zack is sitting on a trashcan at the bottom of the frame, there appears to be an inordinate amount of headroom in the frame. This is certainly unconventional framing but what it does for the scene is literally put Zack in his place. He is drunk, unemployed, alone, and his life lacks any real direction. In reality, Zack surely would not warrant attention or special treatment and Jarmusch respects and understands his character enough to realize that his camera should not behave any differently.

Once Zack and Jack are in prison together, Jarmusch again employs his earlier style of depth staging and character placement to establish the difficulty the two characters experience as they attempt to relate to one another. When Jack first arrives, he and Zack share a disagreeable moment when Zack attempts to trap Jack in between the bunks with his legs. Jack immediately pushes his way out and moves to the foreground of the frame. He is now on one side of the frame in the foreground while Zack is on the other side in the background and out of focus. The alienation and distance that was illustrated in earlier shots with similar framing becomes important here because immediately it is evident that the same kind of relationship exists between Jack and Zack. In a later scene, the same framing occurs again while Jack reveals to Zack a fantasy he has. Jack recites the monologue all while his back is turned to Zack. The exchange is unique because Jack is speaking about something important to him yet the person he is passing all of this onto is behind him in the background and out of focus. In other words, Jack isn’t really sharing anything with Zack.

The turning point of Down By Law both narratively and stylistically seems to come with the arrival of Bob. The framing changes significantly from this point on for the simple reason that there is now a third character. One of the most beautifully composed shots of the film occurs when Bob arrives and enters the cell. Jack and Zack are situated on opposite sides of the frame. They each have a black eye from a fight that occurred between them in the previous scene. On occasion they will look up at Bob but for the most part, Jack and Zack spend the scene slumped over and dejected. Bob speaks little English most of which consists of a variety of popular American catch phrases he attempts to use to describe his feelings. The humor of the situation is undeniable but ironically it has nothing to do with Bob’s inability to communicate properly. When the film finally introduces a character who is totally unconcerned with impressing the rest of the world, Jack and Zack’s constant desire to be cool, unattached, and aloof appears totally ridiculous by contrast especially as they sit at the edges of the frame beaten up and miserable.

In the scene when Bob attempts to get rid of his hiccups, he walks back and forth between Jack and Zack who are again at opposite sides of the frame. He suffers from an inability to get their names straight and it is here where the idea that Jack and Zack are interchangeable characters truly emerges. Their back-stories have given them individual identities, but strip all of that away and Jack and Zack are basically the same man. This makes it all the more amusing whenever they try to distance themselves from one another.

With each scene that passes, character placement becomes much less disjointed. When Bob and Zack share a scene, they face one another and when Bob and Jack share a scene they also face one another. One of the most important scenes in the film is the one in which the three men share their reasons for being in prison. The scene begins with Jack and Zack leaning against the gate of the cell looking outward. Bob is pacing in the background and as he is pacing, he looks at Jack and Zack almost as if he knows there is some unspoken rule about staying on opposite sides of the cell yet chooses to break the rule anyway. Rather than remain in the background, Bob positions himself in between Jack and Zack beside the gate. He also makes eye contact with each of them, which is subtle and seemingly trivial, but the immense lack of eye contact prior to Bob’s arrival makes it very refreshing. What is important about the scene is how repetition and variation of previously utilized cinematographic choices emphasize how much Bob’s presence has changed the course of the narrative.

Although there are several important examples of framing and staging that occur during and after the prison break, the one that stands out the most is the scene at the end of the film when Bob and Nicoletta dance together before Zack and Jack depart. The scene, taking place in the final moments of the film, presents an interesting contrast to the beginning of the film. In both Jack and Zack’s interactions with women, there was a coldness that existed and this was illustrated in the framing and staging of the scenes. In both cases, there was an inordinate amount of space between the man and woman and they rarely faced one another. Although this was frustrating to watch, the payoff becomes the interaction between Bob and Nicoletta in the dancing scene. Once again, depth staging is employed as Bob and Nicoletta dance in the foreground and Jack and Zack watch them in the background. Jarmusch is again commenting on a familiar composition by offering a variation on it. Now we have a male and female character sharing the same space, not only facing one another but also embracing one another. If there is any emotional distance felt in the scene it is by Jack and Zack who remain in the background, unable to experience what is on the other side.


Down By Law may be considered a slow-paced, uneventful and unconventionally stylized film, but with a little patience and careful scrutiny it is possible to fully realize and appreciate what Jarmusch is trying to communicate. Although the cinematography may appear minimal at first glance, it becomes clear when comparing shots to one another that each contains a specific importance in the greater context of the film. Jarmusch wanted to capture the true essence of human nature and the real world and more often than not, that involved depicting just how banal and uninspiring it can be. Yet, just like life, there are those subtle yet delightful moments that occur every once in awhile and suggest that there might be something more if you just look a little closer.

Welcome

I'm dedicating this blog to the review and analysis of film. I'd like to approach each film I watch in a fresh and unique way so that others may find some thought or idea of mine that inspires them to watch the film. Since most people have seen the majority of Hollywood releases that have come out in the past five years, I will try to steer away from those films. Instead, I will focus on foreign, classic, and independent films so that I can not only expand my own cinematic horizons, but also those of the lucky person who happens to stumble upon this blog. Enjoy.