Review of The Limits of Control (2009) by Katie S — 18 Nov 2009

As you might expect from a film so pared down its characters sport the barest of names (Swinton is credited as "Blonde", de Bankole the somewhat excessive "Lone Man"), and where the resident moll (Paz de la Huerta's "Nude") goes one better than her predecessor in "Kiss Me Deadly" by going naked under a clear plastic raincoat, Jarmusch's latest is founded on a principle of absolute transparency: the idea is that if you sit looking at something long enough, its true nature will reveal itself.

On a narrative level, "The Limits of Control" eventually transpires to be a version of that old, old tale about the employee of an organisation who realises he's been in the game too long, and wants to get out before it takes him down with it; the clue's in the name of Jarmusch's production company (Pointblank), but the director keeps us on hold for nearly two hours before he lets us in on this fact, as though he were determined to insert the word "still" between the first two words of the titles of all those "Bourne" films.

Such drollery is, of course, an acquired taste... if you were all hopped up and looking for a big night out, I can't see it doing a single thing for you, but it might go down rather well with anyone coming in off the High Street at the end of a tough day's gift-hunting.