In the comments section of my Down by Law review, those who claimed affection for that film usually noted that they preferred another Jim Jarmusch film even more. "I prefer Dead Man," said ingysdayoff. "I'll agree with another post and say that I think 'Dead Man' is superior," said Vormancian. And JackSommersby, never one to mince words, said, "While I haven't liked most of [Jarmusch's] films … his 1996 'Dead Man' remains one of my top-20 faves of all-time; it's that rare film that gets better and better every time you see it."

Vormancian even requested that I "Do 'Dead Man'" next. Well, how could I resist, after it received such glowing endorsements from three of this site's most excellent movie buffs?

Johnny Depp stars as William Blake (the name is not just a one-note joke, as we will soon see). He's heading from Cleveland to the prototypical Western town of Machine, to work for Dickinson Metalworks in a job that is anything but prototypically Western. He's an accountant by trade, clad in plaid suit and eyeglasses. His first scenes, on the train taking him cross-country, quickly establish the tone and style Jarmusch will employ for the rest of the film. They're made up of a seemingly endless montage of shots: Blake fighting sleep; Blake noticing the stares of the other passengers; Blake watching the countryside passing by as the train moves incessantly on. Eventually Crispin Glover turns up as the train's fireman, says some offbeat things as only he can, and turns Blake loose on what will become, literally and spiritually, his "end of the line".

Depp, in these early scenes, looks a lot like Mike Myers' 'Dieter' character. Which in a way dovetails nicely with the slyly nihilistic elements of the film (nihilistic, but not tongue-in-cheek nihilistic, which is where the Dieter resemblance fails). But he also reminded me of two of his better performances. That gently expressive face of his carries the character early on, as he doesn't say much, just as it did in his role as the silent-film obsessed loon in "Benny and Joon". And later, he has the typically Western arriving-in-town scene: walking the length of Machine's main street he passes a pile of coffins, skulls lying the street, a man getting head from a prostitute, and a score of dirty scoundrels (including, inexplicably, The Butthole Surfers' Gibby Haynes). You quickly realize, however, that Blake is too scared and grossly unfit for such dangerous territory. Much like his nervous Constable Ichabod Crane in "Sleepy Hollow". Only, unlike "Benny and Joon" or "Sleepy Hollow", Depp's character is not a source of comedy. He is, after all (or will be [or already is]), the titular dead man.

Eventually, Blake has an encounter with a lovely young woman (In one of the film's many side-themes, he asks her "Why do you have this [gun]?" "Cause this is America," she blithely replies. Somewhere, Michael Moore is smiling) which leads to two deaths. And William Blake finds himself on the run, being tracked by a vengeful posse.

How could this effete young man possibly survive such an ordeal with nobody's help? With Nobody's help, of course. Nobody, a giant Indian, finds Blake collapsed in the forest, bleeding from a gunshot wound. Quickly, he establishes himself as more than your typical mystical Native American: "Stupid fucking white man," he says, as his knife attempts to dig the bullet from Blake's chest (This is just one in a series of surprisingly violent moments: a jealous husband is shot in the neck; a corpse has its head squashed by a malicious boot; a neck is sliced with swift and brutal force. These moments are shocking and visceral, mainly because they are handled so matter-of-factly. Violence for these men, after all, is a part of life.)

Gary Farmer, as Nobody, is the film's big surprise. His Nobody is boorish, gluttonous, rude, and ragged. But, as you'd expect, he combines this with a soulfulness and a sense of mystery that, while often times confusing, make him an intriguing creation. Farmer and Depp have wonderful chemistry together, as the former drags (sometimes literally) the latter through the woods to salvation.

The Blakeian aspects of the film are best seen through the relationship between these two men. William Blake the former (artist, poet, jack-of-all-artistic-trades) had a troublesome relationship with God, whom he dubbed 'Nobodaddy': "Why art thou silent & invisible / Father of jealousy / Why dost thou hide thyself in clouds / From every searching Eye / … / Is it because Secresy / Gains females loud applause"? Nobody, who might be both a physical representation and a direct refutation of Blake's God-figure, is none of those things (except for that bit about "loud female applause"; Nobody certainly has an appetite for female flesh, and Farmer's one sex-scene is both touching and darkly comic). The fact that here he is both escort and teacher to Depp's Blake (and, in some ways, a huge fan of the man he mistakes for the writer) is a wonderful idea to build a film around. In contemporary terms, imagine a story where Darth Vader guides George Lucas to his final resting place, and you've got an idea of how powerful this tandem can be.

[If I were writing an analytical essay rather than a film review, I could explore this subject more deeply ("Some are born to sweet delight; some are born to endless night" says Nobody, on several occasions, quoting from Blake's 'Auguries of Innocence'). But I'll let these traits alone for now, and hope that the inquisitive viewer will seek them out on his/her own. Happy hunting.]

Besides Depp and Farmer, who carry the film, the rest of the cast is remarkably boy-heavy. A vast menagerie of Jarmuschian character actors peoples the background. Some show up for just one scene (the aforementioned Mr. Glover; also, watch out for cameos by Iggy Pop, Gabriel Byrne, Billy Bob Thornton, and Alfred Molina). More substantially, we get Lance Henriksen and Michael Wincott as a couple of proto-bounty hunters, John Hurt as the oily office manager who scoffs at Blake's insistence of employment, and Robert Mitchum as the befuddled and bereaved John Dickinson. The endless stream of familiar faces was almost distracting at some points; but Jarmusch was able to rein in his cast, and get good performances from just about everybody. Although I still can't figure out why Iggy Pop was dressed in a bonnet and evening gown.

Another famous musician fares much better. Neil Young's electric guitar swoons and soars over the proceedings. Sometimes his score sounds almost Morricone-esque, in the themes and melodies he creates; other times he opts for pure washes of sounds. But always, he is pure Neil Young, drenching beauty and soul from six-strings like only he can. I seem to remember hearing that much of Young's score was improvised and recorded as he watched the film for the first time, but this story is apocryphal. (On a more truthful note, Young and Farmer, a couple of good Canadian boys, cast long shadows over this film which tackles a classic American genre, the Western; always happy to give shout-outs to my countrymen)

Jarmusch's film is a tough sell for anyone longing for a coherent, stable story, and a clear plot from A to B. Instead, it meanders through its (under?)world, content to tackle existential issues as a means of justifying its existence. For example, its main character is both William Blake and not, at the same time. He travels across the country for a job that was never his to begin with. He's all at once dead and alive, and a traveler with Nobody while being a traveler with nobody. If this sounds confusing, I'll take the blame, for Jarmusch handles the film's more cerebral elements wonderfully, using its languid pace as a vessel to slowly introduce them, clarify them, and make them concrete. "Dead Man" may not be more pleasing to me than "Down by Law" (like it was for the other Mike, Marc, and Jack), but it is a wonderful nevertheless.

Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: DVD