The Limits Of Control (15)

JAPANESE undertakers, miserable hookers, and giant, horned heffalumps who carry off little children to a strange land across the sea.

It's not exactly what you'd call a mainstream week at the movies.

But making that lot look like so many Sandra Bullock romcoms is this insane, borderline-unwatchable effort from Jim Jarmusch. Because - brace yourselves - it's a crime thriller with the crime and thrills taken out.

A nameless hitman (Issach De Bankolé) goes to Spain to bump off a nameless American who may or may not be a gangster (Bill Murray).

On the way he meets a nameless white-haired woman (Tilda Swinton), a nameless guitar player (John Hurt), and a few other tube-a-loops who pass on cryptic clues before yakking about molecular physics or the nature of language, just to lighten the mood.

Otherwise, Issach sits about drinking espressos or visits an art gallery. In his hotel room, there's a stunning naked woman (Paz de la Huerta). She lies on the bed alone while our hero practises his Tai Chi next door. It's that kind of film.

And whenever anything exciting's about to happen - like when Issach defeats about ten armed hitmen to break into Bill Murray's lair - the movie skips it.

TLOC looks cooler-than-thou and the edits are timed to the nearest millisecond, so if you're a massive film geek you might get something out of the craft of the thing. But Jarmusch is so far up his own bum here, he can see tonsils.

"Part of me wanted to make an action film with no action in it, whatever the hell that means," explains Jim in the notes. What it means for us is a ruddy boring two hours in the cinema, matey.

OUT FRIDAY 11th DECEMBER

This article has 0 comments