Review: Jim Jarmusch’s Stranger Than Paradise on Criterion Blu-ray

Jim Jarmusch’s sophomore feature, Stranger Than Paradise, established him as the No Wave scene’s breakout filmmaker. Like Glenn Branca did for music, Jarmusch successfully wrenched the stripped-down style that the movement was known for into something more refined. The filmmaker transposes the alienation inherent to No Wave’s scuzzy view of American society in general and New York City in particular into a more literal fish-out-of-water story by centering the perspective of a foreigner wandering through the city before sinking deeper into the country. When Eva (Eszter Balint) arrives in America from her native Hungary, we see her walking past faded façades of storefronts that show New York at its most anonymous. Adding to the sense of displacement is a scrawl of graffiti in the background that reads “U.S. out of everywhere! Go home!”—a bit of deadpan irony that defines the tone of the film, and indeed Jarmusch’s filmography at large.

Eva, bound for Cleveland to live with an ailing aunt, first stops by the flat of her cousin, Willie (John Lurie). Her time with him makes up the first of the film’s three segments. Cynically titled “The New World,” this section depicts New York City from the perspective of a shut-in who gives lie to any notion of artful poverty. Willie’s apartment is so bare and joyless it looks like it belongs to a hermit in an Ingmar Bergman film. When Eva arrives, Willie can barely muster the energy to acknowledge her presence, insisting within seconds of meeting her that she only speak English and neither offers nor explains anything to her. Even within the cramped flat, Willie keeps such a distance from his cousin that shots of them sitting at opposite ends of the frame with a small TV between them make the apartment seem almost roomy.

Only when Eva steals some cigarettes and food from a nearby bodega does Willie warm to her, and his amusement at her mildly punkish attitude masks a sense of genuine pleasure at finding something of a kindred dirtbag spirit. His affections, dubiously platonic, are reflected in the more openly smitten behavior of Willie’s friend, Eddie (Richard Edson), a man who’s as much a loser as Willie but, unlike his pal, is unable to hide it. Eddie’s presence makes Willie’s own shortcomings impossible to ignore, and when Eva leaves for Cleveland, the men’s open sadness is met by her muted satisfaction at being able to move on from them.

The remainder of Stranger Than Paraside details Willie and Eddie borrowing a car and driving out to the Midwest to see Eva, after which the trio make a grand American trek to Florida, where Willie and Eddie bet all of their cash on horse and dog races and Eva further sinks into her ennui. These on-the-road segments, in which Jarmusch’s urban minimalism is extrapolated to depict the vast flatness of America as a magnification and refraction of the characters’ feelings of emptiness, anticipates Jarmusch’s later films, especially Dead Man.

Stranger Than Paradise’s comedy is muted in comparison to that of Jarmusch’s subsequent road movies, wringing as it does small doses of humor out of a laconic quip here and a deadpan observation there. For the most part, the filmmaker prioritizes the manner in which the anonymous backroads and modest homes of America blur into a kind of homogeneous mass. “You know, it’s funny,” Eddie says at one point as he and Willie stand in among a bare patch of land in the middle of Cleveland. “You come to someplace new, and everything looks just the same.” In that sentiment is the crux of Jarmusch’s oeuvre, a collection of images off the beaten path, of the mundanity not typically filmed that links the nation’s metropoles, hamlets, and countrysides in a sense of shared alienation.

Image/Sound

Tom DiCillo’s rich black-and-white cinematography looks excellent on Criterion’s Blu-ray. The pallid grays of the interiors are so rich in detail you can trace the faint outlines of water stains on the walls, while the location photography is strikingly stable for such a hastily shot and cheaply produced film, with nighttime scenes boasting deep black levels. The soundtrack is crisp, with each line of dialogue or ambient sound effect clearly separated.

Extras

Jim Jarmusch’s audio commentary covers everything from his early artistic inspirations and experiences coming of age in the New York punk scene to the process of shooting Stranger Than Paradise. It’s an informative and engaging track driven by his knack for direct but evocative storytelling. A video of silent Super 8 footage shot behind the scenes shows Jarmusch’s working process, while a 1984 interview with the film’s cast and crew by German television finds Jarmusch, John Lurie, producer Sara Driver, and others elucidating their thoughts on the film’s making. Most rewarding is that the disc includes the entirety of Jarmusch’s first film, Permanent Vacation, itself the recipient of a hi-def upgrade that makes the film look better than ever. An accompanying booklet contains contemporaneous notes from Jarmusch, as well as essays by Geoff Andrew and J. Hoberman that examine the film’s place in the canon of independent cinema.

Overall

Jim Jarmusch’s breakthrough film gets a sturdy upgrade from Criterion, with richer visuals that testify to its spartan beauty.