Jim Jarmusch is a filmmaker that I wish I liked more. He is by no means underperforming. Every single one of his movies successfully captures the tone of small-town America as they go about their mundane lives, presenting it with his penchant deadpan humor and stories that may be about nothing or could be about everything depending on the read. Given that I love character pieces that exist more like a moment with these characters, it’s strange to note how often I find myself thinking his work is fine.
They’re too droll for me. I’m not able to fully get on his wavelength, and it bothers me because what’s great is how he portrays small moments. I’m thinking of Coffee & Cigarettes (2004), my favorite of his to date, and all I really need is a few minutes with each of these characters.
That is what makes Mystery Train (1989) a particular achievement in his young career. By the end of the 1980s, he had become a Sundance darling with films like Stranger Than Paradise (1984) and Down By Law (1986) that gave him this oddball persona. His stories weren’t anti-narrative, necessarily, but their ambitions were often low, serving more as themes. They were meditative, even in these moments of broad comedy that you could mistake for a drama based on how dry they were.
Most of all, Mystery Train was one of those signs that he wasn’t stuck on one style of storytelling. If anything makes Jarmusch a standout among his peers, it’s his desire to make dramas and comedies as well as kung-fu and heist movies. He sees culture as fused together, and it is what makes this story great. In all respects, it’s an anthology film, made up of a triptych that has little connection to each other save for a central location: a hotel owned by Night Clerk (Screamin’ Jay Hawkins). Everyone stops in for the night en route to somewhere else. It’s an insignificant place, and yet it’s the most important tool in this story.
I suppose that I should back up for a minute. I did say that there were three stories, but that would be a disservice to Night Clerk as a character. Along with Bell Boy (Cinqué Lee), the duo spends most of their story at the hotel desk in Memphis, TN trying to kill time. Night Clerk never leaves the desk, and yet has an air of himself that his job is more important. He wears a flamboyant red suit, believing the old adage that Prop Joe from The Wire said best “Look the part, be the part.” He looks too good to be working in this hotel. Meanwhile, Bell Boy is a sacrificial lamb, forced to deal with the various hotel room’s problems. They know it isn’t going to end well, and yet he HAS to do it. It doesn’t help that he’s dressed like a Jerry Lewis knock-off.
I love Night Clerk, if just because it embodies what’s best about Jarmusch. The diverse cast is full of these colorful types, and I think that Hawkins as a personality deserves to be discussed more. He used to perform in caskets and once released a song called “Constipation Blues.” Knowing that Jarmusch has an affection for this oddball and is willing to give him a part is what makes indie cinema great. Allowing him to freestyle and put down Lee is some of the best moments in the story. Had it just been about the antics at this front desk, it would still be a masterpiece, and I can’t speak highly enough of how Hawkins’ drive for success makes him seem ridiculous in ways both good and bad. This is a dumpy hotel in Memphis. Who is expecting you to be dressed to the nines?
Meanwhile, the outside world is magnificently composed. During the first story (“Far from Yokohama”), central characters Jun (Masatoshi Nagase) and Mitsuko (Youki Kudo) are seen wandering around the streets looking for Graceland. Since Mitsuko is obsessed with Elvis Presley (though Jun thinks Carl Perkins is better), they end up visiting Sun Records instead.
As is the case with every other story in this sequence, Jarmusch has an eye for beauty. What would look like dumpy brick buildings from afar, he finds a way to frame them like backdrops, beautiful in their earthy textures. There’s very little vision of the skyline and soon the real blends with the animated, finding personality as it focuses on these businesses. They all seem so insignificant, and yet slowly supporting characters are introduced, such as Charlie the Barber (Steve Buscemi).
Jarmusch has an understanding of how to populate Memphis without making it seem overwhelming. Every character serves a purpose, even if few of them have these grand journeys. The story starts with Jun and Mitsuko comparing the Memphis train station to one in Yokohama, and it becomes clear that this is how the audience should see this city. We’ll be comparing it to our own, wondering if this place is better-looking, more exciting. It’s clearly a place rich with culture that deserves to be celebrated, and yet it exists mostly as a layover. Mystery Train suggests that maybe we should stay and take a closer look.
In the bigger picture, I cannot tell you why a single one of these stories matters on their own. If they existed as individual shorts, would I be able to appreciate their stories? I’m sure that there would be some value, even if what makes them all interesting is how they relate to each other. It’s in how Tom Waits as a radio DJ informs an overlapping use of Elvis music. It’s in how a coital experience echoes through the walls, or how a mundane conversation between Night Clerk and Bell Boy is interrupted at key points. It breaks up these stories in such a way that shows something more universal. Very few of these characters will personally meet, and yet their lives impact the others.
If I’m being honest, “Far from Yokohama” is the best of the three shorts even if it’s the most insular, mostly focusing on a Japanese couple arguing about 1950s rock stars. They carry around a suitcase, held together by a bamboo stick, and it’s the only thing unifying them. As they get to the hotel, their relationship becomes clearer. There’s some emotional division that gets explored as Mitsuko tries to cheer up Jun. And yet there’s an emptiness and loneliness in him that each of these stories has. You desperately want to see him happier, and yet they have this natural incompatibility that keeps them from getting there. In fact, it’s unlikely that they would be together if it wasn’t for this pilgrimage.
“A Ghost” is probably the least interesting of the three, if just because the divide doesn’t feel as substantial. Luisa (Nicoletta Braschi) is stranded in Memphis for the night while transporting her husband’s coffin. It definitely has an odd approach to this story that includes sharing a hotel room with Dee Dee (Elizabeth Bracco) who talks about her boyfriend nonstop. It’s fine as a plot but mostly gets by on these eccentric moments that mean little to her. She ends up having dinner with a man who has a message for her, even if it’s not clear what that is.
As a piece of flavor, “A Ghost” works. Jarmusch loves to revel in small and weird details that don’t fully make sense. This story doesn’t and feels more like a thematic tissue to the other two stories. The man in the diner feels plucked for this. It works more like an ambiguous idea that draws you in, wondering why all of this matters. Then again, why does arguing over Elvis and Perkins all that necessary? These are just ways that we pass time on the way to somewhere else. Every character here is lonely, and Jarmusch’s ability to make Memphis as a city feel empty only helps to draw in this ghost town feel.
“Lost in Space” is somewhere in-between the other two. For starters, it explains what happened to Dee Dee’s boyfriend Johnny a.k.a. “Elvis” (Joe Strummer), which doesn’t end well. There’s gunshots and booze as he tries to find value in life. There’s driving around that is cut up in ways reminiscent of Stranger Than Paradise, making the driving exist in brief moments before blacking out. Unlike his earlier film, I think it works to convey the passage of time even if the changes are so subtle that it probably can’t even be measured by Elvis’ blood alcohol level.
Their story is the wildest of the three, even as it ends just the same. They’re all hiding out in a hotel, trying to figure out ways to move on with their life as the potential for jail time emerges. They’re paranoid, watching TV to try and cool their edge. Meanwhile, downstairs Night Clerk and Bell Boy aren’t aware of the happenings, revealing how little they expect the drama to go down. When something does happen, it’s maybe the funniest moment in the film as Bell Boy is forced to check on the violence. Both of them are aware of how dangerous it will be, and yet it seems more plausible than calling the cops or taking more professional measures.
If I’m being honest, there are certain movies I love because of how they capture “the graveyard shift.” As a teenager, I fantasized about life after midnight, where a whole different side of the city lived. As much as I could say that I wanted this wild and fun vision, I came to accept that it was a time when suddenly the world is gone and you’re alone with your thoughts. You don’t have the support of a world that is asleep. That is when Mystery Train feels most alive when these characters feel like nobody is watching. I love how this film feels when connecting itself through radio songs, or noises that go bump in the night.
I am unsure if this is an accurate representation of Memphis, but it’s one that’s romanticized enough that makes me eager to visit. It looks so innocent and sweet. Even as the characters depart on their train going somewhere unknown, it was interesting to see how their lives overlapped. There are clearly things to see and we’re all much more similar than we give each other credit for. Even when we’re lonely, believing that nobody in the world understands us, there is someone next door that has it just as bad. It’s something that you get while traveling, and Jarmusch captures it perfectly.
Did it have to be Memphis? Not really, but I think that Jarmusch was enamored by some detail that drew him in. He had this way of giving the city a cinematic homage that felt more tonally in line with a metaphoric state of mind. It’s someplace that is ignored despite holding such significance in America’s history. Over one day, it is given a delightful spin that best captures Jarmusch’s quiet affection. He doesn’t need to overtly state what’s great about Memphis. He expects you to walk around with him and figure it out for yourself.
The more that I discover from Jarmusch, the more that I realize why he deserves to be considered great. Mystery Train may seem like an insignificant film, and yet it has one of the best collections of stunt casting that I’ve seen. It’s in how he pits rock stars into dramatic and comedic roles, or how a Japanese love story can reflect division over musical preferences. It’s easy to imagine that this story could be four hours longer, embodying even more stories over this night. It may be overwhelming, but this is a world I love visiting and can only hope his other anthology films live up to this. I’d love to see him do one for every major minor city in this country. I’m sure he has enough to say about each. After all, he sees beauty where I see a brick wall and that is the mark of a truly gifted artist.
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