My friend, Mr P, has long lauded this film to me. I have seen stills and had it referenced many times. Somehow I had never got round to watching it. The screening in Cine Universitario, in the underwhelming Sala Chaplin, was 25 minutes late starting. I was almost tempted to give up. But I didn’t. And to be honest, I was quietly blown away by the lyrical beauty of Jarmusch’s elegant, oneiric movie. As is the case with the best of the auteur’s movies, very little actually happens. A few moments of violence, never overstated, punctuate William Blake’s journey to the other shore, which is where his spirit guide is leading him. Is Blake alive or dead? Does it matter? Perhaps he inhabits an in-between zone, that hazy space between the two supposedly separate states. The very fact that the viewer is compelled to muse upon these issues, rather than the more traditional fare of a western, is testament to the director’s transcendent vision, a vision which feels as though it might be rooted in traditions that pre-date the occidental worldview.
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