The Atypical Approach: On Jim Jarmusch’s Warped Western Vision
A western from the twisted mind of one of America’s great independent filmmakers, Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man is a grand deviation from typical western conventions and expectations. Jarmusch reaches the absolute outer limits of what is permissible (in this case, permissible meaning the ideas and conventions that make a western a western) in this genre. This dreamlike journey is characterized by his toying with the conventional western characters, a distinct repetition of barren mise-en-scene, elements of surrealism within his narrative form, deadpan acting, ethereal editing, and a distorted electric guitar driven score. These perverted elements blend seamlessly with his bizarre script into an existential, allegorical depiction of man’s fall from grace.
Jarmusch wastes no time breaking not only the expectations of the western viewer, but the overall movie viewer as well. He opens the film on a train; William Blake from Cleveland sits alone. He reads; he plays cards; and all the while, the mise-en-scene sets the static tone of the rest of the film—a dark, somber, and surreal reality focused entirely on the possible spirit-man William Blake. In his checkerboard suit, Blake sticks out like a sore thumb when surrounded by pelt-wearing westerners. All eyes are on him quite literally while he tends to his mindless tasks. The costume does much more than attract the watchful eyes of his fellow train passengers though, Jarmusch establishes one of the most clear and distinct differentiations between Dead Man and orthodox westerns—the main character is neither some renegade bounty hunter nor an ex-war hero pining for revenge, but a well-to-do accountant from the city who comes to the west in a suit and bowtie. With this, he is able to explore diverse themes and develop a character study deeper than those common in the majority of westerns, i.e., the want for vengeance or the drive for wealth. Blake appears sane, sensible, and one who would rather fix a problem with words than resort to violence in the exposition. His devolution into barbarism is aided endlessly by the subtle black-and-white tones that differentiate this “acid western” from the norm. The reason that the mise-en-scene is so absolutely enthralling in this film is because what is on screen is mostly the same as conventional westerns: a “protagonist” with a gun, prostitutes, Native Americans, expository landscape shots, villains on horseback, et cetera…however, the tone and emotions these seemingly parallel images evoke are, in actuality, entirely antithetical from genre expectations. Jarmusch makes no attempt to make his west seem like a land of opportunity; instead, these same visuals make the west appear a hopeless, deserted panorama… a place capable of corrupting this good city boy.
Obviously though, the mise-en-scene is not the only aspect of filmmaking that showcases Blake’s descent; the score also plays a crucial role in his corruption. The score was one hundred percent improvised by world-renowned artist Neil Young and is one of the more distinguishing aspects of the film. The score is more ambient sounds and quick licks of the guitar than it is actual music. One may have come to expect classic country tunes to drive a western; also, dynamic changes in non-diegetic music as a film progresses is seen as a given by most viewers. Jarmusch and Young completely throw this concept out of the stagecoach though. The music follows the same pattern as the film’s narrative—a straight line traveling linearly, no surprises. With other westerns, one can likely speculate as to what is occurring in a scene given the music (this idea is most noticeable in the climaxes of films, and it is reasonable to assert that Dead Man has no climax). With this postmodern score though, prediction is an absolute impossibility. The score remains static as the film’s runtime dwindles and with this, Jarmusch asserts a world opinion: change comes subtly and life is unpredictable.
Much like the score, the treatment of characters in Dead Man contrasts wildly from western clichés. We have the necessary prostitute scene that serves as the rising action for the film, but beyond that nearly everything is different. Most prominently, the film is acclaimed for its ethical and accurate portrayal of Native Americans and their culture, language, and lifestyle. The western typically portrays “Indians” as savage killing machines and a collective antagonist; fascinatingly, Jarmusch gives his “protagonist” an Indian sidekick named Nobody who serves as a spiritual guide for William Blake’s journey. While it is possible to claim that Nobody is the driving force behind Blake’s fall, his name serves to refute this notion. Nobody is not the antagonist of this film; Nobody is nobody. This means that all of Blake’s descent stems entirely from his own actions—an existential assertion on Jarmusch’s part. Even Blake himself says at one point that he “has not understood one thing [Nobody] has said since [they] met,” and because Blake never comes in contact with the bounty hunters on his trail, that eliminates them from the choice for the film’s antagonist as well. In most Westerns, we have a clear-cut villain, someone to root against; and thus, the time has come to eliminate the mystery behind the quotation marks surrounding Blake’s status as the films “protagonist.” The most extravagant difference between Dead Man and stereotypical westerns is that Jarmusch gives us no one to root against. Blake is the cause of his own demise: he begins the film a sensible young man with a potentially bright future and ends the film floating into the sea hoping to return to the spirit realm he has been convinced he came from. The body count he has taken is innumerable and he has deteriorated to a wild machine with neither morality nor value for human life. Man has fallen from grace. The protagonist has, in effect, become the antagonist. With this supposition, how can one possibly consider Dead Man a normal western? Jarmusch has defeated the constraints of genre and what we are left with is nothing short of a singular, masterful exercise in surrealist, experimental filmmaking.
