Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai illustrates that, in some bizarre
way, artsy films can be subject to the same major flaws that often afflict
Hollywood blockbusters. It's typical for a big budget motion picture to ignore
logic and consistency in order to boost the level of adrenaline. Ghost
Dog, the latest from iconoclast director Jim Jarmusch, commits the same sin,
albeit for radically different reasons. Jarmusch is so infatuated with his
subject matter and thematic content that he force-feeds his plot through a pair
of totally incomprehensible twists (one near the beginning and one at the end)
in order to make statements and get things moving in a particular direction. As
a result, only the most ardent Jarmusch fan will be able to suspend disbelief,
and the movie turns into an exercise in ideas rather than an excursion along a
stable narrative route.
There's a lot to like about Ghost Dog. Jarmusch has an interesting
idea - comparing and contrasting ancient Japanese culture with that of modern
day American gangsters. By romanticizing the Mafia, Jarmusch emphasizes their
code of respect. In that way, he is able to view them as an "ancient tribe" and
the last of a dying breed. Despite centering on a hit man and being about his
single-minded campaign against a crime family, Ghost Dog is more about
honor than it is about killing or revenge, and that's where the film gets into
trouble. Characters act irrationally just so that Jarmusch can get his point
across. For example, near the beginning, a contract is put out on Ghost Dog's
life, despite his impeccable record and obvious value to the mob. Why? No
credible reason is given, but there wouldn't have been a movie otherwise. This
is one of two key instances in the movie when Jarmusch expects us to ignore
logic and accept something on faith. But, just as I won't do that for Armageddon,
I won't do it for Ghost Dog, either.
Ghost Dog (Forest Whitaker) is a skilled and accomplished hit man who works
for Louie (John Tormey), a middle ranking member of the local crime syndicate.
The two communicate by the most unorthodox of means: carrier pigeons. When a hit
goes wrong because of bad information given to Ghost Dog, the head of the mob,
Vargo (Henry Silva), and his right-hand goon, Sonny Valerio (Cliff Gorman), put
a contract out on Ghost Dog. Because Louie was ultimately responsible for the
botched hit, he fears for his life. So, to protect him, Ghost Dog swings into
action, and, wielding his gun like a sword, he begins to track down the men
threatening him and Louie, one by one.
The juxtaposition of rules about samurai life (placed on screen through
intertitles) with how Ghost Dog applies them is the movie's most successful
conceit. Ghost Dog adheres religiously to the Way of the Samurai, as laid out in
a book that has become his Bible. "The Way of the Samurai is the way of death,"
it states. "Meditation on inevitable death should be performed every day."
Another lesson is that the samurai must devote his body and soul to his master,
to the exclusion of all else. Ghost Dog lives by this creed. Because Louie once
saved his life, he regards the gangster as his master, so everything he does
during the course of the film is designed to protect Louie, not to save his own
life.
The film is a little on the long side, but it's never dull. The revenge
element - Ghost Dog hunting down and killing mobsters - forms the core of the
story, but it is less compelling than similar situations in recent movies like
The
Limey and Payback.
This is not a high-energy motion picture. In fact, in keeping with the cool,
detached attitude one associates with samurai, Jarmusch allows Ghost
Dog's tone to become aloof. And, as a means of contradicting the seeming
seriousness of the underlying plot, Jarmusch introduces the comedic interplay
between Ghost Dog and his good friend, Raymond (Isaach De Bankol?, an ice cream
salesman. These two don't understand each other - Ghost Dog speaks only English
and Raymond speaks only French, so their exchanges are often amusing, with each
of them unwittingly echoing the other.
In the title role, Forest Whitaker underplays the part nicely. He's certainly
more successful as a hit man here than he was in 1991's Diary of a Hit
Man. The various actors essaying mob guys look like supporting players from
"The Sopranos." They basically fill familiar cliches, with personalities just a
shade above the level of a caricature. Isaach De Bankol? who previously worked
with Jarmusch in Night on Earth and later appeared in The
Keeper, gives an effectively offbeat turn as the English challenged
Raymond.
In many ways, Ghost Dog is typical
Jarmusch. The director, while
admittedly talented, is afflicted with an Oliver Stone-sized ego and his movies
often come across as needlessly pretentious. His reputation also outstrips his
ability. His last picture, for example, was the exceedingly wretched Year of the
Horse, a Neil Young documentary that easily stands as the worst concert
movie ever committed to celluloid. Ghost Dog is a huge improvement, but
Jarmusch's need to emphasize his involvement through dispensable stylistic
flourishes stands out like a sore thumb.
There's certainly a lot to chew on in Ghost Dog. The film is ripe with
interesting ideas, social commentary (especially about how violence permeates
every aspect of today's world, including cartoons), and other points worth
mulling over. Had the plot been better anchored, this would have been a strong,
well-rounded film. As it is, many critics will probably willingly overlook the
plot holes and rave about the stylistic and thematic elements. I prefer a little
more meat, so the best I can muster for this movie is a lukewarm response.
From
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