stranger than paradise [1984]

it was a grey sunday where we didn't do nothing.  the past week & a half was filled with all sorts of activities.  but today was rain, & clouds & very little that required our immediate attention.  so anna asked me, when i got up fairly late & hankering for the first cup of coffee, about obscure 1980s movies.  she mentioned this one, the second film by jim jarmusch.  i told her that when i was a young apprentice poet i watched a shitload of jarmusch movies.  but i couldn't recall this particular film.  what's it about?  nothing.  & that is the beauty of this flick.  essentially a chamber piece with three young people at its core jarmusch crafted a style of storytelling that does not require traditional narrative techniques.  rather, our three goofballs roam thru the american wastes of youthful aimlessness to come to their own separate paradise.  this american wasteland includes the eating of TV dinners, watching endless hours of TV, going to the movies, & smoking cigarettes.  i can't think of any other work of art that details the essence of late 20th C living.  indeed, the most significant part of this movie is when our three goofballs contemplate lake erie in the frozen tundra of cleveland, oh.  what happens next is a kind of miracle of narrative structure.  suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere, something happens when our trio travels to the sunny, warm, clime of a dead-end motel in nowheresville florida.  & when that miracle happens i rooted for our young friends who are out there in these united states of america to help in the creation of this country.  in short, jarmusch has made a film of staggering dimensions.  what thou lovest well, remains american, said the poet richard hugo echoing ezra pound.  hugo might have had this movie in mind when he wrote that line.