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The most remarkable element of Jim Jarmusch’s “Paterson” is piquing the viewers imagination as to how this unique couple karmically united; quiet loveliness is a soft, gentle cocoon encompassing each day; “Paterson” (soulfully acted with stunning depth by Adam Driver) rises at 6:15, embraces his luscious wife “Laura” (radiant Golshifteh Farahani) proceeds to his job as a bus “driver” in “Paterson”, New Jersey; voyeuristically listening to the disparate conversations of his passengers; composing poetry during his breaks. He is a complacent, unambitious poet using rudimentary words, highlighting the benignity of his life; his isolation is a comfort, not a shield. He is a man without guile or arrogance;  overwhelming accepting of his wife’s magnetic, mercurial vibrancy; she’s his wick, muse; seeing him residing in the same poetic sphere as fellow Patersonian, Allen Ginsberg; there love is indefinable, beyond magic.

“Paterson’s” languid, soothing pace elevates the banal to the grand; the constancy of the routine is placating, serene; every evening “Marvin”, the family canine, accompanies Paterson to the local bar, waits patiently while his master has a beer and discourse with the bartender and patrons. Jarmusch saturates the film with pride, gifts homages to Lou Costello, Hurricane Carter, even notorious anarchist Gaetano Bresci; streets, alleys, parks share the same stage with a gentle, refined wordsmith.

Truly a masterpiece of realism, an illuminating portrait of a couple, forged forever, untethered by life’s minutia; bonded by inimitable understanding and respect; an immaculate blending of Earth, Wind, Fire, Water and rarefied Ether.





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