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Dead Man

When Dead Man opened, it was met with scathing reviews by many critics, including Roger Ebert, who complained that the director was “trying to get at something here, and I don’t have a clue what it is,” (RogerEbert.com). He was turned off by its slow-moving pace and its abstract score done entirely by Neil Young. I can understand his position; although I loved the movie the first time I saw it, I also realized that I didn’t understand what the hell it was trying to say, if anything. But Dead Man is the kind of movie that, though it appeals to your heart and your senses, begins to reveal itself after multiple viewings. Every time I watch it, I love it and understand it more.

It is a film that captures the ugly nature of American capitalism and white supremacy, mocks the cruel nature of organized religion and other accepted paradigms, reinvents the traditional western genre, and is the first film by a white man to deal so intimately with a Native American perspective during American colonialism. Director Jim Jarmusch is a constant presence in the film and his humor and poetic rhythm as a director make it moving and never preachy. There’s far too much depth to this film to capture in a review, and that is not the purpose of a review anyway. Jonathan Rosenbaum has written an entire book on the subject, and though worth a read, even that is insufficient. After all, if what Jarmusch was trying to portray could be expressed easily in words, there’d be no point in making the movie.

First things first. Dead Man is set in the 19th Century. In beautiful black and white photography, it follows a recently orphaned accountant from Cleveland named William Blake—not to be confused with the English poet of the same name. Blake, played by Johnny Depp, has spent all his money to get to the western frontier town of Machine, where he has a job waiting for him at Dickinson’s Metal Works. He arrives to find that his position has already been filled, and that the owner, Mr. Dickinson, is not someone with whom he can peacefully negotiate.

Thrust unemployed and broke into the “wild” environment that is Machine, Blake is a blatant outsider. He encounters hostility from its inhabitants and eventually spends the little money he has on a bottle of whiskey. He meets a woman named Thel and ends up spending the night with her. Thel’s lover, who also happens to be Dickinson’s son, returns home and stumbles upon this love affair. Heartbroken, he fires his gun, killing Thel and wounding Blake, who fires back and escapes on the man’s horse.

The next day, Blake finds himself being tended to by a Native who calls himself Nobody. Nobody is a kind, spiritual, and altogether odd man who has more than just a gripe with the “stupid f**king white man,” yet he takes care of Blake, who he believes is the reincarnated spirit of the English poet of his namesake. Because of this, and the fact that he fails to remove the bullet from Blake’s chest, he declares that Blake is already a dead man, and he must find his way back to the spiritual world. Nobody feels deeply connected to the historical Blake’s poetry, which seems to speak to the Native American cause; Blake was a man who abhorred racism and inequality.

Nobody tells Blake, who, holding a revolver, claims to know nothing about poetry: “That weapon will replace your tongue. You will learn to speak through it. And your poetry will be written with blood.” He guides Blake as Blake comes to terms with his destiny and slowly becomes a legendary killer of white men, all of whom are after him for the reward on his head.

Meanwhile, Dickinson hires professional killers to track his son’s murderer while also putting a bounty on his head, leading to many dangerous encounters along the journey.

To reveal the complicated “plot” of the film is to merely scratch the surface of this film’s brilliance. It is slow and methodical in the beginning but builds to a mythical climax, and it is captivating throughout. One need not struggle to find meaning in the film, but only open his or her mind to the feelings and images in the movie as it plays. I believe this film, like any great work of art, will not affect everybody in the same way. And though I praise this film’s artistry, don’t think it’s just any old, boring and pretentious art-house bull. It also has all the essential elements of great entertainment: it’s funny, it’s violent, and, at least for Neil Young fans, it’s got a kick-ass soundtrack.

Written by: Sam Belkin

Reviewers Rating: 9.5
Reader's Rating: 8.00
Reader's Votes: 1

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