Hey, everyone. Capone in Chicago here, with two films that could not be more different. One is the living, breathing definition of subtlety…to a fault. The other wouldn't know subtle if someone pulled it out of a duffle bag filled with cash and drugs and aimed it right in the filmmakers' collective faces. On any given weekend where the world almost seems to conspire to push the world's population toward one particular release, I'm always on the lookout for something smaller having the guts to open against such a juggernaut. Unfortunately, neither of these films quite fit the bill. But you be the judge…

THE LIMITS OF CONTROL
No one will every accuse filmmaker Jim Jarmusch of being one of the world's most accessible directors, but even so some of his more recent work (including the remarkable BROKEN FLOWERS, the exceedingly funny COFFEE AND CIGARETTES, and GHOST DOG) have been fairly easy to move along with and slip into their introspective groove. If you've never experienced a Jarmusch film, THE LIMITS OF CONTROL would be a terrible jumping-in point. Although there's no mistaking some of the hallmark Jarmusch touches, the film for even the most devoted enthusiast might be a bit of an endurance test. The wonderful Isaach De Bankole (who has been in several other Jarmusch works) stars as what we suspect is some sort of assassin, or at least some dude who is up to some super-secret bad shit. He travels throughout every corner of Spain, meeting with a new contact in each city (each beginning their conversation with "Do you speak Spanish?"; the joke gets old after about the third person). De Bankole often sits stone faced through each encounter, answering only direct questions while exchanging matchboxes containing messages inside with each new person.

Not surprisingly, the point of THE LIMITS OF CONTROL has nothing to do with this man's exact mission; it's about the journey and each new person that drifts in and out of his life in each city or town. Both familiar faces (John Hurt, Tilda Swinton, Gael Garcia Bernal, Hiam Abbass, Bill Murray) and unfamiliar ones (including the lovely and often naked Paz de la Huerta) come and go, each offering up the smallest bits of information and philosophy into this drifter's life. What became increasingly fascinating to me was that as his journey continues, we begin to notice small visual cues that relate back to previous meetings. In many ways, it reminded me of the small moments in our everyday lives that somehow manage to creep into our dreams as major events.

There's also something comforting in the way De Bankole approaches his job and each meeting. He's habitual and cold in his methods, but there's a professional calm to his manner and means of interaction that took the edge off what could have been played as a series of for more tense or awkward moments. I believe that much of the dialogue is improvised here, which is probably something I should have mentioned earlier, but the fact is, even if Jarmusch had written everything out and made his actor follow his script to the letter, I don't think the resulting film would have been much different. Even Jarmusch's greatest failures are more interesting than 75 percent of everything I see in a given year, although I'm pretty sure I'm not recommending THE LIMITS OF CONTROL to anyone outside paid-up executive members of his official fan club. The movie is just a bit too meandering and unfocused, even for Jarmusch. But as a statement on "the journey" of life, and the power we have and don't have in our own lives... well, there might be something in here about that too...if you feel like digging around a bit. Oh, hell. I don't know. Jarmusch officially stumped me with this one. Good luck.

NEXT DAY AIR
I'm not sure what to tell you about NEXT DAY AIR, something of a cross between an unapologetic modern blaxploitation film and a Guy Ritchie Joint with a black and Latino cast. And much like some of Ritchie's more recent work, it focuses on the things that aren't nearly as interesting and sacrifices some potentially far more engaging elements. The story is simple: overnight deliveryman Leo (Donald Faison from "Scrubs") accidentally delivers a package filled with 10 bricks of cocaine to the wrong address. The guys in the apartment (Wood Harris and Mike Epps) he delivers the package to happen to be low-life hustlers who immediately begin to plan to sell the drugs for some much-needed cash. The guy who the package was meant for (Cisco Reyes) needs to find out what happened to his drugs before his very scary boss (Emilio Rivera) gets involved. The entire film builds to the inevitable merging of multiple storylines in a blaze of glory, with bullets, blood, cash and powder scattered and splattered in every direction.

On paper, NEXT DAY AIR has the makings of a supercharged, sex-and-violence orgy. But the film has other ideas; it thinks it works best as a comedy, and the filmmakers are so terribly wrong on this point. With his debut feature, director Benny Boom (maker of dozens of memorable hip-hop videos) has a great visual flare and a true gift at cutting action to exactly the right music. The trouble starts when people start talking. Every line of dialogue is delivered as if the Caps Lock key was jammed on screenwriter Blair Cobbs' keyboard. Screaming is the only language this multicultural cast speaks, and they speak it fluently. Also, the film's greatest asset is only in the film for about three minutes. Mos Def pops in near the beginning of the film as Leo's coworker to perfectly complement Faison's broad-stroke comic talents. Every word out of Def's mouth is funny, and even when it's not, he makes it funny. And as quickly as he appears to give the film some desperately needed weight, he vanishes. You can almost hear the "Poof!" as he delivers his final words on screen. His character doesn't die or become otherwise disposed of. He just isn't in the movie anymore. What a gargantuan disappointment.

What kept me from simply dismissing NEXT DAY AIR is its absolute commitment to being as brash and narcissistic as it possibly could. It practically celebrates its Neanderthalic views on women and life in general. Sometimes it's funny, because it's clear we're supposed to think most of these characters are idiots, but after awhile it just gets depressing because we realize these people are less the exception and more the norm. I'm absolutely not recommending this film, but Boom's skilled directing and a mindset that the 25-year-old Quentin Tarantino would embrace make sitting through NEXT DAY AIR less painful. But some bizarre pacing choices, including an abrupt ending that will make most audience members throw up their hands in frustration, and the disappearance of Mos Def (he may have been kidnapped during production for all I know) make the film a massive letdown.

-- Capone
capone@aintitcoolmail.com