The film follows Don Johnston (Bill Murray), an aging “Don Juan” left jaded and empty from a history of heart-breaking, as he travels cross-country in search of the author of a mysterious, unsigned pink letter he received in the mail. The letter claims to be from one of Johnston's many former flames and announces the existence of a long-lost son. This startling impetus, along with the inquisitive prodding of his Ethiopian neighbor Winston (played with much comic flair by Jeffrey Wright), drives Johnston to begin a quest of revisiting a broken past in order to discover the bond between him and his son, if he truly exists.
Unsurprisingly, Bill Murray proves once again that he is an emotional tour-de-force on screen. His portrayal of the pathetic Johnston is even more nuanced, understated and riveting than his much-lauded work in Lost in Translation. So much is said in the moments where all that speaks is Murray’s blank, lost facial expression. His is a character dealing with many regrets and hopes, and while none are said explicitly, they are clearly seen, and that is a testament to the amazing talents of Murray.
Flowers is far from a one-man show, however, and the four female actors who make up the “short list” of Johnston’s former girlfriends/potential letter-writers—Sharon Stone, Frances Conroy, Jessica Lange, Tilda Swinton—are all compelling and utterly memorable even with small amounts of screen time. Also worth mentioning are the short pseudo-cameos by Chloe Sevigny and Julie Delpy, the brief additions of which prove that respectable actors are willing to do anything to be involved in a project when a name like Jarmusch is attached.
Much of the interpretation of Flowers must come from an understanding of Jarmusch, a patented “indie” auteur who came out of the New York and Paris schools and has thrived in art houses and festivals ever since. Two decades after his Stranger Than Paradise won the Camera D'Or at the 1984 Cannes Film Festival, Jarmusch is still a critical favorite. Flowers, which won this year’s Grand Prix prize at Cannes, is not as unapproachable as some of Jarmusch’s earlier works, but still seems at the very least frustrating without a basic knowledge of the cinematic world of Jarmusch.
There are many stylistic traits of Flowers that are vintage Jarmusch: long deadpans, slow tracking shots, heavy use of fades, shots that seem to linger on a character far longer than necessary. Alas, the form is expanded upon too, with experimental color saturation and even some handheld camera movement. Beyond the form of the film, the content is also very Jarmusch in character. Travel is a recurring motif in the director’s filmography, cited as a means by which we get to know ourselves, our past and our environment. Also, Jarmusch typically explores the soul of America through the eyes of people who are outsiders in either the literal or figurative sense. In Flowers, Murray’s Johnston is an outsider in each of the places he goes, and in trying to reconnect with former lovers, he feels more isolated than ever.
The beauty of a Jim Jarmusch film—and to many, the problem—is that it is so open to interpretation. Jarmusch is not interested in neatly wrapped endings or particularly mainstream plots. Rather, he is interested in exploring characters, communication and the interactions between people, places and time. He excels at portraying the American tension between individualism and collectivism: we love to be alone, free to go and do anything on the open road, but when we encounter people and truly connect with them—that too is hard to leave behind.
Broken Flowers is a film about one man who is alone and proclaims his satisfaction as such, yet through digging up past connections, he begins to long for companionship again. Don Johnston carries a neat bouquet of pink flowers to each of the women he goes to reconnect with, hoping that the gesture might in some way make up for the past. But flowers cannot survive in a world of relentless neglect and superficial love. They need roots, nurture and commitment to live on, and in America (not solely, but especially), those things are easily forgotten in the business of solitary, self-made lives. America is a mobile country, and we are a restless people. Being able to plant new seeds and hope for a flourishing—even with a wake of broken flowers—that is the American dream.
