Bill Murray plays himself. Jarmusch the master of lighthearted nausea, does his thing with the weight of time (beyond bored), brilliantly in at least one scene (it's obvious). The women get progressively less friendly. As a somewhat counter-intuitive result, he begins to care. The last 15 minutes of the film once again gave new meaning to the
Last but not least, the title is a very good title.
More thoughts on what makes the genre of the "boring art film" (BOF) great at Long Pauses and Long Sunday.
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